1 LM Ma is now couragi candou of her j handw struggh as a tyf herenc Ten yea to give mother. TW( made a called' acclain resulte( housexA abated candid additio and Ita in the Thi all of u succes Carr is someb the res are ru has ac most 01 ISBN 0 LOOK NO HANDS1 i LOOK NO HANDS Marilyn Gillies Carr CANONGATE 1982 R.K b First published in 1982 by Canongate Publishing Limited, 17 Jeffrey Street, Edinburgh C 1982 Marilyn Gillies Carr ISBN 0 86241 023 1 (cased) ISBN 0 86241 037 1 (paper) Typeset by Hewer Text Composition Services Printed and bound in Great Britain by The Camelot Press Ltd. Southampton Foreword by Sir Douglas Bader I am delighted to write a foreword to Marilyn Carr's book. I have known this girl for a number of years and greatly admire her attitude to life in general. It is a short book because it only covers the first part of her life. There will be a lot more to be said in another thirty years time, when I hope she will write a sequel. Her personal reminiscences are well worth reading and they will provide a great deal of comfort to those people who are in a similar predicament. More important still, I feel the true value of this book will be for those parents who in the future may find themselves with a handicapped baby. They will be sad and troubled when they discover this. Then some friend will give them a copy of Marilyn's book and straightaway they will be comforted and prepared to deal with their problem. It will no longer be insoluble. I wish this book the success it deserves. p ' ---0h, yes, Mr G,Ilies your wife has had a daughter, but I'm afraid she has been born without arms." Have you any idea what it must have been like getting such dreadful news over the tele- phone? My father didn't reply. He replaced the receiver and left the 'phone box, absolutely stunned. He had a heart condition and goodness knows what news like this did to him. My parents were ordinary working class Dundee people. My father was a painter and decorator, my mother a weaver. They lived in the top flat of a tenement building in the suburbs of Dundee. But they had what 1 have come to believe is one of the most important qualities of life, more important than learning - common sense. Mrs Nicoll, our neighbour from downstairs, had sat with my mother for several hours on the night of 15th December as her labour pains began. "I think it's time you went now, Mrs Gillies," she said at about ten o'clock and so 1 began my battle to come into the world. It was a difficult labour for my mother, but finally at one forty p.m. on Tuesday, 16th December, 19411 made my entrance - all five pounds and thirteen ounces of me. My mother was told she had a daughter and 1 was immediately taken to the Special Care Unit. She was concerned, and enquired if 1 was all right, but was told to rest and when she was feeling stronger, a doctor would come to see her. So Dad was told the shattering news first. He had tried to keep himself busy after taking Mum to hospital, making cups of tea all night. He had gone to work as usual after being told there was no news and heard eventually about me over the telephone from a 1 JOINT LIBRARY 1 young nurse. Now his one thought was for my mother, how would she take this tragic news? Meanwhile back at the Royal Infirmary, Mum couldn't rest until she knew what was going on. She knew that something was wrong. She had this fear in her heart as she remembered the nurse's words immediately after my birth, "You have a daughter, Mrs Gillies. - No reassuring words like, "Everything's all right.--- ---Ididn't even see her," she thought as she waited anxiously for visiting time, so that she could tell my Dad of this unshakable fear that something was wrong with their baby. Having gathered himself together as much as was humanly possible, my father went to the hospital. All he knew was that Mum would need him. On his arrival he told the Sister of the Maternity Unit who he was and that he had been given the news about his daughter over the telephone (for which 1 might add, the nurse in question was severely repremanded). He explained that his immediate concern was for his wife. Sister suggested that it might be better if he had a word with the doctor before seeing her, so he was shown into his office and the two were left together. In those days paediatricians were not in the habit of telling the mothers if their babies were born with a handicap and of course my mother was no exception. The doctor knew that my father would have to break the news and he suggested that they go along to the Special Baby Care Unit to see me. Dad looked through the glass and there 1 was lying in my cot, sleeping peacefully. He took me to his heart immediately. What now seemed the more difficult of the two visits was still to come - he had to break the news as gently as possible to my mother. Is there an easy way of telling a mother her baby has been horn without arms? 1 don't think so. What must his thoughts have been as he made his way along to the maternity ward? Only those of you who have been through a similar experience can know the answer. As he reached my mother's bed, the doctor at his side, it must have been obvious from the expression on my father's face that what she had feared was indeed the case - something was wrong with their baby. As the doctor pulled up 2 two chairs, the Staff Nurse put screens round the bed in order that they might have some privacy. "We've something to tell you Bella," said my father, his voice trembling with emotion, "the baby has no arms. Before my mother could 1 ~ show any reaction, the doctor said "Let me put it to you this way Mrs Gillies, your baby's arms budded but they didn't flower." "I'll leave you alone with your wife now Mr Gillies," said the doctor quietly. When he had gone, Mum remained silent for a time. Then she turned to my father, "What are we going to do Dan?" she said, and that was all. She was obviously in such a state of shock, she couldn't even cry - she seemed to retreat into herself. My father tried to give her some words of comfort, but what could he say when he felt as wretched as she did? He told her that he had seen me and that I was a lovely baby, but she didn't answer. Again only someone who has been through such a traumatic experience will understand the agony my mother suffered that day and indeed during the first few weeks of my life; mentally she simply could not cope and who could blame her, certainly not me. The day my mother was discharged, the pediatrician once again took my father into his office. "I don't know how you will look on what I'm going to say Mr Gillies, but we have done various tests on your daughter and although she seems a very healthy baby, I feel I must tell you that we don't think she will live more than a year." It was never clear how this conclusion was reached, nor did 1 discover what my father's reactions were to this news. The doctor went on to say that as my mother was far from well mentally, he strongly advised them to leave me in hospital for a time in order that she might consider how best to cope with her baby. So she left the hospital after about ten days, never having seen me, she simply couldn't bring herself to look. Apparently soon after this she went to church and on that particular Sunday there were babies being christened. She turned to my Dad and said, "I'm going back to get my bairn." So this is when she first saw me and it was obvious to her from that moment that this was the baby she had been waiting for, for better or for worse and 1 was hers and no one else was going to 3 look after me. And what a job she did! From that moment on 1 was the centre of her life. Some of the things my mother went through became clear to me many years later when 1 was speaking to a friend who had a mongol boy. She explained her reaction when she was told about her son. To the outside world she was an absolutely normal person, going through the motions of the everyday routine, attending to the household chores, shopping, cooking, even laughing with friends, but although she was doing all those normal things she felt apart from the world; she felt that from her eyes to her brain was just a mass of grey, whirling clouds, she could not think deeply, nor feel deeply, she was numbed. By the time 1 was ten months old, 1 could sit up by myself. One day 1 was sitting on the floor and Dad emptied a box of used matches and a handful of pennies and half-pennies at my feet, then he and my Murn sat back waiting to see what would happen. 1 studied them for a moment, then out went my feet and 1 picked up a penny with my toes, then another, the same with the matches. Triumphantly, 1 held a match out to my Dad, much to his delight.---She'snot going to die," he said, and that's the first my mother knew of the paediatrician's words all those months before. In fact 1 never looked back. Even when Mum had me out in the pram, 1 astounded people by turning over the pages of her ration books with my toes. Dad based his life on helping me overcome the many dif- ficulties 1 was to face. Each night after work he would play with me until bed time. He was always boasting of each new achieve- merit. For example he thought the first penny 1 put in my piggy bank was a big breakthrough and I'm told it wasn't long before it was full, thanks to his patience. Mum, though pleased, has always taken my achievements very quietly. When it came to crawling. my method was a sort of shuffling movement using both my hips and heels; walking was a little more difficult. 1 understand 1 used to cross to my left, swaying on my bottom, pushing myself up to a standing position, However, not having my arms with which to balance, very often I fell down again. This meant that my mother had to hold me with a hand on either side of my waist - how her back must have ached! At 4 sixteen months I found my feet and became as adventurous as any other child, perhaps a little too adventurous according to some of the varns told of those days. One evening my mother, having put me to bed, was preparing to spend the evening sewing when she discovered her thimbles were missing. She hunted high and low but simply could not find them anywhere. Suddenly it clicked - Marilyn! she went to my cot pulled back the covers and there I was sound asleep with a thimble on each big toe. Like all children, I wanted to go out to play. But the strange thing was, I didn't play very much in Gibb's Lane, my own street. My favourite place was Pitfour Street, where Mum's sister Auntie Nettie lived. Next door to Auntie Net lived Mr and Mrs Adam who became my adopted Aunt and Uncle, Auntie Dorothy and Uncle Peter. They had three children, Ann, Wilma and Peter. Ann was six months younger than me, and practically from the time we could walk, we became bosom pals. One day when we were about three years old, I was in her house for tea and Auntie Dorothy handed me a biscuit. Up shot my foot; when she handed one to Ann, up shot her foot too. "You don't have to eat with your feet Ann," said her mother. "Well I'm just being pals," came the swift reply. You will realise by now that my feet were my hands; everything was done with my toes instinctively from the beginning. One day I was playing outside my own home with my doll and pram. My method of wheeling it was to lean against the handle with my tummy and push. My mother's strict instructions were to stay beside the close, but here again my adventurous nature took over - not that I was in the habit of disobeying my mother, far from it. Gibb's Lane was quite a steep brae and I simply had to reach the top. Just when I got there, horror of horrors! I heard the ominous call, "MARILYN! " Me and my pram swung round; the pram. left me and went careering down the brae. My feet refused to move. What could I have done anyway, thrown mvself in front of it? It would only have gone over and continued on its way. I watched horrified as my beautiful prarn and lovely doll went charging across the main road. It was sheer luck there was no traffic and no one was hurt. The prarn struck the kerb and 5 overturned. One good thing came out of this, 1 learned to put my body inside the handle to push my pram. 1 was a very independent child and by the time 1 was four 1 was pleading with my mother to be allowed to run errands for her to the little shop round the corner ( no roads to cross). Of course 1 hadn't thought of how 1 was going to carry the things she sent me out for. By this time Mum was used to putting on her thinking cap, so she bought some pieces of canvas and made a shopping bag for me, the strap was long enough to go over my head. Off 1 went with it over my shoulder, proud as punch. It wasn't long before 1 was one of their best customers. 1 still have that shopping bag! When it came to schooling, my mother took me to the Director of Education and he said that I would automatically go to a special school, exactly as she had expected. It was then that my mother proved her courage and determination to get the best for me. She refused to accept that her daughter would be given anything less than normal schooling. It was a long, heart-breaking battle which she won in the end. During these early years my mother had another battle, this time to get me slip-on shoes as all children's shoes had laces at that time which was no use to me. On contacting the Social Services, a man was sent to measure my feet. Having done this he told my mother that a pair would be made for me, but they would cost œ9 9s remember this was 194C He went on calmly to explain that if 1 had had a "wee" toe off we would have been given them free, but because there was nothing wrong with my feet, Mum would have to pay for them. I won't tell you what her answer was. Needless to say she could not afford them, so she started hunting. After a great deal of bother, she was put in touch with a lady and 1 mean a lady - Miss I.S.Dickie of the Invalid and Cripple Children's Association. Without her help we never would have got those shoes. 6 I remember my first day at school. Like a number of other children, I was excited at the thought of becoming a schoolgirl. On the other hand, there were those children who cried their eyes out at the thought of leaving their Mums. One boy in particular stands out in my mind. He was howling and did everything to prevent his mother from taking off his school bag - no way was he going to school. However, all this carry on helped to take my mind off the fact that I too was a bit anxious at the thought of what this thing called school was all about. It proved to be exactly as it should be, thanks to my first teacher, Mrs Blair. When Mr Stark, the Headmaster, spoke to her about having me in her class she had certain misgivings which immediately disappeared when she entered the classroom on that first day and saw me chattering with all the other children - totally accepted. Mum had made it quite clear that I was to be treated exactly like the other children, there was to be no favouritism. This was something about which she felt very strongly. In stating this I think she made Mrs Blair's task much easier. I still remember the paint book she gave me to work on. To bring up the colours all you did was dip a brush into a little water and cover the whole page, it was pure magic. The colours were gorgeous; in fact that book was my introduction to Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The school I attended, Ancrum Road, was right at the top of Gibb's Lane where I lived, and since there were no main roads to cross in no time at all I was demanding to be allowed to go by myself. No doubt my mother was grateful though apprehensive. She also realised that it was my first firm stand on the way to independence. Sometimes, however, this turned out to be not such a good idea. En route to Ancrum Road I had to pass another school. There were a number of children there who caused me quite a bit of trouble. My mother, who made all my i 7 clothes, made me capes with stud fastenings down the front, the purpose of this was that I would flick the cape open with my toes. Those children soon found this out and many a time they would pull my cape off and either throw it on the ground or run off with it. To see my cape lying on the ground, especially if it was wet, distressed me beyond words as I was a particularly clean child, thanks to the training of my parents. Needless to say the ribbons on my hair were also a target, they disappeared, often never to be found. My father and mother stood this for some time, to see if I could stand on my own two feet even at an early age, but it got beyond a joke and my Dad went to the Headmistress. She was an exceedingly fine person and saw to it personally that these incidents never occurred again. Another step forward was the fact that I had no difficulty in keeping up with my classmates. What a relief that must have been to my mother in particular, who had fought so hard to get me into an ordinary school. Mrs Blair played another part in my life. She wrote to her father-in-law, Dr Blair, who was a missionary in South Africa, telling him about me. This resulted in my receiving boxes of bars of chocolate every birthday from the age of five from two ladies in his mission. Those ladies became valued friends to me, a friendship which lasted until they both died in 1977. Neither my mother nor father were demonstrative people in the way of hugging or kissing me, but I'll always remember the day I went into hospital to have my tonsils out. It was the first time I had been away from home and my Dad just couldn't tear himself away. He kept leaving and every few seconds his head would appear round the ward door. I went into hospital in the morning so it was about lunchtime when Mum and Dad were leaving. As they turned to go, a nurse asked Mum if it.would be advisable to put screens round my bed while I ate. My mother bristled and all she said was, "On no account". When the meal came it was fish and chips, the fish had been battered so hard that even a bulldozer would have had great difficulty getting through it. The result was that when I stuck my fork into it, the fish ended up at the far end of the bed! My Dad was so good at thinking up things to make life easier 8 i 1 for me. The door handles at home were too high for me to reach although the doors themselves were fitted with ball ratchets which made it all right going into a room, as 1 simply pushed the door open. However, it was difficult coming out, so Dad just moved the handles down to my level so that 1 could grip them with my toes and pull. He always had a terrible fear that 1 would be shut in a room and not be able to get out in an emergency. For my part, 1 simply hated bothering Mum and Dad every time 1 wanted to get out of a room - my independent nature once again. My mother's heart must have turned over one day when we were out shopping. We stopped to look in a window and 1 saw my reflection very clearly. Suddenly, out of the blue, 1 looked up at her and said,---Mum,why do 1 not have arms?" Without hesitation, back came the reply,---That'sthe way God wanted you to be." 1 don't recall asking that question again or ever thinking about it. 1 know that my mother's faith in God brought her through all she was to face in the future, and 1 believe this has played a great part in my life also. Often Mum and Dad took me to Lochee Park. One of my favourite passtimes was to play on the swings and 1 would say 1 was pretty good and could get myself up to quite a height. As 1 had no problems regarding balance, my method ot doing this was to dig my toes into the ground each time 1 swung back, so building myself up to satisfy my ego. One occasion 1 remember in particular. Mum had made me a new outfit, 1 can see it now in my mind's eye. It was a red dress with white spots and a cape and panties to match. As usual 1 had to play on the swings, but Mum forgot that this outfit was silk and therefore very slippery. Up and up 1 soared, more ways than one. It wasn't long before 1 was soaring through the air without the aid of a push, when Crash! Down 1 came, knocking myself out on the concrete below. When 1 came round a few minutes later Mum was holding me in her arms looking down anxiously at the blood oozing from a large cut in my head. Needless to say there were no more silk outfits! 1 mentioned earlier that my favourite place to play was Pitfour Street. The children there (the Pitfour Street Gang) accepted me without question, no holds barred. Although Arm Adam was my best pal, 1 realise now that all the other kids played a great part in 9 i helping me to grow up in a perfectly ordinary environment, which in turn helped me to accept myself. There was a field directly opposite Pitfour Street where we spent many happy hours playing 'houses'. We had flat stones for plates and docken leaves for food, blades of grass were knives and forks. 1 wonder if you played the same games as me? There was 'kick the can', 'walk the plank' or 'join the crew', 'what's the time Mr Wolf,' etc. 1 think children nowadays miss a great deal, they don't make their own fun the way we did. When we played 'jumps' (that was a girl or a boy turning each end of the rope while someone jumped) 1 would sit on the window sill so that 1 could take my turn on the end just like anyone else, and if 1 wasn't doing it properly for one reason or another I'd be told, "Marilyn Gillies, if you dinna ca' (turn) that rope properly yer aff the gem." That's what 1 like - total acceptance! Hallowe'en was always a favourite time in "Pitfourie" as it was affectionately known. I would dress up at Auntie Dorothy's with Arm and Wilma, then we'd meet the other kids and off we'd go. Nearly all the neighbours invited us in to do our 'turn' and as Mum had sent me to elocution classes I would recite a poem. All the money collected went into the kitty for Guy Fawkes night. We always had a fabulous time, our bonfire was huge as we gathered 'salvage' for weeks before November 5. Once it was alight we would throw potatoes in to roast - those were the best potatoes 1 have ever tasted! In the winter nothing would keep me off a sledge. 1 would double-up with someone and away we'd go, that is until the day we went off course and had an argument with the pavement. My right leg was in rather a mess as it was caught between the sledge and the kerb, but you can't keep a good soldier down and when the next fall of snow came 1 was rarin' to go. Mum would have had a fit if she'd seen me haring down Roseberry Street after that accident, but what the eye doesn't see ... It was 3rd January, two weeks after my seventh birthday. There was usually a football match then and my Dad was football mad. The weather was very cold and Mum didn't want him to go, 10 however, off he went with my grandfather. I suppose the match must have been on about an hour when Dad collapsed. In those days nothing could be done for his type of heart condition so instead of the ambulancemen taking him to hospital they brought him home. He was too ill to be carried up the three flights of stairs to our house, so until his condition stabilised, he was taken in to the lady in the ground floor flat. About two hours later he was laid in his Own bed - he died about seven o'clock that evening having regained consciousness just long enough to ask the final score of the match! I didn't know then that my father was dead. I was sent to stay with my Aunt Nettle and Uncle Ben, Mum's sister and brother- in-law. I seem to remember my mother coming in and out and she was always crying. It must have been about four days after Dad's death when I was sitting on the floor in their house one night playing with my dolls and Uncle Ben got down on the floor beside me. "Marilyn," he said, "I've got something to tell you and you must be very brave. Your Daddy has gone to Heaven to be with God and His Angels. " I remember it as though it were yesterday. "Won't I see him anymore Uncle Ben?" I asked. "No sweetheart," he went on, "Daddy was very tired and God took him to rest beside Him." I sat with my dolly held close to me for some time, then I cried for a long time. Even at the age of seven my father and I had a very special relationship. All his spare time was devoted to me. I'm told he was always taking me to visit someone or other to show me off and recently I heard that my Dad said the seven happiest years of his life were those he spent with me. You can imagine how that made me feel. I can't really remember how much I missed him in those early days. It was much later I found myself saying, "I wish Dad kvas here." My friends bear me out on this. Those who have also lost their Dads at an early age felt, like me, that as the years went by they missed them more. The older I got, the deeper became my faith in God and I used to find myself lying in bed at night and asking Him if He couldn't send Dad back just for a day so that I could talk to him, t il especially if I was troubled. One thing I do believe and that is that he has been watching my progress over the years and I hope he's as proud of me now as he was when I was six years old. It wasn't until I was much older that I realised what a great influence my father had on my life. I couldn't have been born into a better home. Mum was quite an unassuming sort of person, whilst Dad was more outgoing, totally different - every- one loved him. To this day, I've never heard anyone say a bad word about him. He loved to go fishing with his great pal Arthur Connelly, who had his own butcher's shop in Lochee High Street. I can see how the two were such good friends, they teased the life out of people. I love hearing about their fishing expeditions from Arthur, they tell me a lot about a part of Dad that I was too young to appreciate. Arthur also helped Dad a lot when I was born. In fact he helped me too not so long ago. When I decided to write this book, naturally I had to do quite a lot of research. I began by finding out wh~0 was present at my birth and was put in touch with the sister, now retired. When I explained who I was she said over the phone, "Of course you realise your mother didn't want you?" (I wonder if she was the one who severely repremanded that young nurse who made that blunder with my father). Where was the woman's tact? I don't think she noticed that I didn't reply, she obviously didn't think she'd said anything out of place, as she went on to tell me how much my Dad had adored me and that he spent all his spare time with me. As I said, this is when Arthur helped me very much. I went to see him and told him what the woman had said. "I certainly wouldn't have put it that way at all Marilyn," he said. "She just couldn't bring herself to look at you, which to me is an entirely different thing." But whatever happened during the first few weeks of my life, the words of that sister were the first inkling I had that my mother had problems accepting me. Never in my life have I felt rejected. The on1v sad time I remember in my childhood was the death of my father. My poor mother was left with a business to run and me to rear. It was all too much for her and at this point Uncle George, Dad's 12 brother, suggested he help her to run the business. She learned to drive and would go out into the country delivering paper and paint. This arrangement lasted for some time, but eventually Uncle George took over the whole business. One of my father's dearest wishes was that I be taken to Roehampton hospital outside London. He had heard of their wonderful success with artificial limbs. Knowing this my mother decided the following year (1951) that she would take me there. Uncle George came with us. On studying me and seeing my ability to use my feet, the specialist decided that at this early stage in my life. artificial limbs would be of no benefit to me and suggested that my mother bring me back when I was about fourteen when my body would be more mature. So it was back to Dundee and school. Life went on as usual until the day I had an accident, the result of which was to cause my Mum and me a great deal of sorrow over the next eighteen months and for a time it knocked the heart out of me. However, later in life, I was to look back on the couple of years that followed as an experience which gave me greater understanding. The accident happened one lovely summer's day when we were having gym in the playground, part of which had been occupied by air raid shelters. These had been removed, but through carelessness, stumps of concrete had been left sticking out of the ground. The teacher had told all of us to run to the wall and in my eagerness to keep up with the others, I ran blindly on, not noticing these stumps. I tripped over one, hitting my head first off the wall then off the ground. Can you imagine what my face looked like? It was in a terrible mess, there was gravel embedded under my skin and I was pouring blood. I was rushed in to see the headmistress who panicked and wrapped my head in bandages, then I was taken home. Mum nearly died when she opened the door. All that night she rocked me on her knee, putting hot and cold compresses on my head to keep the swelling down. To make matters worse, my Uncle Jim, Mum's brother, was putting a new fireplace in the back bedroom and each time his hammer hit the stone my head just throbbed. Uncle Jim was always my favourite Uncle, but not that night! 13 handicapped children to attend ordinary schools. Looking back, 1 think 1 felt that 1 did not belong at Trefoil; in my young mind they were handicapped but 1 was not. Understandably, the first few months were the worst. Mum didn't want me to go away to school and probably conveyed this to me. It took me several months to settle and 1 know 1 sulked a great deal. The other children would try to make me feel welcome, but 1 didn't want to belong. 1 resented being told off and that sort of thing. 1 simply wanted to go home to my Mum and friends. However, after three or four months 1 came out of my shell and began to play with my classmates. When 1 first went to Trefoil it was at Polkernet in Whitburn. It was an older building with a wide stairway which was to be to my advantage. 1 was never much good at swallowing pills and each day after breakfast we were given a spoonful of emulsion with a pill in it. Much as I hated the emulsion, 1 managed to get it down but that pill was a different story. 1 put it to one side of my mouth and at first wondered what to do with it. However, as 1 climbed the stairs 1 noticed there was a very dark corner on the first landing, so, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching 1 dropped the pill and kicked it into the corner. Although I thought 1 was being quite clever, 1 realise now that 1 wasn't. 1 should have used more than one corner because it wasn't long before there was quite a wee pile which was soon discovered by Miss Varcoe, who was quite puzzled as to who was not swallowing those vitamin pills. So of course she lay in waiting and next morning she caught the culprit "red footed- in the shape of Marilyn Gillies - 1 must admit 1 had the grace to blush. Needless to say, after that they made sure 1 swallowed every single pill. 1 have not explained that Trefoil School was run by Guiders of the Girl Guide's Association, and the Chief Guider was Miss Hamilton-Bruce who died only a couple of years ago and her second in command was Miss Varcoe whom 1 had reason to avoid for a few weeks after the pill incident. Shortly after my arrival at the school we moved to a modem building in beautiful grounds with a sandpit at the back. Mrs Ross, who was my teacher, lived in the cottage at the bottom of By morning the pain had gone, but when Mum heard my dulcet tones of "Onward Christian Soldiers" ringing through the house. she came running to my room, thinking the fall had damaged my brain. As she put her head round the door she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw my face. -Whatever you do darlin', don't look in the mirror," she said. Against her wishes 1 sneaked a look - 1 wish 1 hadn't! 1 had a lump on my head the size of an egg and my face was black and blue right down to my chin, even my eyelids were a glorious blue. That was the day which put me off eyeshadow for the rest of my life! The authorities were very alarmed over the incident, which resulted in my mother and me being asked to attend an interview with the school Medical Officer, who made it perfectly clear that she thought 1 ought to have been sent to a special school from the very beginning. This was naturally the attitude of the authorities, because the accident should never have been allowed to happen; it could have been any child. The Medical Officer was adamant that 1 now go to a special school, much against my mother's wishes. 1 was sent to Trefoil School in Edinburgh. It was a despairing time for my Mum, as she must have thought all her efforts had been in vain. As far as 1 was concerned, it was a very disturbed little girl who went to Edinburgh. After all 1 had never seen that doctor in my life before that interview and young as 1 was, 1 could see that their decision to send me to Trefoil School had upset my mother terribly. 1 think this experience was one of the most traumatic events of my life and it has taught me that when dealing with handicapped children, authorities should think very, very, carefully before separating such children from their parents, friends and sur- roundings with which they are familiar. Of course 1 realise now that it is impossible for some severely 1 4 15 the drive. She came from Inverness and was a very good teacher. Having got more into the spirit of things by this time, after school we had some good fun. My special pal was Tom Ogilvie. Tom was three years older than me, but we had a lot in common. He had an artificial leg and no fingers on his right hand -and like me, had a rebellious nature! It wasn't long before the two of us had formed a Secret Society. We swore in about six members including Ellen McCusker (later to become Tom's wife). Having formed this Society we had to find a place to hold our meetings and of course give ourselves a name. First things first, we went exploring one Saturday afternoon and found a big bush which was hollow, if you crawled under it. Once inside, it was possible to stand up - fantastic - of course we were all sworn to secrecy, this was now the Society's headquarters! The first item on the agenda was a name, what would we call ourselves. We ended up being called The Philadelphians - don't ask me how this name came about because I simply cannot remember. Then we decided we should have some sort of badge. In order to make this possible we had to seek the help of a member of staff, who was sworn to secrecy of course! We chose Miss Francis who came from New Zealand. She made the badges out of wood, with a poker-work camp-fire on the front and the letters P. H. on either side. She made a hole in the top right hand corner and threaded through a piece of leather on a safety pin so that we could display them on our cardigans. Naturally all the other kids were dying to know what P. H. stood for, but none of us said a word - it meant immediate expulsion if any secrets were divulged - perish the thought! This is the first time I have ever spoken about The Philadelphians all those years! Looking back I think Tom and I must have been the ring leaders, possibly because quite a number of the others had difficulty in walking. I remember we weren't allowed past a certain tree in the drive, if you went beyond this tree you were out of bounds. However, it was a case of us going "where angels fear to tread." One day Tom and I and one or two others ventured to the end of the drive and quite by accident an ice- cream van was coming along. When the driver saw us he stopped and gave us each a cone. Of course we had to hot foot it back to 16 our hollow bush before anyone saw us. It wasn't long before this became a routine and we never paid for one cone! However, all good things come to an end. Someone told Miss Hamilton- Bruce, head of the school, and we were severely reprimanded and sent to bed without any supper and of course the ice-creams stopped. Being one of the juniors, I went to bed at six-thirty. One night I woke needing to go to the toilet. I could hear the older girls in the room next door, and knew they would have something to say if they heard me on the landing. So I went into my locker and got out my doll's little bath thinking this would be adequate - yes you I ve guessed it - the bath overflowed. With horror I watched what to me was nothing less than a flood stream across the floor. What on earth was I going to do? I woke the other girls and told them what had happened - well of course it wasn't their disaster and they were doubled up with laughter. I must admit I had to see the funny side of it, but it's not easy to laugh quietly which you have to. Of course if Miss Cross had heard us, she was the Guider in charge of our room, she would have gone mad, understandably. Well out came the Beanos, Dandys, School Friends and Girl's Crystal comics and the mopping up operation began. It took quite some time as I was completely on my own, none of my room mates could get out of bed unaided. Thankfully our bedroom window was always left open at the bottom so out went all the sodden pieces of paper - fortunately it rained that night! Unfortunately Mum could only afford to visit me once a fortnight. Usually Uncle George came with her; even during the winter they never let me down. I remember once, conditions were so bad they got lost and Uncle George had to climb up a signpost and clean off the snow to see where they were. Between visits Mum wrote faithfully twice a week and enclosed a Beano or a Dandy. How I enjoyed all the news! Although I had quite settled down at school I would still have preferred to be at home. I had made a particular friend of one of my room mates, her name was Teresa Keicher (we're friends to this day) and when we both knew our Mums were coming we would make our way down the drive and await their arrival with eager anticipation. Sometimes Mum would bring Ann with her and she would give 17 me all the news of Pitfour Street. Strangely enough, I never cried when Mum left, I simply went quiet. I was the type of child who bottled things up - but there was many a tear shed in the privacy of my bed that no-one ever knew about. Apparently a great deal of discussion went on between Mum and Uncle George during the following year. Neither of them had wanted me to go away in the first place. Now, having given it a fair trial they agreed it was not for me - a wonderful place for children who had to go to a special school, but I could manage perfectly well at an ordinary school, something which had already been proved. Eighteen months later during the summer holidays Mum came through to my bedroom one morning, "I have something to tell you," she said. I looked at her expectantly. "You're not going back to Trefoil. " I didn't say anything for a moment then I leapt out of bed and did a jig round the room shouting, "I'm home for good, I'm home for good - Yippee! - Mum told the authorities she was not sending me back no matter what they said. She had done as they wished and as far as she was concerned my place was in an ordinary school. Of course being the woman she was she won and reluctantly the Medical Officer said, "Well, take her up to Ancrum Road and see if Mr Stark will have her back." I'm delighted to say Mr Stark, the Headmaster, was only too pleased to take me back. So once again I entered the gates of Ancrum Road school. As the class I had left was about to sit the eleven plus exam Mr Stark thought it unfair to place me in at the deep end so they put me back six months to give me a chance. Fortunately with my eagerness to learn I was soon up to the standards of my classmates again. Of course what mattered to me most of all was the fact that I was back in the Pitfour Street Gang and I am delighted to say they were as pleased to see me as I was to see them. Ann and I ha~ exchanged letters while I was away and as I said Mum brought her to see me sometimes, but it wasn't the same as being part of the happy band - and so the adventurous life began again although it was saddened by the news that Uncle Ben had died when I was away. 18 j How we all looked forward to Tuesday evenings. Auntie Net would have us in for tea - all eight of us, boys and girls alike. Occasionally she would make a wee party of it and we would play games such as 'postie's knock', 'lay the cushion doon' and 'I sent a letter to my love'. For someone who had no children herself, she did us proud. One of those evenings after our meal, which usually included chips (I loved chips, Auntie Nettie used to call me "Chipple Marilyn") it was piece n' jam time. Wee Peter, as he was affectionately known, insisted on spreading my piece. Having done so he passed it to me. 'Why have you left one corner unspread Peter?" said Auntie Nettie. "I've left a space for Marilyn's big toe," replied Peter with a tut as if to say, "Are you stupid?" During my childhood, Mum must have had many fears for me, which she was forced to suppress. By this time, my Gran had come to live in what we called the backland in Pitfour Street. One day Mum was looking out of Gran's living room window, and there was 1, "Daredevil Gillies", jumping from air raid shelter to air raid shelter with a gap of about four feet between each one. it simply didn't occur to me that having no arms made a game like this far more dangerous for me than for the rest of the children. Poor Mum, how she must have been dying to run out and stop me. I seem to recall her shout of "Marilyn, your tea's ready"' just as I was about to make another leap. Now I realise why my tea was always ready before Ann's and Wilma's - she simply couldn't stand it any longer. One Saturday I was going to see Ann and was almost there, when I spotted a sixpence on the ground. A problem. How was I going to pick it up9 In those days, at eleven years of age, sixpence was a small fortune and I certainly wasn't going to leave it for someone else to pick up - no fear. I thought for a moment - I was never one to be beaten. I wore ankle socks then and had no way of getting them off without sitting down and even I would have had difficulty picking up a sixpence with socks on. Then I had a brainwave, it was Autumn and there were leaves lying all around, so I covered the sixpence with a leaf then ran like mad to Auntie Dorothy's in case someone would find it before I got 19 ~_ .1 i back. When I told her what I had done, she roared with laughter. "There's nae flies on you, Marilyn," she said. Ann and I were threepence each better off! It was about this time that I sat my qualifying exam and went to Logie Junior Secondary School where we hit yet another difficult patch - would they ever stop? One Sunday morning when 1 was approaching my eleventh birthday (how 1 remember it was Sunday I simply don't know) 1 went, as usual, to the loo - it was always my first port of call. Imagine my horror when pulling down my pyjama trousers 1 found a large dark stain. Naturally 1 went running in to Mum. "Look,- 1 said frantically, "what on earth is it?" "Oh my goodness, and you're so young!" was her reply. 1 thought the end had come! As I'm taking you back about thirty years, and without meaning my mother any disrespect, you could probably call her a bit Victorian in her ideas. To me, a period was a full stop, a dot which came at the end of a sentence. My mother had never entered into a discussion on the facts of life. 1 then got what 1 now know to be quite a popular explanation. ---Thisis called your period," she said, "it will come every month, you'll know more when you're older." And that was it! Granted, talking about such things to an eleven year old might have been difficult, especially for Mum who is an extremely shy person. 1 learned bits and pieces from my friends as the years went by. Believe me, after that Sunday morning my life became more difficult for obvious reasons. How I've wished many times since that 1 had been born a boy!! Although 1 had passed for the top class which would have included shorthand and typing, the powers that be decided that 1 could never do either of those things and so 1 was put into a domestic science class. It was absolutely unsuitable and I was 20 very unhappy. Iwas like afish outof water-nopun meant-alla result of misguided help. I was not allowed to do anything in the way of cooking in case I got burned, it was all done for me which went against my independent nature. Again my courageous Mum guilded her armour and set out to do battle on my behalf. Mr Peden, the Headmaster, was most helpful. My mother explained to him that all she wanted was for me to be given the opportunity to try shorthand and typing. After all I was doing all the other lessons along with my classmates SO Why not shorthand and typing? Mr Peden agreed that I should be given the opportunity of seeing what I could do, and I was duly moved from Class 1174 to 1F1A. This set the pattern for the future. Typing lessons at that time did not begin until second year. In the meantime, I began learning shorthand which I loved. I think this was because my teacher then was Peter Burns; he made learning a pleasure. It was never the same after he left. Then came second year and Miss Robertson, who was to play a very important part in my commercial education. A suitable typewriter had to be found. The school typewriters were supplied by Headrick Livingstone & Co., with whom Miss Robertson had had many dealings over the years. She rang them and spoke to a Mr Gavin, who told me many years later that he still remembered the incident very well. "In fact when Miss Robertson said she had a pupil who typed with her feet, I simply couldn't believe my ears. " I required a few adaptations to a typewriter such as a longer carriage return lever and an easier margin release which posed quite a problem for the company. Miss Robertson then went on to say that if they could help me out they ought to know the education authorities were not willing to pay for any adaptations. "This girl is strictly on her own Mr Gavin," she said, "and we would appreciate very much any help you can give us." Headrick Livingstone gave us an M.44 typewriter which I used for the next four years. I often wonder what happened to it. I realise now how important that typewriter was. It prepared me for the job which I was to hold after I left school. Once again I was treated perfectly normally, which meant that 21 my typewriter keys were covered just like all the other girls. The only difficulty 1 had was not having the use of all my toes; my two little toes were not strong enough to make any impression on the keyboard. However, 1 adopted my own method. For example, whilst the other girls used their thumbs for the space bar only, 1 used the equivalent - my big toes - as 'typing fingers'along with my 'index' toes which meant that I had to cover the whole keyboard with four toes as opposed to ten fingers. But once 1 got the hang of it, it wasn't long before 1 had a fair speed. So another hurdle had been crossed; 1 proved that not only could 1 do both commercial subjects, but 1 didn't fall behind the rest of the class, which was very important. As was the case in my Primary School, my relationship with my classmates was very normal. However, one winter, when I had been at Logie about a year, it was snowing very hard, and in order to get to our playground, we had to enter through the gates of the boys' playground. Well, you can imagine what happened, the girls were perfect targets for snowballs. About eight boys would stand in a row eagerly awaiting each unsuspecting victim. As you will probably realise, there was the usual leader of this motley crew. He was a big lad with red hair and each time 1 entered the playground he would step out in front of his battalion rather like a Sergeant Major. "Halt the onslaught lads!" was the command, then he would indicate with a flourish of his arms that 1 was free to pass. Thanks chum! Needless to say all my friends nearly suffocated me in order to get by without being bombarded with snowballs. As 1 mentioned earlier my Gran had come to live in Pitfour Street, and 1 used to go there from school at 4 o'clock, as Mum had to work. One night 1 was on my way down the back stairs which had no hand rail, and 1, cocky as usual, decided to jump off the side rather than walk down like any sensible person. However my feet decided otherwise and for some reason they became entangled - down 1 went. I came to in Gran's bed, a man who lived above her had carried me in. 1 remember being really frightened as 1 could not move my shoulder but Mum was soon contacted and we took a taxi to the Royal Infirmary's casualty department to be x-rayed after which we were told my 22 collar-bone was broken. Since it was impossible to put it in plaster it had to be left to heal itself. I can remember sitting in buses scared to death in case anvone would come against that shoulder; it was absolute agony. After what seemed like years it did heal, but even to this day I can't lie on my right side in bed. Perhaps this made me rather unsteady on stairs, I don't know, but not being content with a broken collar-bone, a few weeks later I fell down another flight of stairs and broke my nose. You've heard of a Roman nose, well mine roams all over my face! No wonder I prefer lifts. Ann, Wilma and I occupied our Saturday afternoons in the winter by going to Scottish country dancing classes. They were held in my church hall, St Luke's, Lochee and they were run by George Reid ably assisted by Barbara Brown. Not content with Saturday afternoons, we then joined Dave Peter's class in Balgay church hall on Wednesday evenings. Once again came complete acceptance. Realising I had no hand to hold, all the girls simply followed Ann and Wilma's example and held the edge of my cape. At the end of each session, we had a display and we were always most anxious that our Mums got front seats, particularly the year when the three of us were chosen to be in the exhibition team. How proud I was. As I got older, Mum used to take me to the grown-ups' classes as she too was a keen country dancer. As my activities were increasing I used trams more and each time the problem of paying occurred - the conductors always had to go into my pocket for the money. They didn't seem to mind this, but it wasn't a very suitable arrangement. As a matter of fact my recollection of all the tram men is that they were kindness itself. One man in particular stands out in my mind, I think he reminded me of the father I missed so much. One Saturday afternoon he stopped his tram right in the middle of Lochee High Street and as the rain was simply pouring down you can imagine how grateful I was not having to wait for the next one. However, getting back to the problem of paying my fare, Mum thought she would go to the Transport Department to ask if they could supply me with some sort of pass. So another wrangle began. 23 "Well, you see it's a bit difficult Mrs Gillies," said the man. "Special passes are usually issued to people who have difficulty in walking, and it's only arms your daughter doesn't have." My mother was speechless. When she regained her composure it occurred to her that this man thought we wanted a 'free pass' so she said, "I'm quite willing to pay for it you know." That did it. She had mentioned the magic word - money. "Well in that case Mrs Gillies, we'll see what can be done." Seven months later after a great deal of pressure from my mother, a pass was made for me in the form of a badge with my name on it, which was pinned to my cape. A notice was displayed in the transport department so that all conductors would know about it. A bill was sent in twice a year. This badge remained with me until I was twenty six; the same badge with the pin renewed over and over again. I was so inspired by my success in Country Dancing, I was eager to try something else. One day, as usual, I was in Ann's house when her Auntie Nellie came for tea. During the course of conversation she asked Auntie Dorothy if she had thought of sending Ann for swimming lessons. I thought, now here is some- thing new and very worthwhile. Nothing daunted I said, "Mrs Brown, do you think I could learn to swim?" "I don't see why not Marilyn, you could swim on your back," she said. I was so excited I could hardly wait to tell Mum. It was the first time I had ever seen her a bit apprehensive about anything I wanted to tackle, except the incident of the air raid shelter of course. Later I understood why, although at the time I did not connect it. We had all been down at the beach one summer a few years before and my mother had nearly drowned. My cousin Jimmy actually saved her life and from then on she had a terrible fear of water. Nevertheless she did not stand in my way. On went that thinking cap to see what she could make for me. Although I could wear an ordinary swimsuit with straps, I was always very sensitive to people's reactions when they saw my shoulders without anns, therefore I preferred to keep them covered. She made a short towelling jacket, without sleeves, with a zip fastener 24 up the front and a draw string round the waist. I was all set! Off I went with my towel and costume, not forgetting my'shivery bite' (crisps or a sandwich) for after my lesson. By the time I got to Auntie Dorothy's I was very excited by the thought of this new challenge. I took to swimming like a duck to water and it wasn't long before I had another adopted Aunt. Ann's Aunt Nellie was soon Aunt Nellie to me too. What patience she had. I began with a bber ring round my waist with Auntie Nellie never failing to rul be beside me. Gradually she would reduce the amount of air in the ring until the great day came when I swam without it. Through time I improved to the extent that once I was able to swim ten lengths of the baths. The next milestone in my life was the pre-arranged visit to Roehampton at the age of fourteen to see if I was ready to be fitted with artificial arms. We had a very nice reception from the specialist. He obviously realised how necessary it was for this young lady before him to be a typical teenager, wearing dresses with sleeves and particularly a school blazer with the all important badge on the pocket. Having only shoulders, they needed time to consider the best method of fitting me with these arms. We were recalled a second time and that's when the real business began. Part of the pre- paration meant that I was plastered, in the respectable sense of course! The cast of my shoulders was made by a man called Mr Heilman who brought humour into what was otherwise a tedious, long drawn out affair. He was my fitter. As he was winding the bandages round my shoulders he would say, "Round you once, round a pole twice." It never failed to make me laugh. A fine man, dedicated to his work, he told me that some nights he would lie awake thinking of the best methods to make the wearing of artificial limbs more comfortable for his patients. "Some of my best ideas come to me at night," he said. We had to remain in London for two months as the next Stage was the training period. My Mum sat hour after hour in the hospital lounge either knitting or reading a book. Can I ever be grateful enough to her? Training was laborious and frustrating, but once again my Instructor - who himself had an artificial arm - was a dedicated man. His name was Mr Rawlings, a man with 25 great patience and understanding. When I think of these men it is alwavs with great affection. The object was that I learn to eat, write and type with different appliances fitted into my arms. You can imaoine the difficulties of trying to eat with an artificial limb which was completely foreign to me. To get a spoon from the plate to my mouth, to make the movements slow and flowing, trying to get mince and potatoes into my mouth instead of my eyes or down my neck as often happened in the beginning took time and patience. I even christened Mr Rawlings with gravy once or twice! Between us we mastered it. Another thing he was anxious for me to achieve was writing and typing with a view to earning my living. Once I had perfected the art of writing, Mum was amazed at the great similarity between my 'hand' writing and that of my feet. The fitting was a leather mould which started above my bust and went over my shoulders and down the back and buckled across my chest. This was then attached to a corset round my waist with straps down my back, rather difficult to describe, but all arm movements were controlled by my shoulders. There was a locking mechanism in the elbows which was operated by pulling the tabs protruding through my clothes, which meant Mum having to make buttonholes in just the right place in every blouse and cardigan I had. This enabled me to pull these tabs with my teeth, so locking the arms in the required position. For instance, the bent arm enabled me to carry that prestige thing called a handbag, so important to all teenage girls in those days. Of course as I grew, the arms had to be renewed, but as time went on we were able to go to Belvidere Hospital in Glasgow, and my fitter there was a Mr Kennedy, another great chap. I remember the first time Mum and I travelled to Belvidere. Having arrived in Glasgow we were waiting for the bus to take us to the hospital, and as it drew up at the bus stop I suddenly burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" said Mum. "Look where this bus is going- Auchenshuggle". Every time I stood at that bus stop the name always had the same fascination for me. It was almost Christmas when we got home from Roehampton. I must confess I was a bit apprehensive as to how my friends 26 would take to the new me. It didn't take them long to realise that 1 was still the same person underneath. My first port of call was, of course, Pitfour Street. Auntie Nettie worked so 1 knew there would be a welcome for me next door at Auntie Dorothy's. She was so surprised when she saw me standing there complete with handbag over my arm, and a coat instead of a cape. How well 1 remember that coat, it was camel. ~ll, m just going to see my Mum, would you like to come?" she said. Arm and Wilma were at school, so 1 had this super feeling of playing truant, and it was also a marvellous opportunity to show off my new arms. 1 was tickled pink now that 1 could link my arm through hers. 1 said "Look Auntie Dorothy, 1 can link in with you now." This I think, gave me the feeling of being close to people. After New Year 1 went back to school to get down to the serious business of using those arms for writing and typing. As 1 mentioned earlier, 1 only have shoulders, which meant that 1 had to swing my whole body round to operate each arm indepen- dently for typing. If 1 had had even small parts of arms it would have made things easier. However, 1 persevered for some time with both writing and typing, but 1 began to fall behind, so Mum and 1 sat down one evening and discussed it - as we did with all our problems - and we came to the decision, and a wise one as it so happened, that 1 revert back to using my feet for school work and practice with my arms in the evening. It wasn't long before ~~1we realised that the arms would never replace my feet, 1 was even finding it difficult to work with both simultaneously. But teenage years can be difficult, so cosmetically they did a great deal to boost my ego. However, there was one day when they did nothing whatever to boost my ego, quite the reverse in fact. 1 had been in town, and as 1 boarded the bus to come home 1 heard an ominous click. There was a little lever on the side of my arm which released the hand in order to put in the appliances for writing, typing etc. and 1 realised that, on boarding the bus, my arm had come against one of the seats, accidentally pressing this lever to loosen the hand. 1 walked gingerly to a seat where 1 tried desperately to reconnect it by pressing my hand against the seat, but discovered 27 this was no easy task as the sleeve of my coat had become caught in the mechanism, so preventing it from connecting. My brain was in a complete turmoil. My only hope was that the hand would stay in position until 1 got off the bus where 1 thought 1 may be able to put it against a wall and pull the coat sleeve out with my toes. 1 rose from my seat and walked cautiously up the aisle of the bus to stand at the exit. 1 chatted to the conductor trying so hard to be cool, calm and collected, when suddenly, to my horror there was an awful thud. 1 looked down and there was my hand lying on the platform. Well, my embarrassment was bad enough, but the poor conductor nearly fainted. His eyes almost left their sockets as he watched this 'hand' rolling towards the edge of the platform. Suddenly his foot shot out in order to prevent it leaving us altogether. He turned and looked at me - what could 1 say? 1 shrugged my shoulders as if to say "Goodness, where did that come from?" With great presence of mind he bent to pick it up then obviously wondered what he was supposed to do with it. As it was only one stop before the terminus 1 asked him if once we reached the terminus he would replace it for me provided 1 let him see what to do. Still looking a little shaken he said he would. 1 sat down to lift my arm up to show him where the connection was, and having got my coat sleeve out of the way, it was a simple matter to reconnect the hand. However, my troubles weren't ovef yet. As 1 mentioned earlier, these arms had a locking mechanism in the elbows. Well, as 1 had raised my arms my blouse had caught in this mechanism locking the arm in the outward and upward position. There was absolutely nothing 1 could do about this until 1 got home. Thanking the conductor for his assistance 1 began the ten minute walk home. I must have been the only person in Dundee walking along the road giving the Hitler sign. It's a wonder 1 was not arrested. Of course 1 can laugh at it now but at the time it was one of the most awful experiences of my young life. Here was me at fifteen years old thinking 1 looked like everyone else, although 1 soon realised that it was only my type of hand which fell off in buses. When 1 got into the house 1 was in tears. ---Whaton earth is the matter?" Mum asked anxiously. 28 1 1, ]~ "Oh Murn," 1 sobbed, "my hand fell off in the bus". She burst out laughing, which of course was exactly what 1 needed. It wasn't long before we were both laughing. There was actually one occasion when 1 was very pleased that niv hands were artificial. On my way home from town one afternoon, a lovely black and white type collie dog trotted across to me, tail wagging. Being a dog lover 1 stopped to talk to it. He had a sniff around me and 1 moved my arm in order to run my 'hand' across his back. Crunch - my hand was in his mouth. Not for long though. As soon as he realised that he had bitten off more than he could chew he loosened his grip immediately. About this time the Childrens' Newspaper was running a national handwriting competition, and my English teacher persuaded me to enter, using my feet. I was rather nervous at the thought of entering a national competition, but secretly as proud as punch to think my teacher found my writing good enough. Off went my entry, and the one thing I was most adamant about was that the judges were not to be told that it was written with my feet. About three weeks went by before the winners were announced in the Children's Newspaper. I just can't put into words what my feelings were when I saw my name among these winners. My prize was a replica of the Queen's Bible which is still one of my most treasured possessions. Excitement over, it was back to the grindstone. Normally you were at Logie for three years, but if you did well it was possible for you to stay on for an extra year to enable you to sit examin- ations outwith the school. Fortunately, I did stay on for that extra year, during which time I obtained the Royal Society of Arts Certificate - English, stages I & 2, Typing 35 w.p.m. and Shorthand 70 w.p.m. Please don't think I'm boasting. I am merely trying to point out that these certificates and the speeds in particular, were most important if I was going to earn my living. Prospective employers had the right to know what my capabilities were. In June 1957 we moved house. Mum had been trying to get another for years. Gibbs Lane was very nice but we had no bathroom, which meant Mum had to take me to the public baths 29 ~‹, -~ 1 to have a proper wash. This arrangement was fine while I was a child, but I was now sixteen and found it most embarrassing that Mum had to come with me. Finally she went to our family doctor to explain the situation, and he gave her a medical certificate which she took to the local housing authority. That was in 1956 and a year later we moved into a semi-detached house with our own front door and back garden in Lansdowne Place, it was perfect. I left school in December of the same year and was really excited at the thought of spreading my wings. I don't think I realised that life would be very different from now on. Little did I know how Mum had dreaded that day for the past sixteen years. While I was at school I was'safe'but what would happen to her daughter now? Having left school with no prospects of a job, I decided to attend evening classes in order that I might improve my short- hand and typing speeds. Once again Miss Robertson played her part, but unfortunately this time her efforts were in vain. Unknown to me (she knew how excited I would be if she told me) she was anxious that I should be at my best. She suggested to her superiors that prospective employers be invited to look in on our class to see what I could do. I remember one night in particular. Miss Robertson announced that there were to be Inspectors looking in on us that evening, but just to carry on as fiormal, they may ask a few questions but that would be all. Half an hour later they arrived moving slowly round the class. They asked me if I found typing quite easy, what my speed was etc. and then passed on. This happened once or twice during the next few weeks. It was some time later that I discovered these men were representatives of local firms in disguise, but not one of them was prepared to give me a chance. I didn't realise that their fidgeting was sheer discomfort. By the middle of February I was beginning to feel a bit 30 despondent, two months is a long time in the life of a sixteen year and all my friends were working. I was beginning to realise old, what my Mum had gone through during my childhood. In a way it was good to know we shared our difficulties now. Before, I was too young to understand what it meant to be the mother of a handicapped child. I have just used the word 'handicapped' but I have never thought of myself as such. Perhaps this is why I was having difficulty coping with this new situation of not being accepted. As far as I was concerned, things had gone very smoothly until now, but when it came to earning my living it seemed no one wanted to know, until one day I was shopping in town and I met my geography teacher from Logie, Miss Clark. "You're looking very down in the dumps, Marilyn," she re- marked. Out it all poured. "I can't get a job, Miss Clark, it seems that none of the local employers are willing to give me a chance to prove that I can type just as efficiently with my feet as other girls can with their hands." It was many years later while visiting Miss Clark at her home in Comrie, chatting about old times that she said, "Do you remember the day I met you in town just after you left school Marilyn?" I remembered the conversation, but had no idea it was a direct result of that which got me the job I was to hold down for the next seventeen years. She went on to tell me how furious she was to think that a young girl witin my capabilities should be faced with such a bleak future. "I stormed into G. L. Wilson's and knocked at the door of Garnet's office." Sir Garnet Wilson and Miss Clark were old friends, she had grown up with his sister. He was also an ex-Lord Provost of Dundee. She told him of our conversation ending up with, "Well Garnet, what are you going to do about it?". Well, Sir Garnet did do something about it. He was a member of the Rotary Club, and at their next meeting he told his colleagues my story and all that I wanted was a chance. Of course I don't know how many men were at that meeting, but one thing I do know is that only one man stood up and said, "I'll take Marilyn." He was Nelson T. Carne, Managing Director of 31 The National Cash Register Company Limited, an American company. It saddened me a little that even on Sir Garnet's recommendation, a British firm still wasn't willing to employ me. So it was, on Monday 3rd March 1958 1 set off for my interview which was at two o'clock. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Mr Edwards was personnel officer at that time. On arrival at reception I was shown into his office. He must have realised how nervous I was, as he put me at my ease immediately by saving that he understood how I felt. He asked all the usual questions, for example did I have any certificates in commercial subjects, how well had I done in English at school and so on. Then of course there was a typing test. Before the test another man came into the office. "This is Mr Urquhart, Marilyn," he said. "He is supervisor of Tool Planning & Design, the department in which you will be working should this interview prove successful." As he spoke these last words, I remember silently praying, 'Oh God, please let it be successful.' A typewriter was put on the floor, but before I could begin, Mr Edwards was called out for a few minutes. As the seconds ticked by I thought it would save a little time if I put the paper in the typewriter. Mr Urquhart, obviously wanting to be of assistance, offered to put the carbon paper between the two sheets of typing paper and place it in the typewriter ready for me to begin the test. Presently Mr Edwards returned and put an exercise in front of me - I was so anxious to do well. On completion of the test I removed the paper from the typewriter and slipped the carbon out from between the two sheets of paper. Imagine my horror when I discovered the carbon had been put in the wrong way round. As I handed over the test I'm ashamed to say I wanted to blurt out, "Mr Urquhart did that", but I controlled myself. As Mr Edwards read over my work he didn't seem to notice anything was wrong - or pretended not to! When he had finished reading the exercise he looked up and said, "Can you start on Monday?" Could I start on Monday? If he had asked me to start there and then I would have been only too delighted. Next came the medical. Mr Edwards' secretary took me along to the medical 32 department where 1 was introduced to Dr Rankine who gave me inv examination. Thankfully, all was well and at five o'clock, exactly three hours after 1 had entered the building, 1 left N.C.R. on cloud nine. When 1 got home Mum opened the door. "Where have you been?" her voice was anxious. It was only then that 1 realised 1 had been away over three hours. 1 didn't answer her at that moment, somehow 1 couldn't speak. 1 walked across the living room then it all tumbled out. "Mum, 1 got the job." I'll never forget the look on her face, slowly her eyes filled with tears (my mother never cried) and of course mine did too. She hugged me so tight, for a moment neither of us spoke, then she said, "God has been good to us, Marilyri. " A week later 1 set out at eight thirty to begin yet another phase of my life. Naturally, 1 was rather apprehensive. 1 was to be starting in the records section of the Tool Planning & Design Department. It was a typing pool consisting of about twelve girls and the man in charge was called Harry Truswell. 1 don't think 1 will ever forget that first day, everyone made me feel so at home. Management had even asked one or two of the draughtsmen to put their heads together and design a desk suitable for me. Well, they turned up trumps and the design went into the joinery shop and the finished article was there awaiting my arrival. Instead of a top it had a base on which my typewriter sat, and there was a drawer at either side. A great deal of thought must have gone into it; somehow when 1 sat down at it 1 felt as though 1 belonged. Naturally Mum waited anxiously for my arrival home for lunch. Now 1 don't think I've mentioned it before, but she had a real aversion to newspaper reporters. 1 was only in five minutes when someone knocked at the door. "I'll get it," 1 called. There were two men standing on the path, one had a camera slung over his shoulder. "Hello Miss Gillies, " said the other one, Q4 we're from the local newspaper. 1 believe you started work this morning and wondered if you would like to tell us how it feels to be a working girl." Before 1 could open my mouth to reply, Mum was behind me. 33 1 L…t--- "Don't answer him Marilyn," she said, then angrily to the press men, "Yes, you would be here when there's something good to report, but answer me this, where were you when my daughter was looking for a job? You didn't come asking for that story, did vou? Well, as vou didn't help her find work. you're certainly not going to have the satisfaction of a story now. Good afternoon gentlemen." The door closed with a resounding bang! At this time in my life I was not completely independent, and so before starting with N.C. R. it was agreed that should I wish to visit the loo I would go to the medical department and ask the nurse to help me. This was something I never had to do. On that first day I was introduced to all the girls, I was told I would be sitting beside Margaret Smith, who immediately took me under her wing. While she was showing me the ropes she said, "Now Marilyn, any time you want to pay a visit to the ladies you only have to ask. I have a twelve year old daughter of my own so don't ever feel embarrassed because I certainly won't." That was the beginning of a friendship which has been going twenty years. The marvellous thing about Margaret's kindness was that it became infectious. It wasn't long before a number of girls offered the same assistance. This was something for which I was extremely grateful, because it was a very personal thing and it's not everyone you would ask. We were all copy typists and it wasn't long before I got into the swing of things. At that time I began at 8.30 a.m. and finished at 5.30 p.m. I couldn't wait for that first Friday to arrive because we were paid weekly. I was actually going to take home a wage. Well, Friday came and Mr Truswell went to the main office for the pay packets and then handed them round. I remember it so well, my pay slip said 0 14s. When I took it home Mum said I could keep it all that week, so I went into town with a friend and bought a long playing record The King and I which I have to this day. As I worked among so many people it wasn't long before I made quite a number of friends, one of whom was Mary Urquhart. Right from that first week we just seemed to hit if off even though there were a few years between us. As we got to know each other we both realised it was a special friend- 34 ship. I seemed to be the only one who could lift her up when she was down, and vice versa, in spite of the fact that I was only sixteen. There was certainly no question of being treated any differently from the rest of the girls in the office. I recall being in the main Tool Planning Department one day where the planners and draughtsmen worked, and as I was leaving their office I asked someone to open the door for me. "Open it yourself, you're not any different from anyone else," came the reply from one of the planners. Now to those of you who are a bit chicken hearted this remark probably seems rather harsh, but it's strange, there are certain people who can say things like that to me and others whose nose I would bite off. You see, I liked Alistair the planner who had said this and what's more important, it had the desired effect because I thought to myself, "I'll show him." Result, I never asked anyone else to open another door. In fact, Alistair took the mickey out of me on several occasions after that. The men worked overtime every Tuesday and Thursday, and being the office junior it was my job to collect the money for a filled roll and cup of tea. Well, once again my friend Alistair would do his level best to make me feel at home. Instead of simply handing me the money he laid each coin along the desk separately just to watch me pick them up. I know now that this is another reason why I took so readily to my job, right from the start there was no kid glove treatment. The month after I started working, the N.C.R. Operatic Society was putting on The Belle of New York which I took Mum to see. During the performance I thought, I'd really like being part of that. Of course it was out of the question. For one thing, I wasn't the best singer in the world and obviously you would need the use of your arms. However, next day in the office I began talking about the show and how I wished I could be involved in it in some way. Ruby Middleton who was secretary of the Operatic Society said, "Our prompter is leaving after this show, would you like the job?" Well, I jumped at the chance. in fact I was most frustrated to think I had to wait almost six months before re- hearsals began for the next show. Of course, as I've said before, 1 35 when you're sixteen time seems to drag; it's not so now un- fortunately. Rehearsals began in September and the society had decided to do Call Me Madam. I was very nervous, my eyes glued to the libretto in case I lost the place. After all, the actresses and actors ought to be able to go on the stage and be fully confident that should their minds go blank, I was there to help them out. By the time it came to the week of the show I think I knew everyone's part off by heart. How I loved the excitement of the shows; if I couldn't actually be on the stage I felt I was doing the next best thing. One show in particular stands out in my mind, The King and I. Three days before opening night the leading lady became ill and was unable to go on. Can you imaging the panic. Well, Geraldine Farnan who had been in most of our performances, stepped into the breach never having played in this particular part before - I didn't even have to prompt her once. Another one of my loves when I was young, and indeed still is, was ballroom dancing. Although I have never thought of myself as handicapped, in my teens I was extremely conscious of my lack of arms in certain circumstances, and going to dances was one of these circumstances. Looking back I think perhaps here was one situation where my artificial arms were more of a hindrance than a help. Boys would ask me to dance but of course it was very embarrassing for them when, having thought I was just like any other girl, they discovered my arm made creaking noises when they lifted it and my hand felt unusually hard. Oh, they made polite conversation but it wasn't long before I realised that not many boys asked me to dance a second time. Of course there were the brighter moments too. One night I went with my friend Hilda Brymer to the J. M. Ballroom having arranged to meet a chap inside. This is one time when I must admit I overstepped myself. Having met him we had a few dances then he asked if I would like to go upstairs to the caf6 for a glass of orange. From the balcony I spotted this boy I had taken a fancy to some weeks before and who always asked me to dance. My one thought was, "How can I get rid of this bloke?" Then I had a brainwave. "Would you excuse me a minute?" I said, hoping he was too much of a gentleman to ask where I was 36 going. 1 walked quite nonchalantly downstairs keeping my eyes on the other lad as 1 went. The things we do at seventeen. Having reached the dance floor 1 was careful to stay under the balcony. Finally my Mr Wonderful saw me standing at the edge of the dance floor and asked me to dance, and instead of his usual courteous---thankyou- at the end, we danced together for the rest of the evening. 1 remember that night so well, 1 was in seventh heaven. 1 can still see the poor forlorn figure of the first lad at the table on the balcony. 1 wonder if he drank both glasses of orange. Some years before, my mother had re-married. My step father was a manager in the jute mills in Calcutta and came home for six months every three years. Can you imagine my consternation when, during one leave, he announced that he would like Mum to return to India with him for a year. Now 1 realise that this was a perfectly understandable request but at the time 1 could not see it quite that way. Arrangements were made for me to stay with relatives, 1 remember the night she left as if it were yesterday. It was Sunday 6th December ten days before my eighteenth birthday. It was raining, 1 remember that particularly because after she put my coat on she put a rainmate on my head. Mrs Gordon our next door neighbour came in just before Mum left. She was so good, she just sat there chatting away while 1 cried my eyes out. Finally the tears subsided and we talked for about two hodrs until 1 eventually plucked up the courage to leave what had become a very empty house. Words cannot express how much 1 missed my mother during the months that followed. It was during this lonely year that 1 fell madly in love with a chap who came off the bus at the same time as me every morning. The infatuation was complete. This took the form of dreaming about him and writing him poems and letters which 1 never had the courage to send, although 1 did send him two Valentines once - as if one wasn't enough. He used to go to the Palais dance hall every Saturday night and 1 willed him to ask me to dance. 1 suppose he danced with me out of politeness as we worked in the same factory and he always said a courteous 'thank you' before he left me. The girls in the office used to make up daft little poems about how 1 swooned each time 1 saw 37 him. Needless to say he married someone else - that guy just doesn't know what he missed! Mum didn't stay away the full year. About September in one of her weekly letters she said she had booked her flight and was coming home in October. Once again, never had a month seemed so long. At work I used to mark off each day on the calendar. I fancied myself as a bit of a poet in those days, so I made a card very carefully and composed four verses for the inside. Then I ordered a cake with a little aeroplane and the words "Welcome Home Mum" written on the top. At last the great day dawned. My foreman was kind enough to let me have time off to travel through to Turnhouse Airport in Edinburgh to meet her. There is a saying "You never miss the water till the well runs dry" - how true, and unhappily I was to experience this again much later in my life. I think that's when I really began to thoroughly appreciate my Mum. I went back to Lansdowne Place and life got back to normal. Unfortunately, their marriage didn't work out. No doubt, as always, there were faults on bo-th sides and about four years after her trip to India they separated. When I think of my teenage years in general, it is not with pleasure. They were very difficult years for me and I know that I hit out at the people round me. Recently I discussed this with two friends I have had sinc(-- those first days with N.C.R. I wanted their honest opinion albout what I was like to work with in my early teens. As I have no illusions about myself, I was a bit apprehensive as to what their answers might be - you know what they say, "the truth always hwrts". Surprisingly enough, I need not have worried. I went to visit Margaret Smith first then Mary McDowell who knew me better than anyone I think. They both said exactly the same thing, thzit my tongue was my only defence and I needed that - defiance - if you like, to survive. Here was me, waiting to be given my character, instead I met with this marvellous understanding. I reallse that there were people who didn't see it that way, but then, I don't think they had e:ver tried to put themselves in my place. When I was a teenage!r, disabilities were not nearly as 38 k1~ , acceptable as they are now. People stared and whispered to each other as they passed by. 1 remember one day there were two women on the other side of the road and the wind must have carried their voices, you know the sort of thing, "Here's the girl without arms. They lowered a coathanger specially for her in the N.C.R.. They made the door in her office speciall ' v for her and she has a special toilet etc. etc. - If she had said special once again 1 would have screamed. Suddenly it all bubbled up inside me, 1 simply had to put her straight. 1 crossed the road and said to her, "Don't you think it's bad enough that 1 have to spend the rest of my life like this without having to listen to people discussing me in the street?" 1 went on to inform her that the only 'special' thing 1 had in the N.C.R. was my desk. It made me feel very much better. The reason 1 tell you this story is because it was not an isolated incident, it happened nearly every day. Most days 1 was able to walk on but there was always the odd time, depending a great deal on the mood 1 was in, when 1 just had to give vent to my emotions, otherwise 1 would have become all bitter and twisted. People would say to me, "Surely you get used to it?" Let me tell you it's not something you ever get used to - you simply learn to live with it. Then there were the ones who thought that because you didn't i have arms, you couldn't carry on an intelligent conversation. Let me clarify this. I would be shopping with Mum and she would stop to speak to someone. As the conversation progressed Mrs X would say, "How's your daughter getting on, is she working?" Had I suddenly become invisible? There was I feeling like a inanimate object - poor Mum, she was always terrified I would tell the Mrs Xs of this world exactly what I thought of them, but I wouldn't have embarrassed her for the world. Mind you, she always said on these occasions I didn't have to say anything, my face was enough. For years I thought this was a personal 'thing' I had and at that time I made too much of it, but I discovered this was not the case. As you can imagine, it was always with great relief that I got back among my friends in the office. They neither fussed over me nor neglected me. They treated me completely as one of 39 4 themselves. After I had been working for a few years our office was combined with the main Tool Planning & Design Depart- ment in another factory, which meant that I then worked in the largest office in the N.C.R. where the men outnumbered the women. This led to a good deal of fun. Unknown to me one of the planners, Johnny Robertson, had watched fascinated each time I negotiated the opening of our office doors, all of which had very heavy springs. I used to slip off my shoe, flick down the handle, whip open the door, slip my foot back into my shoe and be out of the door before it closed behind me, because of course I had no means of holding it open. This lead to Johnny and a few of my other male colleagues trying this one night while working overtime. Well, every one of them got stuck in the door! Next day, bruises were all being painfully rubbed. I realise I keep talking about this complete acceptance, but it is very important to a handicapped person. I discovered one dav that mv workmates actually forgot I had no arms. There are one or two incidents which come to mind. On one occasion, the same Johnny Robertson and I were chatting and he asked me where I was spending my holiday that particular year. I told him I was going to America. :'Are you flying?" he asked. 'Yes i am," I replied. "Gosh your arms will be sore by the time you get there," came the quick retort, and off he went, chuckling away to himself. About ten minutes later he was back at my desk. I could see he was very embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Marilyn," he said. "I could have kicked myself when I realised what I had said." "Johnny, think about it for a moment. It seems to me you forgot I had no arms. Could I be paid a better compliment than that?" Naturally, he hadn't thought about it that way at all, and being a very good friend, had only been concerned that he had hurt me, which I know he wouldn't have done for the world. One of my methods of carrying letters which I had typed, from point a to point b was in my mouth. I would fold a piece of paper over the top to keep my work clean, slip on my shoes and off I would go, usually to have the boss sign them. One day as I was doing just this I passed one of the draughtsmen. Quick as a 40 flash he said, "thought you were on a diet.- I could have murdered him, not because I was angry at his remark, but because my hour's work went tumbling to the floor as I doubled up with laughter at his quick wit. The day was fast approaching when I would be celebrating my twenty first birthday - great excitement. As my birthday fell on a Sunday I had invited about twelve girl friends out for a meal on the Saturday evening. I booked a room in a small hotel in town. It was rather like Christmas as we had paper hats, balloons. the lot. Over dinner I was presented with keys of all shapes and sizes and numerous presents, they were all piled on the table in front of me. The meal over. we went to the Palais. During the course of the evening I happened to be dancing with a chap from work who quite suddenly whisked me across the floor, lifted me on to the bandstand then whispered to the band leader. The music stopped and of course all eyes turned to the bandstand - I wished the floor would open and swallow me. Then the band struck up Happy Birthda , y To You and Twent-v one to-day. It wasn't long before everyone was singing. When the music stopped the dancers began to clap and cheer. I had been going to the Palais for so long most of them knew me. I must admit my eyes were Mistv. Unknown to me the night was not to end there. Sheila McGregor had arranged with her mother that we should all go to her house for a party. We arrived there just after midnight - my official birthday. There was such a spread laid out on the table in the middle of which was a beautiful birthday cake which said HAPPY 2 IST MARILYN. I was completely overwhelmed. The party went on well into the night. However, the celebrations didn't end there either. Later on that dav Mum turned out to be full of surprises. She too had bought a birthday cake but there were so many people to go round, two cakes weren't too many. She also gave me a 21 charm on a chain to wear round my neck. My step-father had brought me a tape recorder from India, but the biggest surprise of all was something I had always wanted - a puppy. Sadly I only had him for five years; he became ill and I had to have him put to sleep. He was a West Highland temer and 1 called him Chipples. 41 1 In the office the following day, everyone was asking how my celebrations went and what 1 got in the way of presents. One of the clerks stopped to admire the chain round my neck. "What will you do with that charm when you're twenty-two?" he asked. ---As 1 was only twenty one yesterday 1 hadn't really thought about it," 1 replied. "Why don't you buy a bracelet and start a charm bracelet with it?" he went on. Not wanting to embarrass him 1 said,---Idon't think so, charm bracelets are not really me.--- Well, he persisted.---Ithink it would be good to start off a collection of nice charms," he said. Trying to end this conversation without him realising what he was saying 1 replied quite truthfully, "I find bangles, bracelets and jewellery of that nature a bit of a nuisance. 1 don't like them much at all." 1 hoped this would put him off - no fear. "I like to see a girl wearing a bangle or bracelet," he said. Now, you must admit 1 had tried. -There's only one thing wrong Ken, where am 1 going to get the wrist to put it on?" 1 asked. Just as his face was turning a lovely colour of pink a voice called him from further up the office. "Ken. phone!" ', Saved by the bell," 1 quipped. Not wishing to leave it at that, 1 walked up to his desk as soon as he came off the phone and 1 said to him exactly as 1 had told Jolinny Robertson, "Please don't be embarrassed Ken. It's absolutely marvellous that none of you people think of me as having no arms, you don't feel you have to plan a conversation before coming to talk to me.--- That summer we had received a letter from Dr Leckie, a pyschiatrist friend of ours in Aberdeen. We had met him many years before during my time at Trefoil School. He was a child pyschiatrist who was connected with the school at that time and had taken a keen interest in me ever since. As a matter of fact 1 remember he came to our house one Sunday when 1 was about ten Years old and gave me various puzzles to solve. When he came back to see if 1 had completed them, during the course of conversation he said,---Whendid you realise you had no arms 42 Marilyn?" I turned to him with a puzzled look on my face, thinking what a daft question. "Well, I didn't sit down one day and say gosh I've no arms," I replied. I hadn't remembered asking Mum at that very early age why I had no arms. By this time my feet and legs were the only hands and arms I had ever known, I had never really sat down and analysed the situation. Apparently Dr Leckie had been in touch with an American Minister who had also been born without arms. His name was Harold Wilke, and he was shortly to be visiting Britain and hoped to be in Scotland at the end of July and wanted very much to pay us a visit. Since my birth Mum and I had never heard of anyone else without arms and the thought of actually meeting someone who had faced the same problems as myself, and to discuss how I felt about the various aspects of having no arms with someone who had a wealth of experience, really excited me. Dr Leckie had told us Dr Wilke was married with five sons and had travelled all over the world by himself. Do you wonder at my eagerness to meet such a man? Then my heart sank. Mum and I had arranged to go on holiday to Ayr from 22nd July to 5th August. Naturally our first impulse was to cancel it. However, when we rang Dr Leckie and told him of the situation, he advised us against this action as there was no guarantee that Dr Wilke would manage to fit in a visit to Scotland, so rather reluctantly we went on holiday. The day after our arrival in Ayr, Mum went out to buy a Sunday paper. On her return she threw it down on the bed, hence it unfolded. I picked it up and at first glance all I saw was a beautiful baby on the front page. Then I suddenly realised that this baby had no arms - I simply couldn't believe it. I read the article and learned that it was a little girl and her name was Mandy Hornsby. It went on to say that many other children had been born with similar and indeed much greater disabilities than this, and an investigation was being carried out on a certain drug to see if this had been the cause of so many damaged children. Although I didn't realise it then this was my first contact with thalidomide children. My first thought was that I must somehow 43 get in touch with Mandy's mother as I knew how much my mother would have appreciated any kind of help in those early days. So I went out with Mum that morning and bought a writing pad and evelopes. Next day off went a letter to the editor of the newspaper asking him if he would be good enough to forward it to Mrs Hornsbv. The following week-end fate took a hand in my life. Our landlady who had made us so welcome became ill and had to go into hospital, it was all very distressing and of course. meant that we had to go home. Over the years Mum and I have had a form of telepathy, and shortly after we arrived home we were chatting over a cup of tea and suddenly it came to us at the same time. "Dr Wilke!" was the simultaneous remark. I rang Dr Leckie at once and told him the whole story. It so happened that he was meeting Dr Wilke the following day and promised to try and arrange a meeting between us before he left. It was a very excited young lady who. two days later, made her way to Taybridge Station to meet the Aberdeen train. As the train drew into the station, I watched eagerly as the passengers alighted from the carriages. Suddenly I spotted him. He was a very tall man and the sleeves of his jacket were tucked into his pockets. Of course it was not so easy for him to identify me as I had my artificial arms. As he came towards me I stepped forward. "Dr Wilke?" I asked. "And you're Marilyn," he replied in an unmistakable American accent, bending to kiss me on the cheek. When we got to the ticket collector I handed up the platform ticket with my foot, and so of course did Dr Wilke. Can you imagine the man's face? I don't think he knew what to expect as the next passenger approached. He must have thought, "Is this a blinking epidemic?". As Dr Wilke was very short of time, we took a taxi home where Mum had prepared a lovely salad. During the course of conversation, I told him that I was seriously thinking of discarding my 'arms' as I found it so natural to use my feet for everything and somehow the arms didn't seem to be of much use to me cosmetically any more. They were extremely cumbersome and the points of my shoulders became very sore by eight or nine 44 O'clock in the evening. Much to my surprise he advised me against this, saying that it was a good idea to make use of both. I found this advice quite unexpected as he himself had never worn artificial arms. However, I told him I would think about it very seriously before doing anything drastic. It was a strange experience watching someone else doing everything with their feet. I suddenly thought, this is what I must look like to other people. A feeling of warmth came over me, I can't quite explain it - now I knew I was not alone. Although he lived 3,000 miles away he had faced and in some ways was probably still facing the same difficulties as I was. A problem shared is a problem halved and mine could not have been shared with a finer person. I have already mentioned that Harold Wilke had a very tight schedule, so he suggested that I accompany him in a taxi to Scone Airport which was about twenty five miles away to give us a little more time to talk. He was flying to Liverpool to meet Peter Spencer, who due to an accident in the R.A.F. had lost one arm and his other one was paralysed. So here was me, until that day thinking I was the only person in the whole world without arms, suddenly discovering that there was not only someone in America, but also a man in England. The thing I found most interesting about Harold was his complete indepen- dence - he could do everything for himself. Being a man seemed to make dressing easier than it is for a woman although I don't think that is always the case. He was of invaluable help to me in many ways, and as I watched Ilis plane take off from Scone Airport, I knew I had made a friend. During all this, I had by no means forgotten the baby on the front page of that newspaper. About two weeks after I had written to the editor, I had a very nice letter from Mrs Hornsby thanking me very much for writing and saying it was so good to be able to share her worries with someone who knew what it was all about. We corresponded for some time and in one of her letters she mentioned that she had had a letter from another girl without arms, who lived in California. She enclosed her address thinking that it might be nice if we wrote to each other. This girl was married with two sons, and of course I thought it would be 45 marvellous to get in touch with her. Isn't it strange, I set out to help little Mandy Hornsby, but I don't think her mother is aware of what she did for me the day she sent me that American girl's address. Writing to her was to change my whole life. I wrote almost immediately and awaited a reply with eager anticipation. Her name was Mary Gordon and she lived with her husband Fred and their two boys in Los Angeles. About three weeks went by then came her reply. She sounded very nice and said she would be delighted to help me in any way she could. As you know, I still had my 'arrns' and they made it impossible for me to be completely independent, regarding dressing and toilet. She had never used 'prosthesis' which is the correct name for them, and although Harold Wilke had advised me against dis- carding them, here was yet another argument why I should - Mary Gordon. It wasn't long before she sent me photographs of how she dressed, together with a typewritten dossier with each article of clothing itemised in detail, e.g. BLOUSE and how it went on. SKIRT and so on. I must admit this certainly whet my appetite. If she could do all this then there was no reason why I couldn't. However, there was something else to think about. Yes, the arms were sore and cumbersome, but could I cope with the mental strain of being without them, going back to the staring and the whispering in the street? As I told you, I was prompter in the company's Operatic Societv. Well, one night during a performance, the lights seemed very hot and my shoulders were really sore. By the time the performance was over I had made up my mind what I was going to do. When I got home and announced, "That's it, I'm through with these arms," my mother nearly had a fit. Strangely enough she didn't try to dissuade me, all she said was, "But Marilyn, you've nothing to wear, all your clothes have sleeves. " 46 "I'm sorry Mum," 1 said, "but I'm not wearing them another day.---Poor Mum sat up most of the night making clothes for me to wear the following day. Next morning there was a beautiful blouse and cape ready for me to wear. During the next few weeks all she did was buy material in order to build up my wardrobe of clothes without sleeves. She was never one for taking sleeves out of things, everything had to be made to measure. In fact, people were always asking where 1 got my capes and dresses, as they were so beautifully made, and as 1 can never give Mum enough credit, 1 always said proudly,---MyMum makes all my clothes, knits all my cardigans, and has done so since the day 1 was born." As a matter of fact most people who tell me now that they remember me as a little girl, always say that what stands out most in their minds is how beautifully dressed 1 was. 1 must admit as 1 said "Cheerio" to Mum that particular morning 1 wasn't feeling so chirpy as 1 hadn't told a soul what 1 intended to do. 1 found most people said "Good morning- as usual and walked on, then suddenly it would dawn on them that something was different and they would look back. As far as my workmates were concerned this only lasted one day, then things were back to normal. However, walking down the street was a different story altogether. As 1 approached people, suddenly 1 was back seven years. 1 could see them nudging each other and heard the strange whispers of the old favourite, "Here's that girl without the arms." Could 1 face it all again 1 asked myself, people can be so thoughtless and cruel. Of course 1 did face it. 1 think the idea of being able to do all the things Mary Gordon could do helped me a great deal. Someone once said to me, "A man may see a beautiful girl through a crowd in a dance hall, but if she can't dance it's no good." So 1 thought what's the use of looking like everyone else if it prevents me from becoming completely independent? There was one thing which was more important to me than dressing myself and that was being able to go to the loo on my own. Over the years 1 always had to get to know another girl pretty well before 1 could ask her to help me. However, this was not the only reason. Several years before when 1 was in London 47 i attending Roehampton Hospital, a male nurse had stayed in the same guest house, his name was Philip Sheen. We became good friends and several months ifter we got home he came to visit me. One day we were planning what to do and he said, "It would be nice to go away for the dav but I think I would get some funny looks if I tried to go into the Ladies, don't you?" He was joking about it, but somehow he brought it home to me that I was definitely restricted to a certain extent. Anyway, Mary explained that she had tapes sewn on each side of her pants with a knot at the end so that her toes didn't slip off, the idea being to pull them up with ber teeth and down with her toes. I bought tape and Mum went to work. When she had finished the first pair I dashed up to the L)athroom with them under my chin fully expecting instant success, but they simply wouldn't come up. I was so disappointed, %ve thought we had done exactly as Mary had said, but somethirig had gone wrong somewhere. Off went a letter to Los Angeles - back came the reply. Apparently the idea was to sew the tape on in a sort of 'Y'shape which meant there was a piece of tape sewn to both back and front of each side and not just a single piece of tape - if at first you don't succeed ... New tapes on, up I went to the bathroom once again. A few seconds later I came running downstairs and into the livingroom. 'Still no use?" said Mum. "See for yourself," I said dejectedly. She lifted up my dress and there they were in all their splendour, the first pair of pants I had ever put on myself. "We've done it Mari," she said affectionately. Of course I couldn't go oljt wearing only pants so I had to learn how to put on the rest of nly clothes in order to be completely independent. Next came my bras. It became obvious that I had to make sure I bought ones with the right amount of elasticity. You see, I had to fasten them and literally throw them over my head. Of course to begin with they went everywhere except over my head, but practice makes perfect and it wasn't long before I had it down to a fine art. The really difficult part was pulling it down. I had to find something which was just the right height on which to lean. I found the wash hand basin in the bathroom was 48 just ideal which meant that most things about this height were quite suitable. Naturally when a bra was new it was more of a struggle until it was 'broken in' so to speak. Having mastered my underwear 1 really felt that 1 was well on the way to complete independence. Mary made one stipulation which was never to wear dresses with zips at the back as they were extremely difficult to cope with, so to begin with Mum made blouses buttoning at the front and skirts with elasticated waists. She also told me of a marvellous invention called 'velero' which you sewed on to each side of your coat and when the coat was pulled together the velcro stuck. To open, all you did was pull it apart, so once again Mum set to work taking buttons off capes and replacing them with pieces of this marvellous invention. Now 1 could dress myself from underwear to my outdoor cape - yet another hurdle lumped. I'll never forget the first day 1 dressed myself to go to work, completely unaided. During my practice run 1 took about thirty to forty minutes, but by the time it came to that morning 1 did it in ten minutes flat. 1 don't think Hilary could have felt a greater sense of achievement the day he conquered Everest. Off 1 went proud as punch. When 1 got into the office 1 went over to Ruby Middleton (the one who got me the prompter's job in the Operatic) and said, "How do 1 look?" giving a twirl. She looked at me, obviously rather surprised at the question. ---Verynice," she replied casually. ---Iput on all my own clothes this morning Ruby," 1 said triumphantly. Of course when she realised, her excitement was almost as great as mine. 1 remember quite clearly that 1 wanted to go round everyone in the office telling them of what to me, was my greatest achievement to date. That day I'm sure 1 was heard to say about a dozen times and in rather a loud voice, "I'll have to go to the cloakroom," whereas before 1 would walk up to Mary's desk and say very quietly, "Will you come with me to the cloakroom?" 1 can't put into words how 1 felt that day because kind as people were, nothing could take the place of independence. Although 1 probably didn't realise it at the time, can you imagine 49 what this meant to my mother? She didn't have to run home from work in case I needed the toilet, so she too now had a certain amount of freedom. As well as not being able to dress myself, I had always been rather embarrassed when I went into shops. I was never very good at shopping where the assistants didn't know me. Any store I did go into I would say, "My purse is in my pocket" and they would simply take out the required amount or more depending on what I had, put the change in the purse and replace it in my pocket. As for my purchases, I would say, "Would you mind putting them in my bag, please?" That first shopping bag I ever had, the one Mum made, well although it was no longer canvas, the principle was still the same. I would buy a shopping bag which had a strap long enough to go over my head and I carried the bag across my shoulder. One day in the office I got chatting to Doug Boyle, another of the Planners. Doug and I really got on very well, he seemed to understand a great many of my problems. This particular day the conversation somehow got round to this embarrassment of my going into shops. "Why don't you put your money in your shoe?" asked Doug. "I never really thought about it," I replied. "Maybe if you were able to hand over the money yourself you wouldn't feel so embarrassed," he went on. I went back to my desk and thought this over. "Yes, I will try it," I thought. I took my wallet out of my bag and checked to see how much money I had with me. On discovering I had about 151- 1 was all set to go on a spending spree that night after work. I expect you're thinking, "Gosh, that must have been uncomfor- table", but you know it wasn't. People often say to me, "Goodness, how do you walk with all that change in your shoe, if I have a tiny little stone in mine I have to stop and take it out". Ah, but I cannot walk with a stone in my shoe either, you see money is flat, which to me makes all the difference in the world. However, back to the night in question. Instead of going straight home (Mum didn't finish till six o'clock anyway) I decided to go into Lochee. First of all I went into the fruit shop. I distinctly remember buying a pound of grapes for Mum, and 50 when the man had put them in my bag he said, "Shall I take the money out of your purse"" "No thank you," I replied. "How much is that?" He told me the amount and I separated the coins in my shoe, handing him over the correct amount. His face was a study as he took the monev from mv toes. "Thank vou," I said. "Cheerio." Of course I didn't stop there. I went into various shops before going home. (151- bought quite a lot twenty five years ago.) Next morning my first stop was Doug's desk. "I have a bone to pick with you," I said, with a stern expression on my face. "I'm shaking in my shoes." he laughed - he was a foot taller than me. "I spent 151- last night all because of you." "Don't tell me you've been buying a present for me Marilyn," he joked. Then I explained what happened ending by telling him how grateful I was. So Doug too played a part in making my independence complete. During the time I had been writing to Mary I was most anxious to know many things: how she coped with her housework, looking after the boys, etc. One evening as I was replying to her letter I suddenly thought, "Wouldn't it be super if I could go to America and visit Mary and Fred." I turned the idea over in my mind for a few days then I broached the subject with Mum. "How would she feel if I said I would like to go to America?" I asked. "America?" she replied, "Why on earth do you want to go to America?" "Well, I thought it would be a great help to see Mary in her own home, see how she copes with every day living, after all I may get married some day, you never know, and it would stand me in good stead". "How would you manage?" she said. "I mean there's so much to think about, carrying luggage. and you know Marilyn, aero- plane toilets are very much smaller than ordinary ones." "Of course, I would have to think it all out Mum, but surely someone would carry my luggage for me, and as far as the loo is concerned, well it will work itself out - and those are your words Mum, remember?" 1 1 She smiled and said, "Well Marilyn, I must say you've got more confidence than I had at your age - thank goodness." Of course this was still very much an idea. First of all I had to ask Mary if it was all right for me to come, and secondly, I didn't even know if I would be allowed time off work, which was essential, because you couldn't go to Los Angeles for a week. At that time a travel agency in Forfar was doing charter flights to New York for f67 and they also arranged your flight across America. I made enquiries and discovered that they were doing a five week flight which meant that I would have to ask for two weeks leave of absence as, having been with the N.C.R. for five years I had three weeks' annual holiday. Having made the initial enquiries, I awaited Mary's reply with eager anticipation. It wasn't long before her letter arrived and she was delighted that I was coming over for a visit. Next step was to see my supervisor and explain the situation. "I don't want to go purely for pleasure," I told him. "This girl has helped me so much during the past year, I would like to see how she copes with running her home, after all I won't always have my mother." "As far as I'm concerned Marilyn, there's no problem," said Mr Petrie, "but you do realise this will have to be a management decision. " Naturally I understood his position and simply had to be patient while everything was being considered. A week later Mr Petrie sent for me. "Well Marilyn, you'll be delighted to hear that management have agreed to your two weeks leave of absence, so you can go ahead with your plans." Of course this was marvellous news and the following week- end Mum and I took the bus to Forfar in order to make the necessary arrangements, it was essential to get your name down early as there was only one flight to the U.S.A. and one to Canada. My forthcoming trip came up in conversation during our office tea-break one day which was hardly surprising as I spoke of little else. Ray Pyatt, one of the girls in the 'pool' said, "You know Marilyn, a friend of Mum's is going to the States this year, I'll ask Mum which travel agency she has booked through. " Well 52 1 she did and it turned out that the lady in question was travelling on the same flight as me. Ray's mother invited me to her home one evening so that 1 could meet her friend whose name was Winnie Porter. We hit it off right away so it was agreed that we should travel together as far as New York after which we would go our separate ways - this solved the problem of my luggage for the first half of my journey at least. Once all my plans had been made, 1 suddenly had this awful feeling that something was going to happen to my mother while 1 was away. 1 can't explain it, it was just a terrible dread that all would not be well during my absence. In fact the feeling was so strong that 1 went to my doctor and told him the whole story. He said 1 was just a bit apprehensive about going so far away from home and to try and put it out of my mind, his parting words were, "Nothing will happen to your mother, enjoy your trip. ', At the beginning of June there was an outbreak of typhoid in Aberdeen which lasted for some time. Although Aberdeen is over seventy miles from Dundee, 1 was strongly advised to have an injection against the disease as the Americans would have been within their rights to refuse me entry - as you know seventy miles is no distance at all over there. Off 1 went to my G.P. 1 asked him what effect, if any, this would have on me. He said that 1 might feel a bit queasy and would probably have a mild headache the following day. When 1 got home, my dog had to be taken out. 1 had gone about half way round his usual walk when suddenly 1 began to shiver and by the time 1 had gone another hundred yards my legs had turned to jelly. 1 leaned against a street light and gradually slid down it until 1 landed with a resounding thud on the pave- ment - goodness knows where my dog was! Just then a woman passed on the other side of the street. Being very weak 1 couldn't make myself understood - 1 have never felt so ill in all my life. Eventually 1 managed to get out my story and within minutes she had everything organised. 1 had passed some boys playing football, my dog had stopped to be their goalie. She called one of the boys over asking him to bring Chipples. It turned out she lived about five minutes walk from where we 53 1 were, so on her instructions off went the young lad to bring her husband with his car to take me home. When I got home I managed to thank them all before I flopped down Into a chair to wait for Mum coming home from work - I spent three days in bed! About a month before I was due to fly, Mr Petrie called me into his office, "Mr Webb would like to see you Marilyn," he said. Mr Webb was Industrial Relations Officer whom I had never met. Off I went across to our adjoining factory. On my arrival, his secretary showed me into his office. "Do sit down, Marilyn," he said. "I have been thinking a great deal about this American trip of yours and I must admit I'm rather concerned at the prospect of your going on that long journey all by yourself, so I've had an idea that I want to put to you. Do you have your flight time, etc?" "All my arrangements have been made Mr Webb, my flight time from Prestwick and also the connecting flight from New York to Los Angeles," I replied. "Good," continued Mr Webb. "Now here's what I propose to do if it's all right with you. As you know this company has a branch in New York so I'm going to write to the Managing Director explaining the situation and ask him if he would arrange for someone to meet you at Kennedy Airport then see you safely on to your connecting flight. How do you feel about this?" "I really don't know what to say Mr Webb, it's so good of you to take the trouble to arrange all this for me, I I I replied gratefully. "Only too delighted, Marilyn," was the reply. A few days before I was due to leave, Mr Webb rang me at the office to say there would be two representatives awaiting my arrival at Kennedy Airport. "Have a lovely trip," he concluded. 54 At last the great day arrived. Looking back I realise Mum must have been apprehensive but if this was the case, she hid it very well. The taxi arrived and she came with me to the bus terminal for Prestwick Airport. There we would board the Caledonian Airways flight to New York. The actual flight was due to leave at 11.00 o'clock. At about 10.45 there was an announcement informing us that our aircraft had developed a fault and there would be a slight delay - that slight delay lasted three hours! We were finally called at 1.45 and the plane took off at 2 a.m. I must admit by that time I almost wished I could just go home. However, having met Winnie as arranged, it wasn't so bad. As we boarded the aircraft, she explained to the stewardess that I ate with my feet and asked her if it would be possible for us to be seated at the front of the aircraft so that there was no seat in front of us, hence giving me more room. As she had flown several times before she knew how cramped I would be and this was not a jet , which meant the flight would take thirteen to fourteen hours! The Stewardess was most helpful and we were shown to the requested seats. Winnie had told me that she enjoyed flying very much - but hated taking off! "Don't speak to me until we're airborne, Marilyn," she said. Did she pray do you think? Mum was right, the loos certainly were not built with people like me in mind. Once again Winnie came to the rescue and thought nothing of helping me. We hadn't been airborne long when a horrible thought struck me - because of our three hour delay in leaving Prestwick, I suddenly reallsed that meant I would miss my connecting flight to Los Angeles, and would also be causing the people meeting me off this flight a great deal of inconvenience. Mary and Fred would be waiting anxiously, wondering what on earth had happened. Of 55 1 course thEir e was nothing I could do about it, there was no point worrying Itntil the plane touched down. It was With great relief we heard the Captain's voice announ- cing that 've were about to land at Kennedy Airport - fourteen hours late(! It was the most uncomfortable fourteen hours I had ever spen~ although I was to improve on that record some years later. As we alighted from the plane and collected our luggage we had % form a queue to pass through customs. Suddenly I heard a girl's voice calling, "Marilyn Gillies, Marilyn Gillies." I stepped out of the queue to be greeted by a very nice Americar stewardess who lifted my suitcase telling me to follow her. So wiih a, "Bye Winnie, have a lovely holiday," I went with the Stewqdess. I felt a little guilty passing all those people and going thr~pugh customs without any trouble. Secretly though, I did feel rA ther like a V. 1. P I On arrival at the airport lounge the two representatives, a man I and wom~n from our New York branch, were there as promised - Introductions over, the gentleman said, "Now Marilyn, I know you will hove realised that your T.W.A. flight has long gone, but don't wot-ry, we have booked you on a Pan Am flight which leaves in forty-five minutes. I have also called your friends in L.A. to ]~-t them know what has happened. My car is outside to take you ~ o the Pan Am terminal building." Kenne0y Airport is so big that each airline has its own building - I was fa~cinated. I would have been in a real mess without these people, t~ey were so kind. I was deeply grateful to Mr Webb for making t~ie arrangements. As we parted company, they both wished me- a happy trip and said they would be waiting for me on August '~th. Thanking them both with genuine sincerity, I boarded 1*,iy flight to begin the second part of this great adventure. As the aircraft climbed into the sky a feeling of loneliness crept ov( r me. All around me were strangers, many of whom spoke in A foreign language. It suddenly occurred to me that I was goin~j to have great difficulty eating on this flight. Presently the stm rdess appeared with a meal on a tray; when I explained the Position she said, "If you don't mind waiting until I have served a1J the other passengers, I would be only too pleased to help You," Her name was Ginny and true to her word she was 56 1 right back whenever her other duties permitted. She was so nice, and I must say, did a great deal to make that journey much less lonely. It wasn't long before we were taxiing along the runway of Los Angeles airport. Here I was 6,000 miles from home and com- pletely on my own. Of course Mary and I had no difficulty recognising each other - the understatement of the year! The first thing that struck me about the family was the two little boys, David and Joey. David was eight and Joey five. I don't think I have ever seen two lovelier children, their hair was almost white and they had the bluest eyes I have ever seen. It was obvious that Mary was a very capable housewife. She had a 'high chair' for use in the kitchen, this enabled her to see to cooking, washing dishes and general chores. She also had a remarkable tray Fred had made for her on which she could carry various things from kitchen to dining-room. It had a bar across the top, under this she simply slipped one shoulder. I thought it was a marvellous idea and decided to get one made as soon as I got home. Another thing she had, which would really be of great advantage to me, was a shower head which screwed off and soap pellets were inserted. When it was back in position, and the water turned on, hey presto, soapy water ran over her and of course when the pellets were finished, the fresh water rinsed her off. It was quite ingenious. Already I was feeling that this trip had been well worth while. However, the one thing which excited me most of all was the fact that Mary drove her own car - what a challenge! Fred took me out on a disused piece of ground to "Have a go." What a marvellous feeling, particularly as this car had power assisted steering which meant that very little effort went into turning the car in any direction. In the States you must sit a written test on the rules of the road before you can begin learning to drive. Needless to say I failed, as of course I was not familiar with American road signs. So my experience of handling a car was very short lived! "Wait till Mum hears about this," I thought, 1, me driving, even if it was only a hundred yards!" I knew they were very strict in this country and wondered what the position would be if I pursued the matter when I got home. Just think of 57 1 1 the avenues it would open up for me. I would simply have to be patient for the time being. Mary was a representative for a jeweller~ company and some evenings she and Fred would be out demonstrating at jewellery parties and I would look after the boys. One night I was watching something on T.V. probably the adverts. I found that on American television they interrupted the adverts to bring you the programmes! Suddenly David called from the kitchen, "Marilyn, Marilyn. come quick!" Thinking he had hurt himself, I leapt up and ran through. Unknown to me Mary had not had time to wash the dishes after the evening meal and they were all in the sink with what looked like a black covering of some sort over them. Then I realised the 'covering' was moving. "What is it David?" I asked, trying to appear calm. "Ants," he replied. Now I have never been a lover of creepy crawlies and this night was no exception. "What do you mean, ants?" I said stupidly. I have never seen anything like it! It wasn't long before they were crawling all over my feet. I remember thinking "Don't panic, don't panic, you're supposed to be a mature adult." I never felt less like a mature adult in all my life! "What are we going to do David?" Remember David was eight years old! "Well I checked before calling you and the ant killer spray is finished." he said. "Finished?" I almost screamed the word. "Should I go downstairs and see if Mrs Eskivel has any?" "What a good idea," I said with great relief. "Don't be long will you?" They seemed to be multiplying by the minute. However, Mrs Eskivel came up and soon had things back to normal - now I could go back to watching my adverts. Of course, I wasn't going to miss the opportunity of seeing Los Angeles. After all, it was very unlikely that I would ever be able to afford to go again. One afternoon we were in Griffith Park; Mary and I were strolling along chatting, while Fred, who was a professional photographer. was taking some pictures. Unknown 58 ~ The only photograph I seem to have of me with my Mum and Dad. 1 My, first studio photograph! Me, naked and unadorned, Pitlochry 1948. This looks like a beautiful baby competition. 1 am the grumpy one sitting third from the left. Three generations at a wedding. lob 1 71 Dad and rne the summer before he died. I'~ , Il 'Il 1 ~-- 1 / - Iji M~ fir,,t term at Logie Junior Secondary School. -1 he night I got the ke~ of the door, arms and all! Betty. Muriel and Sheila toast mN coniinLl of age. F~ ~ bo Sigh t,ccin,-, On my first A merican trip ~Nith NlarN Gordon and her two son Bob Mitcheil's masterpiece. The bra~ c nlan who taught me to elm c. That kkonderful pink slip! Now 1 \k as on m\ own. to us there were two girls behind. "I wonder what happened to them," said one girl. Quick as a flash, Fred, hearing the remark said, "They bit their nails!" The following day we went to Disneyland. It was sheer magic, every child's paradise. Each section has a different name, Tomorrow Land, Jungle Land. Fantasy Island and so on. The boat trip to Chimpanzee Island was fascinating. Of course there was a guide and he certainly entertained his passengers. "Round this bend folks, the water is full of crocodiles, but don't be alarmed - just make sure you don't fall overboard! Sure enough as we rounded the bend, several crocodiles' heads emerged from the water. mouths wide open showing ferocious looking teeth. A woman in front of me nearly had a fit but there was nothing to worry about - the Guide's pistol was always loaded! Further along this stretch of water were hippos bellowing out their greetings. It amazed me when I thought of all the planning which had gone into this, those crocodiles and hippos were so realistic. Each 'Land' you went in to was the same; at a certain point on the train ride would be a 'Tiger' ready to pounce on you from the overhanging cliffs. The train rolled on, into the Wild West where we came upon a blazing log cabin with 'bodies' lying all over the place and the 'Indians' doing their victory dance. One of the many highlights. particularly for the children, was when all the Disney characters paraded in the main street, going over and shaking hands with many children. There was Goofy, Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck etc. Looking at t e young faces, you'd think they had come straight off the cinema screen. At twenty-three there I was riding a horse for the first time. Riding horses in Disneyland was rather like pony trekking. Mary was really keen to try her hand at it and I felt I couldn't very well let the side down. Once mounted, with some assistance, we were all set. I had often wondered what it would be like to ride a horse - I was about to find out. As Nobby moved off, my knees dug instinctively into his sides in order to keep my balance. The ride lasted half an hour, it was a marvellous experience. Mind you I found eating very difficult over the next few days, it s no mean 59 1 task eating with one foot while standing on the other. You will probably have realised that it took a whole day to see everything and even then I sometimes wonder if we did. The one and only time I ever stayed in a motel was during this trip. Fred suggested that I might like to go into Mexico, an idea %vhich certainly appealed to me. First stop was Tijuana which is just over the border, rather a dirty little town. but the shops were every woman's dream, they stayed open until two in the morning! The leather goods were beautiful and it was here I learned the art of bartering. I wanted a handbag for Mum and having chosen one, Fred examined it in great detail, just to make sure it was in perfect condition. Then he asked the price, the shopkeeper told him and Fred said, "No, no, far too much, far too much." After a good deal of haggling the man brought it down to what Fred thought was a fair price, so I bought it - Mum has it to this day. Next stop was Ensenada and we really did have a hilarious experience in a shop there. Mary wanted to buy some sandals, so we stopped at the first shoe shop we came to. Mary explained what she wanted, but it was obvious that the chap wasn't really listening to a \vord she was saying. All he could do was look from her to me and back again. Being unable to contain himself a moment longer he said to Fred, "Tweens?" in an unmistakably Spanish accent. "No," replied Fred. "Scesters?" continued the man, Fred shook his head. Still looking at us both in turn he said, "No tweens- no seesters- no arms." - long puzzled pause. Mary had to get her sandals in another shop, the man was too flabbergasted to serve her! Mexico had been a week-end trip, but Mary had corresponded for some time with a couple in Arizona whose ten vear old daughter had also been born without arms. She thought that since I had come 6.000 miles to see her, we might take a trip to % isit these people. Having made the necessary arrangements. we left Los Angeles at twelve midnight travelling along Route 66 through the Cajone Pass and across the Mohavi Desert, which was hot and sticky although it was about three in the morning so you can imagine 60 what it would have been like had we travelled during the day. Then we crossed the Colorado River arriving in Flagstaff at twelve noon the following day - not the most pleasant of journeys, but a great experience nevertheless. Annette and Bill Thompson made us so welcome. They had three children. Vonme was the ten year old, she too was very good with her feet. Next came Anne Marie and then little Billy. They only had one close neighbour, which will give you some idea of how remote they were and when night fell, that's exactly what it did - fell - there was no such thing as twilight and the darkness was inky black. One night I woke, startled. Something was crawling on my bed. I froze, absolutely petrified, unable to see. I could just feel this 'thing' creeping further and further up my legs, my throat was paralysed with fear. Could it be a snake or perhaps a small wild animal? All sorts of horrible pictures flashed through my mind. Suddenly 'it' made a sound. I listened intently to see if I could recognise what it might be. "Mommy, " said a small voice - relief beyond belief, it was little Anne Marie. I was sleeping in her bed and she must have wakened and been a little bewildered at being in another bed. Everyone had a good laugh at my expense next day! Well it could have been a snake! I'll never forget my first visit to the Grand Canyon. For anyone who hasn't seen this, it is a most magnificent sight. 217 miles long and a mile deep with the Colorado River running along the bottom. If you're a bit of a daredevil you can go on the pony trek down inside the Canyon. This can be quite dangerous as the ledges are really narrow and I'm no daredevil. Of course this is a great tourist attraction and that day was no exception. Many people had come to see the Seventh Wonder Of The World but they were having great difficulty deciding which it was, the Grand Canyon or Vormie, Mary and myself! All too soon the holiday was over and the Gordons drove me to the airport. Farewells said, I boarded the plane for New York. As I became airborne once again there was certainly no feeling of loneliness this time, so much had transpired over the past four weeks, I couldn't wait to get home and tell Mum all about it. Once again my friends awaited my arrival and saw me safely into 61 1 1 Winnie's capable hands. An hour later we were winging our way to Prestwick - talking non-stop for fourteen hours! But 1 was in for a shock when 1 got home. Mum must have heard the car draw up; the door opened just as the driver was lifting out my case. 1 ran up the steps, bubbling over with all my news, then 1 came to an abrupt halt. Mum was standing in the doorway, her leg encased in plaster. 1 opened my mouth to say, "Why didn't you let me know," but before 1 could speak she had read my thoughts! " 1 wouldn't have spoiled your holiday for the world," she said. "Anyway, I'm all right now." That was my Mum, unselfish as always. When we got into the house, 1 could see she was far from all right, in fact 1 had never seen her look so ill, her face was pale and drawn and she had lost a lot of weight. It was obvious that she had suffered and indeed was still suffering a great deal of pain. Apparently she had slipped on the grass verge while taking the dog out, resulting in a broken ankle. Thank goodness we had good neighbours who looked after her in my absence. So it was back to'auld claes and porridge'. My colleagues were most eager to hear all about my trip. 1 worked beside a very understanding group of people, there was no jealousy because 1 had been off for five weeks, although at the end of my first day 1 don't think 1 was terribly popular with my Section Leader as there was probably more chatting done than anything else. A few days after my return, Sister Fraser of our Medical Department brought a gentleman to see me. Sister explained that he had been a doctor in one of our hospitals but had emigrated to New Zealand several years before. "I'll leave you to have a chat," she said. During the course of conversation the doctor asked me if there was anything I'd like to do that 1 couldn't. 1 thought for a moment, then told him that 1 couldn't think of anything off- hand. "You couldn't play tennis for example?" he continued. 1 looked at him, more than a little surprised at this question. "Can you play tennis?" was my reply. "Well no, but 1 have no desire to play tennis," he said. 62 "Neither have 1 doctor," 1 said rather firmly. "Can you play a musical instrument?- he went on. "No," 1 replied briefly. -You couldn't play the violin for instance?" By this time 1 was becoming rather annoyed so once again 1 bounced back with, "Can you play the violin?" Before he could reply 1 went on, "I'm afraid I find both your questions quite irrelevant doctor. I'm sure there are many things you would like to do which you can't - and you have all your faculties." Would you believe even this didn't discourage him. "Can you write?" he persisted. ---Doyou have a pen?" 1 asked quite abruptly. He handed me a pen and 1 wrote something for him. "That's quite good," he said rather grudgingly. By this time 1 was seething. What right had this man to come into my office and patronise me? 1 wouldn't have minded if he'd asked intelligent questions. The point I'm trying to make is that over the years I'have come across quite a few members of the medical profession like him. They don't know how to treat handicapped people and their tactlessness can be cruel. You may remember my friend Mary Urquhart from my early days at N.C.R. Well she was now Mary McDowell, married with two wee boys. Her youngest was only five months old. When I arrived home for lunch one day I found a letter from her. It is one of the saddest letters I have ever read. Her baby had contracted meningitis - I'll never forget her words, "Pray for him Marilyn", she said. I went to see her that night and have never felt so helpless in all my life. When you feel that words are of little comfort, I'm sure you will agree that putting an arm round someone's shoulders or even squeezing their hand is all that's required. I just wanted to show her that I cared. My lack of arms had never seemed so evident as on that night. You will recall my mentioning earlier when I 'linked in'with Auntie Dorothy that it gave me a feeling of closeness, well that's what I felt was missing that night. It's strange, I can't even say I wished I'd been born with arms when I was struggling to do something, like dressing myself for example. To me it was a challenge, but on an occasion 63 1 like this when a friend needed a comforting arm round her shoulders, then I wished I had them. Thankfully Mary's baby recovered. I have spoken a great deal about acceptance in this book, but I have found throughout my life that although people have accepted me, they don't look on my feet as anything other than feet (let me clarify this). Of course I walk on them, but to me my feet are very much my hands, I gesture with my feet the way other people do with their hands. If I was teasing any of my friends and would give them what to me was a friendly slap, close as they may have been to me they would say, "You kicked me. " I don't know why this should upset me, but it always did. One night later on I was having a friendly argument with Mary's husband, Jim McDowell and as I raised my'hands'to wallop him he said, "Hey, keep your hands to yourself." That's what I call totalacceptance. Not long after my return from America, I decided to let my hair grow so that I could have it in 'bubbles' on top, which was a very popular style at that time. Also as I am rather small, four feet eleven, I thought this would give me height. I hate being small - over the years it bothered me more than the fact that I had no arms. It was at this time I met Helen Gorrie. She was just beginning her apprenticeship as a hairdresser and once my hair was , long enough to put up she suggested I buy attractive hair nets to keep the 'bubbles' in place - I took her advice which proved to be very sound. We struck up a friendship and she is now my 'personal hairdresser'- sounds good, doesn't it? Attractive hair nets were not so easily come by in this country and this was where another dear friend stepped in. Her name was also Helen, who, having read about me in an American newspaper wrote to me. We have corresponded ever since and although we have never met, she is one of the kindest most Christian women I have ever known. Making conversation in one of my letters, I had mentioned the hair nets and, voilA! by return of post came half a dozen beautiful ones. In fact it became necessary to watch what I was saying in my letters, because if I mentioned something I had liked while in the States this kind lady simply sent it. One of my dearest wishes is to meet her. I was 64 making plans to visit her and her husband in 1973 but fate took a hand in my life that year. One Saturday morning while Mum was at work I decided to do a bit of weeding in the front garden. After about an hour, I was very thirsty and went into the house to get a drink of water. Instead of doing the sensible thing and taking a cup out of the cupboard, I leaned over the sink and drank straight from the tap. When I tried to bring my head back I found it impossible - yes you've guessed it - my hair net was caught on the tap! What on earth was I going to do? I couldn't even twist my head this way and that to try to free it as I had to have it at a certain angle to get a drink in the first place. Obviously I couldn't stay like that until Mum came home in two hours, so the only thing to do was to pull it off, tearing the hair net in the process which, of course, was unavoidable. Just then I heard the voice of Joyce Wilson our next door neighbour, she was talking to someone in the back garden. "Joyce!" I yelled, "Can you help me please?" "Where are you, Marilyn?" she called back. "In the kitchenette, but you'll have to come round the front as the back door is locked." Thank goodness I hadn't closed the front door as I came in! She was round in a jiffy. When she got to the kitchenette doorway she said, "What on earth's happened?" "I've formed an attachment to this tap, can you free me please?" I pleaded. Two seconds later it was done, we looked at each other and burst out laughing! When Irene and Sheila left N.C.R. to have their babies I visited them regularly once a fortnight. It didn't seem long before Irene's little girl, Joyce, was three years old and one night out of the blue she said, "Have you got none hands, Auntie Marilyn?" "No, I haven't Joyce," I replied. "What happened?" the wee lass continued. "Well, sweetheart," I said "When you're born you start off with a head and a body, next grow legs, then arms, but my arms didn't grow and God said to my Mummy, 'If you'd rather wait for a baby with arms Mrs Gillies I will understand perfectly,'but 65 1 my Mummy said,'Oh no, I'll take the babv whether she has arms or not,' and God was so pleased that he said, 'Well, Mrs Gi Ilies, I'm going to make this baby one of the cleverest in the world. she wil I be able to use her feet for everything.' - There was silence for a moment then Joyce said, "Tell me that story again, Auntie Marilyn!" She never mentioned 'arms' -again after that night. A few vears later her little brother Jimmy asked me the same question as I was pulling up the zip of his boot one night and I replied, "No Jimmy I haven't." There was a slight pause, "Pull up the other one please, Auntie Marilyn." The reason I think this story is worth mentioning is because you must tell children something. When a child asks an em- barrassing question in the street you can't simply ignore it and hope it will go away, because it certainly won't. The amount of times I have heard children say to their mothers, "Mummy why has that lady no arms?" and all the mother says is "Ssh" and nearly pulls the poor child off its feet. The sad thing about this is that these children will ask the very same thing the next time they see me. If the mother told some story the child would be satisfied and save her a great deal of embarrassment every time she sees me. I'm the first to agree that the story I told Joyce was nonsense, but I don't know why I have no arms and the point is she never asked again. You will of course remember the Pitfour Street Gang, well one of the girls in this gang was Norma MacDonald. Several years before, Norma, together with her Mum, Dad and Grand- mother had emigrated to Canada. We had kept in touch and in one of her letters she invited me over for a holiday. She had married and now had her own house. This time I was able to go on a three week charter flight so didn't require leave of absence. The flight was direct to Toronto and as that was where Norma lived I didn't have to put Mr Webb to any trouble this time. Norma and her husband Rick made me very welcome and of course her parents were most eager to hear all the news of home. I think the highlight of this trip was our visit to Niagara Falls, they really are magnificent. Rick asked if I would like to go 66 under the Falls, and being game for anything, off we went. First of all we had to be properly kitted out so on went raincoats down to our ankles, welly boots and hoods with elastic all the way round, making us look rather like'The Three Stooges'. Through a tunnel was the next step until we were under the falls - it was little wonder protective clothing was required - we would have been drowned otherwise - and that was only from the spray! There was a boat called Maid of the Mist in which you could make a pleasure trip just below where we were standing. However, I declined the offer to take a trip in her, the water below was far from calm. 1 never have been a good sailor, which was to be proved during a later holiday. There was a cable car which went across the water so that you could get a face-on view of the falls. 1 did venture on this alone would you believe, you see Norma's first baby was almost due and she didn't want to risk it - if Mum had seen me she would have had a fit! The only thing 1 found difficult to cope with while holidaying abroad was the heat, it made dressing extremely difficult. You may wonder what heat has to do with it. Perhaps you will recall how 1 put on my bras and pants. Imagine how difficult this method is when my body is warm. Both these articles of clothing 'rolled'which meant that 1 was rather uncomfortable most of the time because my underwear was always twisted. Mary Gordon didn't have this problem, because she didn't perspire as 1 did, having always lived in a warm climate. When we have a good summer in this country 1 have the same problem although that's not very often of course! One summer 1 was in London and it can get very hot there. Anyway 1 needed to go to the loo. Afterwards 1 discovered to my horor that my body was so warm it was impossible to pull my pants up again - 1 panicked, which 1 realised very quickly was a silly thing to do, as the more agitated 1 became, the hotter 1 got so there was nothing else for it but to sit myself down and wait for my body to cool off and most important of all - keep perfectly calm. 1 did manage to get out of that toilet - three quarters of an hour later! Simple things like this can cause a handicapped person a great deal of trouble. 67 1 Over the years my job with N.C.R. changed quite a bit and at one point, instead of doing the usual work of my section, I typed for Russell Browne who, at that time did the ordering of Plant and Equipment. I found this very interesting apart from the fact that Russell's writing was appalling. Having typed his work for some time, I said to him one day, "You know Russell, I think I deserve a medal for deciphering this." He laughed and said, "I'll give you a packet of Polos, you can make a few medals out of those." "That's exactly what I would do with them as I don't like Polos," I quipped. Of course I forgot all about it. A few months later it was my birthday and I came into the office as usual to find a bump under my typewriter cover. On lifting it off I discovered half a pound of Quality Street and two packets of Polo. I sat looking at them for a minute or two then I said, "Does anyone know where these came from?" holding up the parcel. There was a suspicious silence, but eventually I got it out of another chap that Russell had put them there. Thanking him very much, I said, "What's the idea of the Polos, you know I don't like them"" 'I know you don't," he said, "So you can hand those round and keep the Quality Street for yourself!" Now that's what I call a good friend! Bill Carden and Gordon Angus were two of the most likeable 'nuts' in the whole of N.C.R. I was walking up the office one lunchtime when all of a sudden I was seized from behind by Gordon and deposited in a bin and with a triumphant "Let's see you get out of that," he marched off. At first I couldn't do anything for laughing. then I really had to think about it. One wrong move and Marilyn and bin would be rolling gaily along the office floor. This was one round I was not meant to win. There was just no room to move my legs in order to extricate mvself from this offending bin. so I had to wait patiently for Gordon to come back and lift me out. It was all good fun. Bill Carden had somehow become a special friend, so much so that he was the only one I ever allowed to abbreviate my name - to him I was Mar. I used to bring him daft things when I'd been 68 on holiday, like false teeth and girls' legs. Odd presents. until you realise they were made out of Blackpool Rock, Scarborough Rock and other sorts. I mention these incidents to help you understand that the N.C. R. wasn't just a job to me, it was very much a way of life and I loved every minute of it. Those people, and indeed all my colleagues, were important to me. Because of my sharpness in those early years, it was necessary for me to know that they liked me. It's a daft thing to say, but Gordon wouldn't have put me in that bin if he hadn't liked me. While reading one of our local papers the Peoples Journal one Saturday morning, I noticed an article regarding the Invalid and Cripple Children's Association and suddenly thought that I would like to do something for these children. So I rang my old friend Miss Dickie, the one who had got me shoes without laces, to ask if I might call to see her one evening. As a result, the following Wednesday saw me making my way to her home in Norwood Crescent. **How can I help you, Marilyn?" said Miss Dickie, showing me into her sitting room. That was typical of her, always wanting to be of help in any way she could. "I would like to do something for - you Miss Dickie," I replied, "or rather for vour children. As Christmas is not far off I thought perhaps I might give some of the children in the Association a Christmas party. However, I don't want just any handicapped children, I would like to have those whose parents for one reason or another cannot manage to give them very much at this time of year. " "What a wonderful idea, Marilyn," said Miss Dickie enthu- siastically, I shall give you the name and address of the lady who is in charge of our club nights in the Murraygate and perhaps the two of you can make the necessary arrangements." This done I set off home intending to get in touch with Miss Colquhoun, the lady in question. On discussing my idea with her, she suggested the party be held in their rooms as all the children were familiar with them. It was arranged that she should select twelve children, six boys and six girls and give me their names and ages so that I might buy 69 presents accordingly. Of course, next to presents two of the main ingredients of any Christmas party are a pianist so that we could play games and most important of all - Santa Claus. At this time I was a Sunday School Teacher and one Sunday I happened to be talking about my forthcoming party over a cup of tea at one of our monthly meetings, ending with, "Now I'm on the hunt for a pianist and a Santa Claus - five seconds later I had both, in the shape of my very good friends Jack Mabe (church officer) and Charlie Thain (organist), delighted to volunteer for the parts. Jack even had the means of acquiring a Santa Claus outfit. I think the best part of this idea for me was buying the presents - I just loved doing this. I made a point of buying them all in the one store so that they could be delivered to my home. When it came to wrapping them - well now I know the pleasure Santa gets every year. As the eve of the party drew nearer (it was to be held on a Friday night) I was telling my good friend Doug Boyle about my plans, "How are you going to get all the presents down to the hall?" he asked. "I suppose I'll have to get a taxi," I replied,. "Consider me hired," he said. "There's no meteron my taxi!" Good old Dougl I did this for a couple of years then decided I'd like to branch out a little. My sights were set on a pantomime in Glasgow or Edinburgh - this of course would take more money than I could afford so the idea of starting a fund raising campaign was born. I am a member of St Lukes Church, Lochee and the Minister gave me the use of the hall on the nights it wasn't required, in which I held beetle drives, coffee evenings, etc. Next door to the Church was a little grocer's shop owned by one of the most marvellous women I have ever met, everybody called her "Mrs Mac" (she's dead now unfortunately). Somehow she heard about what I was doing and told me she would be delighted to help in any way at all. That's when Mum and I went into the tablet making business. Mum made the most delicious swiss milk tablet; it consisted of condensed milk and sugar. We would cut it into bars, wrap it and take it down to Mrs Mac who sold it at 6d. a bar. She was in a 70 very good spot for selling as there was a jute mill directly opposite her shop. When the employees sampled Mum's tablet, it wasn't long before boxes were being sold in the mill alone apart from what was sold to passers by and when they realised why it was being made, there was never a bar left - poor Mum must have been sick of looking at the stuff. She made hundreds of bars and 1 still say she made the best tablet in Dundee. Eventually the Press got wind of what we were doing and printed an article in a week-end paper. The outcome was amazing, donations poured in from young and old alike, so much so that 1 had to open a bank account for the children, it was absolutely marvellous. Believe it or not one lady still sends a donation every year on the anniversary of her sister's death. Thanks to the efforts of many people, my dream of taking the children to that pantomime was now reality and this particular year a London company was to be coming to Dundee to put on Babes in the Wood which meant that we didn't have to travel to Edinburgh or Glasgow, which was probably a good thing con- sidering the time of year. How 1 enjoyed making the necessary arrangements, which included hiring a bus to take us to the theatre. For this 1 went to see 'Napper'Thompson, a man well known in Dundee. When 1 explained why 1 needed the bus, he wouldn't hear of me paying for it. "That will be my contribution to your night out," he said. The night of the Panto came at last. Parents had been asked to bring their children to certain vantage points in various housing estates. Sadly instead of a full bus only a handful of children were there - 1 was thoroughly dejected - however, those who were there had a whale of a time! Although 1 hadn't realised it at that time, my work with handi- capped children was going to extend far beyond Dundee. Do you remember our holiday in Ayr and the picture of the baby 71 without arms on the front of that newspaper? Well it turned out that there were many more like this - approximately four hundred, some of whom had even greater disabilities. It had now become apparent that Mandy and all those other children had been damaged by the drug thalidomide. On returning home from work one evening, 1 found two small pieces of paper lying on the floor behind the front door, they had obviously been torn from a diary. On reading what was written, 1 became more and more puzzled, it said, I believe Mrs Cleary has been in touch with you and so I'm going to the meeting in Glasgow on Saturday, I thought it might be a good idea if we travelled together, do call me and we can make the necessary arrangements. 1. M. Douglas. Obviously I was supposed to know what it was all about, but it was a complete mystery, why would I go to a meeting in Glasgow? Who was Mrs Cleary? And of course who was 1. M. Douglas? Next morning the mystery was solved, a letter from Mrs Cleary arrived in the morning post. It was rather an official looking letter, I recall. The heading was The Societ - v for the Aid of Thalidomide Children of which Mrs Cleary was the secretary. Apparently someone had told her about me and she was writing to ask if I would attend the Society's A.G.M. in St Enoch's Hotel, Glasgow. She went on to say that Mrs Douglas who was the home visitor for the Lady Hoare Trust for Thalidomide Children would be coming to Glasgow for the meeting and as she also lived in Dundee perhaps we could travel together. That evening I rang Mrs Douglas and we arranged to meet at Taybridge Station the following Saturday morning. Saturday dawned, and off I went, not knowing quite what to expect at this meeting. I met Mrs Douglas as arranged and during the two hour journey to Glasgow I think I gave her my life story. When I eventually finished talking she said, "Splendid, that's just what to tell the parents during your talk this afternoon. "Pardon?" I said. 72 "You are the Speaker at this afternoon's meeting," she said. My first reaction was to pull the communication cord, but my legs weren't long enough. "Mrs Douglas, I have never spoken in public in my life," I replied. "Well Marilyn, I certainly found what you had to say most interesting and remember all those parents will be there for advice. You have overcome vour difficulties so well; it will be so uplifting for those people to know that it is possible for many of their children to lead a perfectly normal life." We arrived at St Enoch's Hotel about fifteen minutes before the meeting was due to begin. When we were greeted by the Chairman, Mr Shannon, I remember thinking that I had never seen so many people gathered in one room. I suppose there were only about fifty or sixty but to me it was a multitude. I was shown to the front where I sat until the business of the Society was completed then Mr Shannon announced that I had come through from Dundee to give a talk which he was sure would be beneficial to everyone. As he spoke the last words I could hear my heart thumping madly. I took my place on the platforrn and began talking - an hour later I sat down to thunderous applause, suddenly I realised that they had actually enjoyed listening to me. Mrs deary said, "How long have you been doing this sort of t h i tlg? - "Would you believe this is the first time I have ever spoken in public?" I replied. "Goodness, I thought you were a practised public speaker," she went on. Needless to say I was delighted. After the actual talk, I got together with the mothers of little girls to let them see how I dressed myself. I felt that it couldn't be impressed upon them strongly enough how important it was for their youngsters to dress themselves and take themselves to the toilet, if they were to lead a perfectly normal life. A month later, a letter arrived from London, this time the heading was "The Lady Hoare Trust for Thalidomide Children". It was from Lady Hoare herself asking if I would fly to London to speak at the A.G.M. After my success in Glasgow I was a little more confident. and therefore delighted to be asked to speak. Parents came from all over Britain for this meeting. I 73 remember one woman in particular, Mrs Hufton. She had brought her daughter Elaine, born without arms, all the way from Grimsby to hear me. The little girl was about ten years old. As in Glasgow, the mothers and I got together and went into great detail about the personal things which are very important to teenagers. I didn't just tell them, it didn't embarrass me one little bit to let them see the tapes sewn on my knickers etc. Many years later that same little girl from Grimsby passed her driving test at the first attempt and I remember ringing her up to congratulate her. I began by explaining who I was. "But how could I forget you," she laughed, "all I used to hear from Mum was if Marilyn Gillies can do it there's no reason why you can't. " Quite recently I saw a documentary (T.V. Eye) about Elaine. Apparently she is now married with two children. This brings me to a point which 1 feel 1 should tackle. The Lady Hoare Trust for Thalidomide Children was set up to raise money for this cause before the Distillers Company had to pay out large compensations to some of the families. Lady Hoare's Trust however did eventually help handicapped children who were not necessarily a result of thalidomide. My problem has been that there weren't enough people born in my own generation like me to form a big enough pressure group to get some sort of help. On the one hand 1 am glad 1 had to fight for my survival, 1 feel 1 may have emerged a stronger person. On the other hand, how much should we have to fight? Aren't our handicaps enough? Fighting against poverty, bureaucracy, red tape, uninformed civil servants and politicians can be exhausting and depressing. For some people (and their parents) it has been too much. They have given up the struggle and finished up in homes for the disabled, costing the taxpayer many thousands of pounds a year, often becoming vegetables whom nobody wants. Is this the most sensible way? My next engagement was in Liverpool, and as well as the dressing session there was the usual question dme. When parents asked my opinion regarding special schools and the wearing of 74 artificial arms, 1 suddenly realised that although neither had been suitable for me, had 1 not experienced them. it would have been impossible to express an opinion. However, although 1 gave advice regarding both these things, it was obvious that to many of those children they would be an essential part of their lives. 1 would never say, "don't do this" or "don't do that", 1 could only let them see how 1 coped and the rest was up to them. It was suddenly clear to me that there is a purpose for every- thing, not only was 1 sent into this world to be of help to those parents, but 1 believe that 1 went to Trefoil School and had my artificial arms for the same reason. Maybe this sounds silly but all my life 1 have known someone has been watching over me, let me explain. Often in my teens, when 1 was too stubborn to ask for help, there may, for example have been a shop door 1 couldn't open. Just as 1 approached it, wondering how 1 would get out, someone would be coming into that shop. A coincidence perhaps, but things like this happened to me quite a lot and no one will convince me that God wasn't watching over me. It was at this meeting in Liverpool that 1 met a remarkable man - Peter Spencer. 1 had heard of him earlier, he was the man that Harold Wilke was flying to England to meet the day we parted at Scone airport. He had had an accident while serving with the R. A. F. which left him minus one arm and his other one was paralysed. As his accident had occurred when he was an adult, Peter had more limited use of his feet than me, but he could do something which 1 had always wanted to be able to do. He is a talented artist and holding the brush between his teeth, he had learned to make full use of his mouth. During the meeting a film was shown of Peter during an ordinary working day. One of the things he did was post a letter. Once again, holding it in his mouth, he rested it on the lip of the post box and literally 'blew' it in, it was so much easier than doing it with your feet - you're never too old to learn! I've posted letters like that ever since. 1 know these families were most grateful for my travelling round the country to speak to them - however, it was not all one sided, far from it. Many of those parents have become close friends over the years, friends 1 can ring up and say, "May 1 come and spend a few days?" Remember Mrs Cleary of Glasgow, the 75 lady who started it all? She and her husband have been my very good friends for the past twelve years, and there's Pam and Keith Scott who live outside Liverpool and many more, so you see, I gave them the benefits of my experiences and they gave me friendship in return. Lady Hoare (who died several years ago) being founder of the organisation, travelled all over the country with her colleague Brigadier Chatterton. I think all those families would agree that both those people dedicated their lives to the children, doing everything in their power to make life easier for them and their families. Mrs Douglas, whom I mentioned earlier, did a great deal for the organisation in Scotland. One particular year a week's seminar was held at Carberry Towers in Musselburgh outside Edinburgh. It is a beautiful place which stands in mag- nificent grounds. I was asked to go along and mix with the children. I remember that seminar so well as I met an absolutely mar- vellous man - his name was Eric and he was partially paralysed but had one of the most outstanding personalities I have ever encountered in anyone. One morning he and I were having coffee in Musselburgh, and as we chatted I realised we had a great deal in common. I was now twenty-five and still unmarried, a fact which had begun to depress me; most of my girl friends were married and their children were growing up. This came up in my conversation with Eric. "I don't think I could marry a handicapped bloke, does that sound awful?" "Not at all," said Eric, "I know exactly how you feel, I'll have to marry a pretty girl, no plain Jane for me." Eric felt that he was not handsome and so wanted a beautiful wife. I would not admit to being handicapped, so I wanted an able bodied husband just like any other girl. It really did me good to know how Eric felt, it's not everyone to whom you can express your innermost feelings and it was nice to know that this wasn't a personal hang-up - I often wonder if he married his pretty girl, or if he learned that looks are only skin deep just as I learned not to have arms wasn't the end of the world. Looks or not, Eric deserved the best. 76 -L it was during this week at Carberry Towers that I learned how thoughtlessly cruel people can be. One day we had a trip to Edinburgh Castle. As you are probably aware, some of these children had no arms, some no legs and others had neither. Two women passed those laughing, chattering youngsters and one said to the other, "They ought to have been put down at birth. " Having the forthright nature that I do, I simply could not let this pass, especially when some of the children had overheard that thoughtless woman, so I walked swiftly up behind her and said, "Excuse me, but do you realise that there but for the grace of God go you. " I didn't wait for a reply, I was so angry that had I remained in that woman's company a second longer - well I'll leave the rest to your imagination. People were so ignorant of how handicapped people lived at this time that they had no way of knowing how to cope with the problem. How I wished that I could educate the public and make them understand that we were exactly like them inside (better in some cases) and that all we wanted was a chance to show our capabilities, to be integrated into society instead of what had been common practice in the past - segregation. On one occasion I was invited to Hertfordshire to address a parents' meeting after which a very nice couple invited me back for a meal, and then drove me to Heathrow Airport. The traffic was very heavy and it took us much longer to reach the airport than we had anticipated. I arrived with very little time to spare and instead of waiting until the car was parked, I was advised to get out at the terminal building, and the couple, thinking that my flight was due to leave at any minute, didn't wait. I ran into the building trying to find the correct desk at which to enquire about my flight. I finally found it only to be told that my plane was at that moment taxiing along the runway. What on earth was I to do now? Here I was in the middle of Heathrow Airport - alone. However, the man behind the desk was very helpful and managed to get me on the next flight to Edinburgh, an hour and a half later. There was nothing else to do but wait, but then it suddenly struck me that if I didn*t arrive home at approximately the time Mum was 77 expecting me, she would begin to worry, so 1 had to find a telephone. All 1 had was a œ1 note. It's amazing, I've walked on silver for so long and 1 don't even realise when it's only notes 1 have in my shoe. Looking round 1 saw a notice which read CHANGE so over I went only to find that the counter was almost the same height as myself (told you 1 was small). However, nothing daunted, 1 put up my foot with the œ1 note between my toes, asking if 1 might have change for the telephone. The man took the note returning with every conceivable coin of the realm, and he counted them out all along the counter. "I wonder if you would help me to pick them up please, you see 1 . . . " before 1 could explain he said ---Sorryluv, I'm busy." What seemed like hours later 1 got the last halfpenny down into my shoe. Thank goodness there were seats in the 'phone booths, 1 don't think 1 could have stood on my left leg another minute! Having explained the situation to Mum 1 bought myself a magazine to pass the time away. At last my flight number was called and off 1 went to board the plane. We had been seated in the aircraft about ten minutes when the pilot's voice came over the loud speaker system. -Ladies and gentlemen, there is a fault in one of the engines. Would you please disembark while it is put right, we apologise for the inconvenience." Well, they couldn't put it right. What now, I thought. Back 1 went to the desk, this time the chap said he would check to see if there was a seat on the Glasgow flight which was due to leave in half an hour. Thankfully there was, but of course this meant that 1 wouldn't get home that night, as the last train for Dundee would have gone. Thank goodness for my friends the Clearys. Then a horrible thought struck me, Mae and Jimmy were hoping to move to East Kilbride - if they had then 1 was sunk. So with fingers crossed 1 boarded the Glasgow flight. It was with great relief that 1 felt the plane actually leave the ground. When the airport bus dropped us at St Enoch's Square, it was 11 p. m. and as telephone boxes present somewhat of a problem 78 for me, a very kind lady helped me to dial Mae's number. Was I glad to hear the familiar voice. "Mae," I said in rather a pathetic voice. "Is that you Marilyn, where are you, are you all right?" She sounded anxious. "I'm all right, I'm in St Enoch's Square, can you put me up for the night? I'll explain when I see you." "Stay right where you are, Jimmy's listening and he's stepping into his trousers," she assured me. Poor Jimmy had been getting ready for bed. Of course the first thing I had to do on my arrival at Dixon Road was to ring Mum yet again. It was very difficult to convince her that I was all right. Eventually however I did, assuring her that I would be on the first train the next morning. Mae and Jimmy certainly turned up trumps that night. I must tell you a story about the Cleary's which appealed to my sense of humour. I was travelling through to visit them one week-end and sitting opposite me in the train was a woman who had a broken arm. We got chatting (you've probably gathered by now that I like nothing better than a good old blether). "Did you have a fall?" I asked, indicating her arm. "Yes," she said "and you have no idea how inconvenient it is having only one arm, so to speak". "It must be very awkward," I agreed sympathetically. "Household chores take twice as long, I can't peel potatoes, well, I mean have you ever tried peeling potatoes with one hand?" Before I could reply she went on, "Well of course you haven't, there's no point in making life difficult for yourself is there? It's amazing how you miss having both hands, do you know what I mean? Life can be cruel, imagine a woman of my age having to make do with one hand. " Of course I was nodding and shaking my head in agreement. As we were going in the same direction in Glasgow, we agreed to share a taxi. I must tell her before we get off this train, I thought, if she sees me handing up my ticket with my foot she'll die of embarrassment. You see, I have always found that if people don't notice that I have no arms, because of my cape, we have a very interesting conversation, but as soon as they realise, 79 they simply dry up. I was to be given an explanation for this a few years later. As the train was pulling into Buchanan Street Station I said, "There is something I must tell you. I have no arms. Now before you say anything, if we had not decided to share a taxi I would not have told you, but I will be handing over my ticket with my toes and what would you have thought. You would certainly wish that we weren't sharing that taxi." As I was talking it was obvious she was thinking about our conversation regarding her broken arm, so I continued, "Don't you see, it's human nature to complain about things which are inconvenient, naturally it is a nuisance as you have always had two arms, besides, how were you to know I had no arms?" I think I managed to put her at ease as we were still chatting amicably when we parted company at Dixon Road. You will recall that, while in America, I was very interested in Mary's ability to drive. Mum came home from work one evening with a copy of a magazine issued by the Disabled Drivers'Motor Club, which had been given to her by a chap who worked beside her. He told Mum it contained an article which might be of interest to me. On reading it I was more than interested. It was about a London man, Nigel Harvey, who, having contracted polio in Malaya had lost the use of his arms and drove with his feet. According to the article, he had a Renault converted to his requirements. How delighted I was that my friend Agnes and I had decided to spend our holidays in London that year. That evening I wrote to the editor of the magazine asking if he would forward the enclosed letter to Mr Harvey, in which I explained my circumstances, and told him of my forthcoming visit to London, ending by saying that I would be most grateful if he could spare me some time while I was there. Well, he did better than that. He collected Agnes and me outside our hotel saying that he had arranged for the use of a private piece of ground where I could try out his car - this was far more than I had hoped for. On reaching the appointed place I got into the driver's seat. Let me explain that this car had a steering 'disc' on the floor with a stirrup effect into which you put your left foot and of course the gears were automatic. However, 80 as my left foot is not quite so strong as my right, I started off at a disadvantage. Nothing daunted, off I went - very slowly! The car I tried in America had not been adapted. The steering wheel was in the same place as any other car and having used my feet all my life, I found this a perfectly natural way to drive, but having driven this car for about half an hour I realised that if it was the only way I could drive in this country, then I would never drive. It was completely foreign to me. Of course it was the same old story - my feet were definitely my hands and I am comfortable doing things ordinary people do with their hands. Nevertheless, I decided it was worth looking into, perhaps something could be devised which would suit my particular requirements and still comply with the rules of the road. During the next few months I made many enquiries without success. I would have to wait. The following year, 1968, was a wonderful year for me. It all began in January when the Daily Record rang me to ask if they could come to the office to do an article and take a picture of me at work. I didn't think much of the idea at first as Mum and I had never been ones for publicity. However, when it was pointed out to me how beneficial it would be to parents of handicapped children, I agreed, hence the article appeared on 20th January. At this particular time Grampian Television were doing a feature on the N.C.R. and the editor of our factory post, N. C. R Monthly Magazine had, unknown to me, asked Ron Thompson the Grampian reporter, how he felt about doing a programme regarding my ability to cope with life. Apparently Mr Thompson discussed this with his superiors in Aberdeen, who thought it was good material. The first I knew of this discussion was when Mr McIntosh, the editor, rang me at the office with the following words, "Hello Marilyn, how are you? Have you ever thought about television?" It didn't register at first. "Have I thought what about television, Mr McIntosh?" I replied. "Have you ever thought about being on television?" he went on. "Me, on T.V? Why on earth should I go on T.V?" 1 asked, puzzled. 81 i i "Well, newspaper men seem to take a great interest in every- thing you do so I thought it would be far better to actually see you doing things with your feet rather than always visualising it from a photograph." I must admit the idea appealed to me very much. I don't know why. Possibly because it would be nice to help others and also I knew from experience that many people who did not know me found it very difficult to believe all the things the articles said. It's not the same looking at a photograph in a newspaper. I have found over the years that people try to put themselves in my place, which is utterly impossible. They'll say, "I could never get my foot up to my mouth or write with a pen between my toes." Well, of course they couldn't, they've never had to, but because the - v can't do it doesn't mean it's impossible. Let's be honest, we are all born with the same aptitude for using our feet. How often have we ever seen a baby with it's big toe in it's mouth? Naturally, babies who have arms soon loose the inclination to do things with their feet and simply use what comes most naturally to them - their hands. Of course, once again my supervisor had to be approached for permission before filming could begin. I don't think I had ever been refused permission for anything during my ten years with the Company, and of course, Mr Murray didn't let me down now. Thinking back, I often wondered if he wished he had not told Ron Thompson to go ahead, the whole place was disrupted. My first meeting with Ron Thompson was 27th January. He told me there would be a camera team coming to the office in two days' time to begin filming. I think my colleagues enjoyed it every bit as much as I did. Nancy Lonie, who sat behind me, even had a walk-on part. She had to walk to my desk and hand me something for typing - a star at last! Next, the camera crew came to my home where I hoovered, made a cup of tea and things like that! Ron tried to persuade Mum to take part but she said, "You don't want to waste your film on me, it's Marilyn people will want to see." But she was wrong. Many people said to me, "Your mother must be a wonderful woman, why wasn't she on T.V. with you?" 82 Filming completed, Ron took me to the studio to be inter- viewed. I was a bit nervous but soon got the hang of things. My T. V. debut was 11 th February, the programme was called The Wednesday People. I found it a very strange experience watching myself on the screen. You know Robert Burns had a saying: Oh wid some power the gift tae gie us tae see oorsels as ithers see us. This is what came to my mind as I watched myself. Throughout my life I had done most things other people could do, not actually realising how I looked to them. I always resented being stared at as I have mentioned before and I still resent people staring, 'making a meal of it' so to speak; but looking at myself on that screen it suddenly dawned on me for the first time in my life, that I actually did things with my feet. I was seeing myself as other people saw me. I expect they were amazed that such things as writing and typing could be done with the feet. This I could now understand - however, I still only tolerate a look, not a long lingering stare - there is a difference. The programme was a great success and the next day Ron rang me up to say that Charles Smith, editor of News & Current Affairs in Aberdeen, was delighted with my programme and asked if I would go to Aberdeen the following day to appear 'live' on Grampian Week. I was to be on a panel consisting of a headmaster of a school for the deaf, a doctor and parents of a handicapped child. The Chairman was Donnie B. McLeod now I of Pebble Mill fame. Under Mr McLeod's expertise, the whole thing went off very well. That had been Friday evening. On Saturday morning I had to go to Lochee to do some shopping. About halfway down the road I was suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen children. "We saw you on T.V.," said one little girt. "You're very clever, eh, you type wi yer feet, don't you?" said another. "We've never been able to speak to anyone who's been on the telly before," they went on. "Where are you going?" one curly haired little chap enquired. "Woolworths," 1 replied. Well, before I knew what was happening, they had run ahead of me, and by the time I reached the shop, two of the doors had been 'ceremoniously' held open for me, all that was missing 83 was the fanfare of trumpets! Believe me, 1 felt like a million dollars. Later that same morning, 1 was waiting for Mum outside the supermarket and was approached by a gentleman, a slightly inebriated gentleman. "I'm going to buy you a bunch of daf- fodils," says he. "Don't go away, I'll be right back." And he made a perilous crossing to the florists. holding his hand up as each car approached him. When Mum came out of the super- market 1 told her what had happened. "We'd better cross the road," she said,---hemay have been lucky going but he may not be so lucky coming back." We duly crossed the road and looked in a shop window, keeping one eye on the door of the florists. Out he came with the biggest bunch of daffodils 1 have ever seen. 1 stepped across the pavement with Mum. "These are for you mi' darlin," he said, handing them to Mum, which really brought a lump to my throat. He may have had one over the eight but he still knew not to hand those flowers to me. Where do you think he went then - straight across the road to the honking of horns! Well, between those kids and my chivalrous gentleman do you blame me for feeling like the Lady who lives in Buckingham Palace? At the end of February following these two programmes, 1 was approached by a reporter from Glasgow who asked if she could do an article for an American Medical magazine. Of course 1 agreed. Several weeks passed and 1 had forgotten all about this article, until two letters arrived c/o N.C.R. one from New York and the other from Virginia, both from young men. It was only then that 1 realised the article had not in fact been for a medical magazine. However, by this time it was of no consequence. 1 replied to both letters. 84 Three months later, in May to be exact, a wonderful thing happened. Ron Thompson came to my home one evening. "Marilyn," he said "I remember you telling me a few months ago that you always wanted to meet Douglas Bader." Group Captain Douglas Bader, now Sir Douglas Bader is the R. A. F. pilot who lost his legs in a flying accident in 193 1. In spite of this, he was in the Battle of Britain and in 1954 his biography Reach For The Sky was written and later made into a film. He, like me, had gone to Roehampton Hospital to be fitted with artificial limbs and it had been an ambition of mine, from a very early age, to meet him. I must have mentioned this to Ron at one time, never dreaming that he would remember anything about it. Not only had he remembered but here he was telling me that my hero was coming to our limb fitting centre the following week to see an old friend, George Murdoch, who had been the surgeon in charge of me when I had my'arms'. "Now Marilyn," Ron continued, "there is no guarantee that Group Captain Bader will have time to meet you but I'll certainly take you down," then as an afterthought, "do you think you'll get the time off?" My being a devout coward meant that I asked Ron to approach my boss to ask the question he must now be dreading. Sometimes I wonder why the N.C. R. put up with me. Permission granted, off I went the following week. On the way down Ron explained that I was to wait in a room downstairs while they showed Group Captain Bader my T.V. film - who knows, he may not have wanted to meet me after that! As it turned out it was quite the reverse - Ron told me this later. When the filni had finished he said, "Who is this girl, can I meet her?" "She's waiting downstairs Douglas," said Mr Murdoch, "she's been an admirer of yours for many years." 85 1 While all this was happening upstairs, I had been pacing backwards and forwards rather like an expectant father - then I heard him coming downstairs. Ron walked towards me and said, "Group Captain Bader. this is Marilyn Gillies. " I'll never forget his first words to me. "Fantastic my dear, absolutely fantastic. These tin legs are nothing compared with what you have achieved." What seemed to fascinate him most was how I managed to get a piece of carbon between two sheets of typing paper -something which had been shown on the film. A teenager couldn't have felt any more excited meeting her pop idol than I did that day - to actually meet the Douglas Bader was something I had never dreamed would happen to me and it was not to end there. During this time, my correspondence with the chap who wrote to me from Virginia was continuing and he invited me to Washington for a holiday the following year. I happened to be discussing my plans with Nurse Campbell of our medical de- partment, and would you believe it, she was going to Washington the following summer to visit her sister and brother-in-law. "Where will you stay, Marilyn?" she asked. "Well, I haven't got round to thinking about that," I replied. A few weeks later she astounded me by saying that she had mentioned my plans to her sister and she had told Nurse Campbell to bring me with her, and I was welcome to stay for as long as I wished. Aren't people kind? So I was all set for 1969. However, that was a long way off. Not long after this I happened to bump into my Uncle Peter one afternoon. As we stood chatting I suddenly said to him, "Do you know anyone who could convert a car suitable for me to drive?" I don't know what brought driving to mind as I had come up against so many blank walls in the past. What I liked about Uncle Peter was the fact that he didn't look at me as though I was mad. I went on to explain how this man in London drove with his feet, and if he could do it then I didn't see any reason why I couldn't. "Well Marilyn, if it can be done I know just the man who can do it. I'll be in touch," and off he went. 86 True to his word a fortnight later I was sitting in the office of Bob Mitchell, service manager of a Dundee garage. Uncle Peter hadn't lost any time. Apparently he told Mr Mitchell about Nigel Harvey in London. "If you can't manage that car Marilyn how do you think you would manage?" he said, "I've spent the last two weeks racking my brains". So I told him about my friend in America. "Why didn't you mention this before?" said Mr Mitchell. "Well, the rules of the road are more strict in this countrv and I didn't think I would be allowed to drive like that," I replied. "You leave it with me, we'll get something worked out," Mr Mitchell answered. Little did I realise the headache I was giving him. He sent to H. M. Stationers in Edinburgh for a particular book - an enormous book it turned out to be. How he managed to wade his way through it I'll never know. However, it was worth the trouble although I don't know if he would agree with that. He learned what he wanted to know, that it didn't matter where the steering wheel was so long as the person could control the car satisfactorily. After that I think he spoke to everyone in Parliament. He told me one day that he didn't think it would be long before the buck was passed to the P.M. himself. However, it didn't come to that. Now that we knew it was possible for me to drive like my friend in Los Angeles, all I had to do was wait for a suitable automatic car to come into the garage - patience is a virtue! Whilst negotiations were going on however, the Chairman of the Dundee Tayside Round Table approached me to say that when my car was ready they would be delighted to pay for the conversion. You can imagine how I felt at such un-asked for generosity, especially when all my other efforts had been in vain. In the meantime, a driving instructor had to be found who would be willing to put his life in my 'hands'. Once again Uncle Peter turned up trumps in the shape of Ed McLaren who had his own school of motoring. The real stumbling block was the insurance. Uncle Peter tried various companies who quoted ridiculous prices - in other words they didn't want our business. 87 1 1 i It was most fortunate that my Uncle had a number of good friends, as it was another of his friends who eventually fixed us up. George Neish, who was with a local Insurance Broker, worked very hard to find me an Insurance Company. He succeeded in finding one willing to negotiate terms as soon as a car had been converted to my requirements. In October I bought my first car, a Ford Cortina. Mr Mitchell took it to his premises in Invergowrie, on the outskirts of Dundee, to begin the conversion. During the next few months, which of course were winter months, his task was made no easier by the fact that most evenings his fingers were just about dropping off with the intense cold as he puzzled out just how to tackle this new challenge. But tackle it he did and splendidly too. Before Mr Mitchell touched the car at all, Mr McLaren thought it would be a good idea to find a private piece of ground where he could have a look at my 'technique' so to speak, before anything was done. So we got permission to try it out on a disused aerodrome about seven miles away. I couldn't wait to get into the driving seat. I remember it so well; as I put my right foot on the steering wheel I was very tempted to say "Look - no hands!" However as I had only met Ed McLaren once before I restrained myself! Bob Mitchell was there together with Uncle Peter. Mr Mitchell got out and went behind, to see if, as I drove off, I could go in a straight line. I went in a straight line all right - backwards. I had put it in reverse instead of 'drive'. I've never seen anyone move so fast as Bob Mitchell did that day. I often wonder if that made him have second thoughts about converting it. In spite of this, Mr McLaren was convinced that once the car was converted I would manage to drive without any great difficulty. The conversion was really ingenious. All our problems arose from the fact that we drive on the left side of the road, the steering wheel being on the right hand side of the car. As I am strictly 'right footed' I couldn't turn the steering wheel without my knee hitting the door. Consequently the seat had to be moved back as far as possible and also raised up, which then put me too far away from the brake and accelerator. So Mr Mitchell had to make up another set and weld them on to the back of the 88 il original ones, and the only way he could do this satisfacton ly, was to have my brake on the right and accelerator on the left as opposed to the other way round. As I had never driven before, this was of no importance. Although I could manage the indicator switch (already on the car) most of the time, it was agreed that one should be easily accessible to my left foot, this Mr Mitchell welded on to the back of my accelerator. It was a twenty second timing mechanism and I could operate it with my big toe while driving along. As my seat was raised, my feet didn't reach the floor, so a platform was built under my pedals on which I rested my heel. The remaining problem was the dip switch, it was impossible for me to reach the original one. I had one put into the platform I mentioned so that it could be worked with my heel. So you see both indicator and dip switches, wired to the originals could be operated without me having to lift my foot off the accelerator. So I was all set and rarin' to go. I went to Invergowrie each time he had completed another part of the conversion to make sure it was in the correct place, and Mr Mitchell's wife never let me leave without a wan-ning cup of coffee and I promised her that when I passed my driving test, I would take all the people concerned with making it possible, out for a slap-up meal. By the time Spring 1969 arrived I was all set for my first driving lesson. Poor Mr McLaren, I often wonder if he had second thoughts. We still had the use of this disused aerodrome a few miles from Dundee, so my lessons began there. After about three quarters of an hour, Mr McLaren told me to drive out into an adjoining lane. Having driven about twenty yards I looked in my mirror. "Mr McLaren, " I said, "there's a van behind me." "Marilyn, this is a public road, other vehicles are permitted to use it too, you know," he replied. "Just go a little faster so that you're not obstructing the other driver." "Faster Mr McLaren? I'm going ten miles an hour as it is!" He declined to reply. It was holiday time again, so the driving lessons were held up for about six weeks, three of those I was to spend with my 89 Virginian pen-pal Joe. We had become rather fond of each other over the past year. He had sent me some beautiful gifts including a wine coloured vase containing a dozen red roses which had been sent Inter-Flora. Nobody had ever given me red roses in my life, so you can imagine how I felt. He had told me that he was separated from his wife pending divorce and I remember thinking how considerate it was of him to tell me this, especially as we were so far apart, and even when I got there I would have had no way of knowing he was married. I thought, this is great, he's obviously a very honest chap - you see I have always been a great believer in honesty being the best policy, and so I respected Joe very much indeed. Kathy and Ted, Nurse Campbell's sister and brother-in-law, made me so welcome, I really felt like part of the family. I had given Joe their address and he came two days after my arrival. We spent a super week together, just getting to know each other. He took me to all the usual places of interest in Washington, Arlington Cemetry, The White House, The Lincoln Memorial, and many other places. We both wished there was more time to spend together, but he could only get off a week at this time of the year. We found that we had a great deal in common and really enjoyed each other's company, in fact, we talked about the possibility of him coming to Scotland when his divorce came through. When he left I flew to Pennsylvania to stay with my friend Mary who had emigrated with her husband and two boys a few years before. Joe telephoned from Richmond every day at lunch time. After about three days Mary said, "You know Marilyn, you really should have gone to Richmond with Joe and got to know him better." Of course she was right. I managed to get his father's telephone number and rang him up. Having told him who I was, I got no further, he yelled down the 'phone at me, "So you're the girl who's been pester- ing my son. Well why don't you go back where you came from and leave him alone, he's a happily married man with two young bo ys. " Before I could say anything in my own defence he slammed down the 'phone. Needless to say I was completely shattered, it 90 3 above Judy, my faithful companion. 1 iight Douglas Bader and me during the filming of Two of a Kind. Try i ng to educate rnyself' R A very special occasioll - Princess Anne's day with the Angus Riding, foi the Disabled. A dxv in the life of MarilNn Carr. A 1 i 1 0.1 01 kl~,- i A \&alkabout willi Maleolm Muggeridge. 1 fie Campaign is on. Polling 13m at last. 1 don't know why 1 look so relaxed' took me a long time to recover myself but when I did, all I felt was anger which began to bubble inside me. Who did he think he was anyway? I couldn't wait until the next day to tell him exactly what I thought of him, and I think you have learned enough about me to know I would do just that I I'm sure I was the one who invented the 'hot line' because I don't think any telephone line could have been hotter than the one between Richmond and Pittsburg that day. Of course he had meant to tell me, but had never found the right moment, we were getting along so well etc. etc. As you may well imagine I did not come home from this trip so full of beans as I had from my previous holidays, but I did come home a wiser person. There is a lesson to be learned from everything and this taught me a very good lesson - I would never fall into the same trap again. My driving lessons resumed as soon as I returned. At the beginning my legs always ached by the time I got home, but it wasn't long before they were used to it and now that I had picked up the threads again they were fine. In September Mr McLaren said it was time I applied to sit my driving test. Of course I was thrilled that he felt I was ready, but at the same time I was rather nervous at the thought, which was natural I suppose. It wasn't too long before we got a date - 27th October - a day to remember! As I drove with Mr McLaren to the Test Centre, my tummy was going round and round. Having read a number plate at twenty five yards, off we went. One thing in particular stands out in my mind, as we turned into a side street there was an old man walking right in the middle of the road. "How do I handle this situation," I thought. I drove slowly behind him for a bit then it struck me I would be sure to fail if I stayed behind him, on the other hand, if I were to toot my horn the old boy might die of shock, and the examiner would be sure to fail me if that hap- pened. What a dilemma! However, as I got a little bit closer I just touched my horn and the man didn't even jump, he very obligingly moved to one side. I hoped my sigh of relief wasn't too loud. Having answered the questions on the Highway Code I awaited my fate with baited breath. 91 ---WellMiss Gillies," said the examiner,---Findelighted to tell you that You have passed.--- 1 wanted to hug him but it would have been most unladylike to wrap my two legs round his neck, so 1 beamed at him instead. Of course Mr McLaren was equally delighted. We drove to my lock-up to pick up his car which meant that 1 would drive home completely on my own. As we neared my front door we began honking our horns simultaneously, 1 think half the street came out to see what all the noise was about, then of course when 1 began waving that all important little pink slip in the air, my neighbours realised that 1 had done it and there were congratula- tions all round - Mum was over the moon. That evening it made the headlines of our local newspaper and then the story was taken up by various newspapers throughout the country. 1 was absolutely amazed and delighted at the amount of letters and cards which came pouring in. One man sent me œ5 for my first few gallons of petrol. True to my word 1 took all my valued friends out for a meal. Then 1 rang Bob Mitchell's wife Jean to tell her of the arrange- ments for our big night out. She said, "You know Marilyri, 1 remember so well the night you told me you would take us all for a meal. You didn't say if 1 pass my test you said when 1 pass my test and 1 thought, she probably will too.--- Isn't it odd it never occurred to me that 1 might fail. 1 don't think 1 was 'cocky' about it, just quietly confident. It was rather like learning to dress myself, once 1 was given instructions 1 just knew 1 could do it. We had a lovely evening, but at the end of the meal 1 had a rather embarrassing moment. Perhaps you will recall Jean Mitchell always gave me a cup of coffee while Bob was working on my car. Well when the waiter came round asking who wanted coffee 1 said. "No thank you, 1 don't like coffee." Too late 1 realised my mistake. 1 looked across the table at Jean who said, "Do you mean to tell me that you drank coffee all these months when you didn't even like it?" What could 1 say? Everyone had a good laugh anyway. 92 Sadly my Uncle Peter died while 1 was writing this book. 1 hope he knew how grateful 1 was for my car. The others are now very good friends whom 1 can never repay. Between television and now being able to drive a car, my whole life seemed to be changing for the better. One day a letter arrived out of the blue. On opening it 1 discovered it was from the Dundee Women's Citizens' Guild asking if 1 would give a talk at one of their meetings the following session. My first reaction was to decline, it was one thing speaking to parents of handicapped children who had come specially for advice, 1 thought, but something quite different trying to interest people, many of whom had no connection with the handicapped. However, on thinking the matter over very carefully, a thought suddenly struck me. Hadn't this been the chance 1 was waiting for? Do you remember the two women at Edinburgh Castle who thought that handicapped children should have been put down at birth, and how 1 longed for the opportunity to educate the public on the problems of handicapped people? They say that everything comes to those who wait and what better opportunity would 1 have than this? So 1 wrote to the secretary accepting her invitation and a few months later 1 was at the first of many women's meetings, as it seemed to snowball, one group would mention me to another and so on. 1 remember that first meeting so well. Naturally 1 was rather nervous and as the President was introducing me my one wish was to be interesting. 1 have listened to many boring speakers in my time and there is nothing worse. The first woman to nod off would indicate that 1 am boring and that 1 have gone on long enough, 1 thought. 1 didn't have notes, 1 simply stood up and spoke straight from the heart. My main concern was that once 1 started 1 might forget to stop, as 1 really become engrossed in what 1 am saying. My feeling was that in speaking to those women about the problems of the handicapped 1 was spreading the word. 1 hoped that by listening to me they would go away from their meeting with a greater understanding of the very important part the general public play in our lives. 1 ended by 93 saying, "Remember ladies, there but for the Grace of God go each and everyone of you." Just as 1 had told the women at Edinburgh Castle. I'm delighted to say that everyone seemed to enjoy listening to me and the marvellous thing was, many of them came forward at the end of my talk and said, "You know, Miss Gillies, you have taught us a great deal to-day and given us much to think about." What more could 1 ask? One meeting in particular stands out in my mind; it was at a women's group in St Andrews. During the course of my talk 1 asked them a question. "Can you tell me why it is when I'm sitting talking to someone who, for one reason or another doesn't know I'm handicapped in any way, talks away nineteen to the dozen, but as soon as they realise 1 have no arms they suddenly dry up? I'm anxious to see it from the other person's point of view instead of condemning all the time." One woman gave me what 1 thought was a very sound answer. "I think people are suddenly aware of their arms and are em- barrassed, they want to put them behind their back or anywhere out of sight." 1 had never thought of people being embarrassed because they had something which 1 didn't. On such occasions 1 only thought of my own feelings, not that the other person found it embarrassing to look at me. You're never too old to learn, here was 1 not only giving these women a greater understanding into the problems of handicapped people, but 1 too was learning, getting an insight into what the ordinary man in the street was thinking when he spoke to people who were'physically different'. 1 think this is a very apt description of the physically handi- capped and one which I 'stole' from the chairman of that very first thalidomide meeting in Glasgow. Mr Shannon described his son as 'physically different' which 1 thought was a marvellous choice of words, and 1 have used the expression throughout my years of public speaking. Of course I could only talk about the problems of the physically handicapped, but many years later 1 was to discover that our problems are not so far removed from those of the mentally handicapped. Perhaps one day 1 will have the privilege of talking on their behalf also. 94 I had now been driving for about six months and had arranged to visit Mae and Jimmy (my Glasgow friends) who had moved to East Kilbride. I had not yet been to their new home. Jimmy said he would meet me in George Square in Glasgow's city centre. When I reached the outskirts of the city I stopped to ask a passer- by, who happened to be a young man, for directions to George Square. "Well, I'm gaen that way masel, hen," he said, "so maybe ye could gie me a lift an' I'll direct ye as we go." Are you thinking what I was thinking? "All right," I said, "but I think you should know that I drive with my feet." "Oh, do ye hen?" says he with a laugh, obviously not believing a word. Round the car he came, opened the passenger door and jumped in. The look which crossed his face when he discovered I actually did drive with my feet was indescribable. As I drove off he said, "D'ye find it quite easy drivin' like this, hen?" the whites of his knuckles gleaming as he gripped the side of his seat. "Would ye no be better usin' yer haunds? " he asked. A smile crossed my face as I said, "I'm afraid I don't have hands, you see I was born without arms, that's why I drive with my feet." "Oh," was all he could say, then, "have you come far?" "From Dundee," I replied. "Dundee, ye mean ye've driven a'the way fae Dundee wi'yer feet?" as if to say "and you're still in one piece." As we approached our destination I could see that panic was taking over. He said, "J+jist drop me here th-th-this'll dae fine, that's George Square over there, th-th-thanks for the lift." He simply couldn't get out of the car quickly enough. As he dis- appeared into the crowd I couldn't help thinking that he was prob- ably making his way to a suitable place of refreshment for a stiff whisky. I often wondered if anyone believed his story. A few years later I was to have a similar experience with Michael Parkinson. 1 have a number of friends who drive Invalid cars and not long after passing my test, one of them asked if 1 had applied for the 95 !I Private Car Allowance. It was only then that 1 remembered Nigel Harvey telling me about this when 1 met him in London. On making enquiries, 1 was informed that 1 would be seen by a consultant, then examined by the doctor dealing with this allow- ance for our area. To cut a long story short, my application was turned down. Why? Because there was nothing wrong with my legsI This happened on several occasions and 1 finally came to the conclusion that having no arms wasn't enough. So 1 decided to make an appointment with my M.P. who said, "You see, Miss Gillies, the trouble is you've overcome your disability too well!" So now 1 was being condemned because 1 hadn't lived off the state all my life, at least that's how it sounded. It's strange, but up to this point 1 hadn't qualified for any benefits since the day 1 was born. 1 often wonder if the people who make the rules have ever tried to manage one da ' y without the use of their arms. Do you know, they wouldn't even be able to blow their noses. And when 1 see how easily people cope, 1 realise that the constant effort 1 have to make, every minute of the day, is out of the ordinary. However my M. P. did manage to get me the orange parking disc which enables me to park where the ordinary driver can't. It is invaluable for many things, especially shopping. Regarding the Private Car Allowance 1 wasn't so lucky I'm afraid. The powers that be decided 1 did not need a car as did lower limb deficient people. However, 1 realised by this time that the law would have to be changed before 1 could get anywhere. It's so obvious, as I've said before, that the laws of the land are made by people who simply do not comprehend the different needs of the dis- abled. 1 was very much in the minority and could not be put into any one category, and it seemed to me that they weren't really interested in my problems. The minority has to become a majority before anything is ever done. So my hands were tied! 96 10 It was now 1971 and little did I know that the events of this year were to change my whole life. In April, my old friend Ron Thompson from Grampian T.V. paid me a visit. "I've had an idea Marilyn, and I've come to see what you think of it." "I'm all ears Ron," I replied, intrigued. "How would you like to do a documentary with Douglas Bader?" I looked at him in amazement. Feeling as I do about that great man can you imagine me saying anything else but, "When do we start?" Grampian hadn't yet approached him, but having learned of my enthusiasm, Ron assured me they would be doing so within the next few days. On ringing his London home, Ron was informed that Group Captain Bader was in Bearsden, Glasgow, staying with his good friend Sir lain Stewart, which fitted in with Grampian's plans very well. Ron then rang Sir lain to see if he was agreeable to us coming through to discuss the film with the Group Captain. Sir lain was most helpful and a few days later, Ron and I were on our way to Glasgow. When he heard Ron's idea, Group Captain Bader was only too delighted to co-operate, so it was in August we set up our 'headquarters' in the Kirkhouse Inn, Strathblane. The idea of this documentary, which incidentally was to be the first Grampian would do in colour, was to show how two people with totally different handicaps could, with determination, overcome practically all of their difficulties. It was decided to call the film Two Of A Kind. You see, although our handi- caps were different our natures were very much alike. Personally, I believe it takes a certain type of nature to overcome a severe disability. This was a week I will never forget. Douglas, as he told me to 97 call him, had a four seater plane which was at Prestwick Airport outside Glasgow. The plan was for us to slip into each others' lives for a few days. So up I went with him in his plane. The weather was very bad that day and the flight bumpy. I didn't realise what went into the making of a T.V. documentary. We had to go up twice, the first time with the sound man in the back seat and the second time so that the camera man could film from another aircraft, giving Douglas instructions over the radio to veer left or right to get the best shots. It was the veering part I didn't like - I'm sure I left my stomach up there somewhere. Other than that, I found the whole experience absolutely won- derful, especially as we began to descend. Visibility was so bad the runway could not be seen from the air at all and Douglas had to land by radar. I was not in the least afraid, I couldn't have been in more capable hands now, could I? I kept saying to myself 'Imagine me sitting in a plane piloted by the great Douglas Bader'. It had been thrilling to meet him but to actually fly with him - well! Next on the agenda was my expertise as a driver (I haven't got my pilots' licence yet!). This is definitely where I think favouri- tism was shown. Ron said it would let viewers see how competent I was if I drove along Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow at the height of the rush hour - that is rather like Picadilly Circus at five in the afternoon! Now, I ask you, was this fair? After all Douglas wasn't asked to fly through a crowded sky, now was he? The awful thing was I had to go round three or four times, each time I got near where the camera crew were standing, they would wave me round again - just to make sure everything was all right they told me later. Maybe their film was O.K. but I was a nervous wreck. "I think I'll take up flying, it's not so hectic up there," I said to Ron. After my hair-raising experience in Sauchiehall Street, it was decided that we go over the Erskine Bridge which is a toll bridge. I rolled down my window and handed the money out to the chap. At first, I don't think he realised anything was different, but having driven away Douglas looked back and began to hoot with laughter. "I say my dear, you ought to see that chap's face. " I glanced in 98 my mirror and there he was, cap in hand, scratching his head in utter disbelief! One day in particular stands out in my mind. We were in Sir lain's home and I must confess Douglas boosted my ego at every turn because he was always telling people to watch how I do this and watch how I do the next thing. On this particular occasion he was saying this to Sir lain over coffee and biscuits, then it was, "I say my dear, aren"t you going to have a kit-kat with your coffee?" Then to Sir lain "Just watch how quickly she takes the paper off this biscuit, lain." Just then Joan (now Douglas's wife) whispered something to me. I looked at her rather doubtfully, but she spurred me on. Taking the wrapping off the biscuit I then rolled the silver paper into a tight ball and, quick as a flash, threw it across the table - bullseye, it caught Douglas right in the middle of his forehead. Grinning from ear to ear he turned to Sir lain saying, "You see lain, even her aim is good!" What a man! I had admired him for over twenty years and he was everything I thought he would be. I am proud that he and his wife now think of me as a friend. In my bookcase is one of my proudest possessions, an autographed copy of Reach for the Sk1v Of course you could say we had done the easy part, now all the hard work had to be done. This being Grampian's first colour documentary, they were hoping it would be networked. This means it goes before a panel in London which views various programmes from the different regions and decide which ones will be broadcast nationwide. It was December before Two of A Kind was ready to be viewed and we all anxiously awaited the verdict - back it came, we were to be broadcast all over the country - fame at last! What was even more exciting was the fact that it was to have two previews the first of which was to be in the National Film Theatre in London. Off we went about ten days before Christmas. I never dreamed I'd be watching myself on the screen of the N.F.T. The second one was here in Dundee and I was told that I could invite guests. Among them were two of my primary school teachers, my very first teacher Mrs Blair and another for whom I also had great affection in Ancrum Road, Miss Watt. The thing I remembered 99 most about her was the affection she felt towards us children and indeed to this day she always calls me 'honey' or 'deafie'when I talk to her, the years just drop away. Then it was the big night - half past ten on Tuesday, 28th December. I think that date is imprinted on my brain. By ten o'clock I simply couldn't sit still, now I know how film stars feel! Of course I watched it with Mum who, when it was finished, said in her quiet way. "We've come a long way Marilyn." People said to me later, "Your mother must be very proud of you. " I hoped she was. After all, she had sacrificed a great deal to make me what I am to-day. That night I was dying to go round all our neighbours asking what they thought of it, however as it was eleven o'clock I resisted the temptation. The following morning I ran downstairs to see what the T.V. critic in our local paper had to sav - it was a marvellous crit! I was delighted at its success, not only for myself. but for all the men who worked so hard to make it just that. In fact, not only was it a success in this country but it went to Australia, New Zealand, Sweden, even Albania and Bulgaria - I wondered how long it would be before I was signing autographs! As with the success of passing my driving test, letters flooded in from all over the country, it was absolutely marvellous. There was one particular letter which interested me very much. It was postmarked S. Wales and the envelope read - Miss Marilyn Gillies (Address unknown) Dundee and I received it without any problem. It was from a young man whose home was just outside Newcastle and he was stationed at R.A.F. St Athens, South Wales. Although he hadn't seen the programme himself, apparently all the lads had been talking about it at breakfast the morning after it had been televised, so he decided to write and ask if I would be his pen-pal. I answered his letter along with all the others not really ex- pecting to hear from any of them again. About five weeks went by and I had quite forgotten about the chap from St Athens, but obviously he had not forgotten me, because a letter arrived one morning. this time from Malta. The handwriting looked vaguely 100 familiar and when I opened it the signature was Barry Carr, the lad who was in the R.A.F. I must confess I was pleasantly surprised to hear from him again. Apparently he had been posted to Malta shortly after writing to me and of course my letter was forwarded to the R. A. F. station there. In this letter he told me that he'd had second thoughts after posting his previous letter and when my reply took so long to reach him, he thought I had gone to Douglas Bader to see if he could find out who this chap was and stop him making a nuisance of himself. It was about this time that I began to notice that my mother wasn't her usual self, she was becoming very forgetful. I know we're all forgetful at times, but this was different. She would forget it was lunch time and that sort of thing. Naturally I became quite concerned. Apart from a bad bout of 'flu several months before, Mum had never had anything wrong with her as far back as I can remember, at least nothing which kept her in bed. It was then that I began to reallse what a really hard life she'd had and the many bad migraine headaches she suffered when I was young. How selfish I was then, I used to be quite annoyed when she asked me to turn the radio off because she had a headache. Isn't it such a pity that we have to be much older than seventeen or eighteen before we realise how much our parents mean to us? I've had migraine headaches and it's only now that I can appreciate how my mother must have suffered. Now of course it was a case of what I was going to do about her present state of health, asking her to see a doctor was like pulling teeth. However eventually she agreed, very reluctantly I might add. On examining her our G.P. said that her heart and lungs were all right but she was suffering from nervous exhaustion and that she ought to take things easy for a bit. She was given pills to calm her down. I was most relieved that it was nothing serious. Meantime my correspondence with Barry Carr, the R.A.F. chap, had continued. However, after my American experience I was treading very carefully. Several months had gone by during which time we discovered that we had a great deal in common. He was born on 17th December, 1941 which meant there was only a day's difference in our ages. He had been very ill at birth and was given twelve hours to live and I was given twelve 101 months. We had the same taste in music, both loved animals and walking in the country. One evening about the middle of May the 'phone rang. Mum was out which was most unusual. When I answered it a man's voice said, "Marilyn?" :: Speaking," I replied, not recognising the voice. It's Barry," he went on. Naturally I was surprised, but it was nice to know what he sounded like. There were the usual plea- santries then he said, "I have a leave coming up next month and I was wondering if it would be all right to pay you a visit for a few days. " I must admit the idea appealed to me very much so I said, "Yes, that would be great, would you like me to find you somewhere to stay?" It was agreed that he stay in the Y.M.C.A. However on making enquiries I discovered that it was no longer a Hostel. I plucked up enough courage to ask Mum if he could stay with us. You see, my mother is a very private person - I think her life had revolved round me for so long she just couldn't cope with people any more. However, she said without hesitation that Barry would be most welcome at Lansdowne Place. He was to arrive at four o'clock on 27th June. I explained that I didn't finish work until four forty five so he should call my home after five o'clock and I would get to the station as quickly as possible. His train had been right on time and when I asked him to wait half an hour so that I could change he nearly had a fit. Mind you I suppose he had every right, because if he was as nervous as me, waiting another half hour would be purgatory. So I gave my face a 'cat's lick' threw on trousers and top, and jumped into the car, my mother's parting words ringing in my ear, "You be careful driving down that road now, he'll just have to wait." As I drove into town I remember thinking "Goodness, I hope we like each other." Rounding the corner into the station car park, I saw him (we had exchanged photographs). He was standing with arms folded, a large tartan case at his feet. I drew up on the opposite side of the road and tooted my horn. Picking up his case he made his way across the road. On reaching the car he opened the front door and lifted his case over the front seat. 102 "There's a back door you know," I said laughing. It's a wonder he didn't take the next train back to Newcastle. I thought I was nervous, but he was trembling. I drove out to Invergowrie Bay, not far from where my car had been converted, so that we could get to know each other a bit better before taking him home to meet Mum. During the next eight days we got along very well together. A friend of mine had mapped out scenic routes so that we could go away each day and see some of Scotland's beauty. Of course, as I was driving, it was necessary for me to wear trousers. It wouldn't have been very ladylike to wear a dress under the circumstances; I didn't want to embarrass him. However, this presented it's problems, as trousers are not the easiest things for me to pull up and I worried about my usual problem, the loo, since I was to be away for most of the day. I mentioned this to him on one of our trips and he said, "I would just have to help you, wouldn't IT' You might think I would have been very embarrassed by this but I wasn't, quite the reverse. It made me feel good inside. I think what I liked most about him was the fact that he didn't treat me any differently to girls who had all their faculties. Right from the start we were comfortable with each other. I remember one evening we were sitting talking about various things and quite suddenly he said, "How would you feel if you had a baby, born without arms?" "How would you feel if it was yours?" I shot straight back at him. "We'd just have to make sure it grew up to be even better with its feet than you," was his reply, without a moment's hesitation. Although this was our first meeting, as the week progressed I knew I was falling in love with Barry Carr and sometimes he would give me the impression he felt the same. But if I tentatively spoke about the future he would say, "It's in the wind, it's in the wind. " Even before we met, we both knew that we liked each other more than a little and it all seemed right from the very beginning. I remember, as we were nearing the end of the week I asked him how he felt. 103 "Over the moon," he said. As I have said, one of the most important things was that Barry never treated me like a handi- capped person. One day I was standing on a chair in Mum's kitchenette, cooking. and he passed some cheeky remark. When I threatened to thump him, he came up really close to me, knowing that he was too close for me to get my foot up. "Go on then, put it right there," he said smugly, pointing to his chin. So I obliged, with the point of my shoulder - it brought tears to his eyes! He was very careful what he said to me after that. It was awful when the time came for him to leave. He intended spending the rest of his leave with his family in Northumberland - he assured me, however. that I had not seen the last of him, "I'll be back," were his parting words. On his return to South Wales he would ring me about three times a week and it wasn't long before it was every night. My 'beauty sleep' went right out of the window as Barry usually waited until around eleven o'clock as there was no queue for the 'phone box at that time - which is not surprising! Thinking back on those calls, we must have been mad. He would start off with so much money but when that ran out we had got to the stage where neither of us could bear to hang up, so I'd ask him for his number then ring him with never a thought for the 'phone bill. Mind you I had to do more than think about it when it was popped through my letter-box. 'I wonder if they would accept payments by installments,' I thought. By September we were talking about him coming out of the R.A.F. Although we had never actually discussed marriage, we both felt that the only way to see how things progressed was for us to be together all the time. Besides, Barry had pointed out that if things did work out as we hoped, it would be difficult for me to travel round the world, as an R.A.F. wife has to see to everything herself after her husband has been posted. During the months that followed we discussed how we thought Barry's parents might feel about him bringing home a girl without arms. You see although, as I learned later, his parents had a feeling their son was'courting', he never actually told them that he was. His mother told me some years later that she had put two and two together when she went into the village one day to 104 do some shopping and she saw Barry in a phone box. She thought it decidedly 'suspicious' when he was still there on her return from the shops - about an hour later! On occasions such as this, sisters come in very handy. Barry's sister Lynne is seven years younger than him, married with a little girl, and so he broke the news to her. "Will you tell Main?" he asked. Strangely enough, during our discussions about how his parents would take the news, he always thought it would be his father who would have trouble accepting it, as Barry said he was very soft hearted. So it was poor Lynne who got the job of breaking the news as gently as possible. I will tell you exactly what transpired as it was told to me some years later, and I think it's important for parents of handicapped youngsters to know what Barry's parents felt. Lynne went to see her mother and father one evening. "I've got a bit of news for you Main," she said. "Our Barry's courting." "I knew it," said his mother. "Didn't I tell you he was a long time in that phone box, Isaac?" she went on, turning to Barry's Dad. "There are problems Main," Lynne interrupted. "Problems?" questioned her mother, "What sortof problems?" "This lass has been on television." Lynne's mother looked at her for a moment. Then she said, almost hoping the answer would be no, "Not the lass without the arms?" As Lynne nodded her head silently, all she said was, "Oh my God!" and buried her face in her hands. "Now Main, you saw her T.V. programme and thought it was amazing what she could do with her feet. Walter, Barry and I have had a long talk and we've decided we'd like to meet her, so we're going up for the week-end." The result of that first meeting was an invitation back to Prudhoe to spend the week-end with Barry's sister and her husband. I can remember it as though it were yesterday. I wasn't very sure of the way, so I went by train and spent most of my three hour journey in the loo! You see Barry wasn't on leave and I had to meet his Mum and Dad all on my own. I don't know 105 L what I would have done without Lynne and Walter, they were a tower of strength. On my arrival at Newcastle. I think both he and Lynne could see by my face that I was a bundle of nerves. "Cheer up Hinny," said Walter, putting his arm round my shoulder. "You're here for the week-end as our guest and we want you to have a good time." If I'd been able to get a train straight back to Dundee I would have done so. As you have probably reallsed by now, I'm not one for running away from things but on that particular night in October 1972. 1 was prepared to do just that! Lynne and Walter lived in a farm cottage. Barry called itThe Higii Chaparral', and his mother was there looking after their fourteen month old daughter Janet. As we drew up to the house I was sure everyone must hear my heart pounding against my ribs. Lynne opened the living-room door and there was her mother standing by the fireplace. "Mam, this is Marilyn," said Lynne, taking off my cape. I remember thinking, as my cape slid from my back 'She can't look at my face'. She appeared to be looking at my shoulders although she told me years later that she was as taken aback by my height as anything else. I can't remember exactly how the conversation went after that, but I do know that running through my mind was, 'I've still to meet his Dad'. Presently, the door opened and in walked this nice looking jolly faced man. He came and stood with his back to the fire, just in front of where I was sitting. Thinking back, we were all rather rude. No-one seemed to take much notice of him. After a few minutes he said, "Well Marilyn, it doesn't look as though anyone's going to tell you who I am so I'd better do it myself. I'm Barry's Dad and I'm very pleased to meet you." Then he bent forward and kissed me on the cheek. We were friends from that moment. Please do not misunderstand me, his mother wasn't un- friendly, just cautious and understandably so. However, I was determined to make sure it wasn't long before she was aware of all my hidden talents. Speaking of which, the following day Barry's Dad came to Lynne's for his Sunday dinner as his Mum was at work. I hadn't slept much the previous night wondering 106 i what was being said about me. He wasn't in long when Lynne asked him outright what her Mam had to say. "Well," he said, "we got in last night and I asked her what she thought." "She's a nice lass right enough," said Mrs Carr, "but there's one thing that puzzled me all evening." "What's that?", asked her husband. "How on earth does she get that zipper up at the back of her dress? If she does that herself, I take my hat off to her." Well of course I do - and she did. I think that's what really broke the ice. Here was me - no arms and I could do something that most women couldn't. The strange thing is, it's the fact that I have no arms which makes it easy, I simply put it on back to front, pull up the zip with my teeth, turn it round and pull it down, Bob's your uncle! believe it or not I think it was the story of that zip that made Mrs Carr realise that I wasn't as 'armless' as I looked. My week-end over, I made my way home and am happy to report I stayed in my seat all the way! I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my mind. The future really looked rosy. After a great deal of deliberation, Barry bought himself out of the R.A.F. coming to Dundee and staying with us. That was November '72. The following January we became engaged. Surprisingly we had decided not to buy an engagement ring but to put the money in the bank for our wedding (the date of which had not yet been fixed) although, like most women I suppose secretly I would have liked one - preferably a solitaire. However, once our minds had been made up, the subject of a ring didn't crop up again. Needless to say the papers got wind of our engagement and it wasn't long before there was a reporter knocking at Mum's door. Barry was a very shy person then and realising how well known I had become in Dundee and anticipating that this might happen, he had made it quite clear that there was to be no publicity, but of course there is that thing called 'freedom of the press'. The night that reporter appeared on the doorstep was quite traumatic for me - I had visions of Barry getting cold feet. I never thought the day would come when Marilyn Gillies would 107 actually praise a newspaper reporter, but when Barry finally agreed to grant him an interview, Sandy MacGregor of our local Evening Telegraph was marvellous. Having taken all his notes in shorthand, he went back to the office to do his story. This done, he brought it straight back for our approval and furthermore, it's the only completely accurate article I have ever read about myself. However, prior to the article appearing, I decided to let a few relatives know my happy news. I was rather saddened by the immediate reply of one, "Is he disabled too?" They seemed very surprised when I said he wasn't. It never fails to amaze me how little a person's family can know about them. Oh, I'm not saying that it's wrong for one handicapped person to marry another, after all the most important thing is love, together with know- ing what is to be faced. But as I have mentioned before, I was not brought up in a handicapped world and so did not think of myself as such. Obviously there were some who did not share my views. The following Saturday Barry decided to go into town. On his return he handed me a small parcel. Intrigued, I opened it and took out - would you believe it - a solitaire engagement ring! How could he possibly have known that it was the one ring I had always wanted? Naturally I was thrilled and it went on a chain round my neck for all to see. About two weeks later I happened to be in the company of Mrs Douglas, perhaps you will remember my mentioning her before, she was the Home Visitor for the thalidomide children. On seeing my ring she mentioned that it was a great pity the stone was not visible until the ring was lifted up. "I know just the man who could put that right," said Mrs Douglas. "I'll ask him to ring you." So it was that Mr Scott Henderson of Matthew Henderson & Son, Jewellers, came to see me. He explained that he would take the back off my engagement ring and make it rather like a steering wheel. I must confess that I found it a bit difficult to visualise. Three weeks later he brought back the finished article complete with chain, inscribed on the back like any other engagement ring, it was absolutely beautiful. He said this was his 108 gift to us. I have worn it ever since and it has been admired on numerous occasions. Mr Henderson asked if I had decided what to do regarding my wedding ring. I told him I had made up my mind to wear it on my toe, just as any other girl would wear it on her finger. "Feel free to call me at your convenience Miss Gillies," said Mr Henderson. "I will be happy to come and measure your toe and have your wedding ring made." In March we discovered that Barry's sister was expecting her second baby sometime in September, so we decided to set the date of our wedding for the 20th October, giving her time for a full recovery so to speak. The next few months were pretty hectic; the church had to be booked then the hotel. In August, an old school friend of mine came home on holiday from New Zealand with her husband. Sandra entered into the spirit of my wedding preparations with great enthusiasm. One afternoon she and I went into town to choose my head dress and veil. Her one regret was that she and Colin would not be in Dundee for the wedding, however we promised to send photographs. Mum had not felt up to making my wedding dress which was a great disappointment to me. She had made everything I had ever worn from the day I was born, and on the most important day of my life she was to be denied the pleasure of making my dress. Fortunately, a friend recommended a very good dressmaker and when I went to see her. she was most helpful and it wasn't long before she had it all thought out. In order that my train would not interfere with the movement of my legs during the meal at our reception, she said she would make a detachable one giving me the necessary freedom, which I thought was an excellent idea. She even overcame the fact that I couldn't carry a bouquet in the usual way, by making an arrangement of artificial flowers which was to hang from a little white hook on the side of my dress. Of course by this time the third toe of my left foot had been measured for that all important gold band. Mr Henderson sug- gested that I have a plain ring, as a pattern on my wedding ring would fade much more quickly. It wasn't long before he was back with the finished article. I never once had to go into his shop, he always came to our house. Once the ring was over the 109 1 1 fatty part of my toe it was a perfect fit - naturally it was put away in my jewellery box for safe keeping. We had been given keys to view one or two council houses, none of which was suitable. However six weeks before the wedding we got the perfect house, a ground floor flat just two minutes walk from where Mum lived, which was absolutely marvellous as it meant that 1 could go in for a sandwich at lunch time just to make sure everything was all right. Mum's health was still not improving, but typically she would insist that she felt all right. 1 have always known 1 had good friends, but never more so than at this particular time. Six weeks wasn't very long to get a house in order and whilst it was marvellous choosing my curtains, wallpaper, furniture and all the other things needed for a house, when it came to scrubbing floors and scraping walls - 1 had to admit 1 was beat. This is where Barry and my friends took over. Even young Dick, an apprentice draughtsman in my office whom 1 had only known a short time, spent many evenings scraping walls. Mum still hadn't lost the knowledge of the best way to get old wallpaper off. She would go up to the flat every morning and soak all the walls in order to make things easier for everyone at night. All my girl friends were scrubbing floors, cleaning cup- boards, etc. 1 made a very good supervisor! At last it was ready for the workman to do their bit. You know it's amazing the amount of people who asked me if I'd had my kitchen designed so that everything was at my own height. That would be a great excuse for Barry not to share the chores! Joking aside, 1 don't need things down at 'foot' level, the only things 1 found essential were a split level cooker and a chair the same as that of my American friend. The reason for the split level cooker was that the hobs or rings are set into the work surface and 1 could have the controls anywhere 1 chose. On most electric cookers the controls are behind the cooking rings and 1 really did not relish the thought of pulling a chip pan or some equally offending object down on my feet. Apart from that my kitchen is no different from that of any other housewife. As the great day approached, 1 was inundated with wedding presents, many from people 1 didn't even know. In Scotland. we 110 show the gifts on two or three different evenings during the week before the wedding. By this time it was obvious Mum was far from well, not physically, she was just so terribly confused, and I realised something would have to be done when I got back from my honeymoon. Our neighbour Joyce Wilson (the girl who had unhooked me from the tap) was marvellous. She helped me to arrange all my gifts and when people arrived, there she was helping with the sandwiches. Also in Scotland, it is usual for a bride to leave work three days before the wedding so that she can attend to all the last minute details. One of our customs on this occasion is to dress the bride up in 'would-be wedding attire', hob nailed boots, old net curtains, etc. Well I was no exception and I had to sit all afternoon in the office dressed like that and it didn't end there. When it was time to go home, the girls had me convinced that they had been given the use of a horse and cart for the occasion - fortunately they were only joking. However, on reaching the car park, I nearly had a fit - my car was covered with - wait for it - toilet rolls! There were tin cans of all shapes and sizes tied on the back and furthermore, I had to drive home like that. I only have one thing to say about the whole thing - I loved every minute of it. You see, once again we get back to this thing called 'acceptance'. I think every girl who ever went from N.C. R. to be married was given this treatment, and I'm delighted that I was no exception. Two days before the actual wedding, Barry had a minor accident at work. That evening he had a slight limp, however the following morning - the day before the wedding, he called upstairs, "Marilyn, you'll have to drive me to the hospital, I can't get my shoe on, my ankle is up like a balloon." Well, I took him to the casualty where his ankle was X-rayed and revealed two chipped bones. Can you imagine how I felt? (Not how he felt.) When he came hobbling out strapped up to his knee, do you know what he greeted me with? "I don't think I'll be able to get my trousers on tomorrow love, so we'll just have to cut the leg off my jeans and I'll wear those." I burst into tears! Then I looked at him and he was doubled up with laughter. Well, he didn't have to wear jeans but he did have to wear a carpet slipper - its just as well the slippers were new! ill i i il So to the day itself, and what a day. The weather was shocking. I remember the postman had to knock at the door that morning as there was quite a pile of mail. He said "It must be getting near your big day, Marilyn, when is it exactly?" I looked at the sky, "Would you believe it's to-day, John?" I replied. "Never mind," he went on, "it might clear up before you go to church." About an hour later the heavens opened and it simply poured with rain. Barry's family came from Northumberland the night before and he had booked a room along with them in a hotel which was not far from the church. Even on my wedding morning the telephone never stopped ringing, people simply wanting to wish us well. I had asked my friends Sheila and Irene to be my bridesmaids and I don't know what I would have done without them. As well as making sure I was all right, they had to look after Mum as well. They were great. Mum has a cousin in Arbroath, and as she was coming to the wedding, I asked her if she would mind staying with Mum as the house would seem very empty without me. Well, Peg didn't let me down and it certainly eased my mind knowing Mum would have someone of her own while I was gone. As it had been Ron Thompson's idea to do the documentary which brought Barry and me together, I had asked him to give me away. As the car drew near the church, I could see crowds of people waiting expectantly. Derek and Jimmy, our two ushers, were there with large golf umbrellas, while Sheila and Irene did their best to keep my dress off the wet ground. As I walked down the aisle my eyes filled for a moment as I thought of my Dad - I hoped he was proud of what Mum and I had achieved. The church was full, you see I was born and brought up in Lochee and had not only been a member of the church all my life, but 112 also a Sunday School teacher. It made me feel good inside to think that all these people had braved the awful weather to wish me well. So the ceremony began. As I mentioned earlier, my wedding ring took a wee bit of pressure to get over the fatty part of my toe. When it came to the bit, "with this ring I thee wed" Barry tried very hard, but it was no use, so he quietly slipped it into his pocket to be put on after the ceremony. As we signed the register he succeeded in putting it on and I have never since dared take it off! As we drove along the High Street on our way to the reception, people lined both sides of the road. "Now I know how Prince Philip feels," said Barry. On our arrival at the hotel, my new little niece Janet, all of two years old, was to give me a lovely musical bride doll. She came forward quite willingly, but at the last moment the thought of parting with this beautiful doll became too much for her and the tears began to trickle down her face, however she eventually relented and I was given a hug to go with it. Our honeymoon was spent at Gatehouse of Fleet in the south of Scotland. We were given the use of a bungalow which was a holiday home for families of thalidomide children. This was run by an awfully nice couple, David and Ingrid Mill, who made us so welcome. Ingrid was expecting her first baby any day, and one evening we were watching the last episode of Jane Eyre when it became obvious that it was time for her to go into hospital, several miles away. But she was determined to see the end of this programme as she had watched all the previous episodes - poor David was a nervous wreck! However all was well and she had a lovely little girl. We had a wonderful week, walking the various nature trails. We even visited a fish farm, and I was able to indulge myself shopping at all the craft centres. Barry hates shopping, so we decided that one day we'd do whatever he wanted and the next it would be my turn - the perfect recipe for wedded bliss. All honeymoons come to an end and soon we were back in Dundee standing in our own livingroom. The house was beautiful. Sheila and Derek had put away all our wedding presents and arranged the furniture the way they thought I 113 i i 1 i would like it. I was absolutely delighted as I had thought the following few days would be spent putting everything in its place. This is the sort of friendship I have known all my life. About a month after my return to work, Alex Hoskins, one of my colleagues, handed me a small parcel. "That's my wedding present, Marilyn," he said. I opened it and inside was a cine film of our wedding. I was absolutely thrilled. So instead of just photographs, Sandra and Colin, my friends in New Zealand, could actually feel part of the big day. The time had come to do something about Mum. This time I decided to call in the doctor. After talking with her for a few moments he thought it best to send her into hospital for tests, but this was to prove easier said than done. She had never been in hospital like this and it took a great deal of persuasion. However, eventually we succeeded and after a fortnight the Sister of Mum's ward called me into her office. "I'm afraid the news is rather disheartning, Mrs Carr," she said. "Your Mother has what in medical terms is progressive dementia, in other words, she has hardening of the brain arteries which is a progressive illness, and unfortunately there is nothing we can do." Mum came home the following day and it was marvellous that I lived so near, as I could make sure she was having proper meals and could have her to stay at week-ends so that I could look after her for a change. I was finding that marriage was a completely different way of life. Mum had always shopped, cooked and done the housework while I worked. Strangely enough, I didn't find these things presented me with any problems, and shopping was made par- ticularly easy by the marvellous way in which I was treated by all the shop assistants in Lochee, nothing is ever too much trouble for them. In Wrn Low's supermarket in the High Street, I often feel embarrassed if there is a long queue behind me at the checkouts, as the girls not only pack my shopping but carry it out to the car for me. "Why should you feel embarrassed," one lady said "you're a customer like anyone else and the point is, we know you appre- ciate it." Believe me girls and boys, not forgetting Mr Fleming 114 who used to be Manager or he won't give me any more rhubarb from his garden, I certainly did appreciate it. There was one day however, when I'm sure they didn't appreciate me one little bit. I was in the supermarket as usual and not wanting to trouble any of the assistants I thought I could reach the brown sauce on the second shelf without much difficulty. Just as I got hold of the bottle in question, I lost my balance - crash! Down tumbled five bottles, there.was sauce everywhere. Needless to say I wished the ground would open and swallow me. By the time the girls had cleared up the mess, they put it in such a way that I ended up feeling the bottles ought never to have been there in the first place. I could rely on help if required anywhere in Lochee. Mum always sewed pockets in the inside of my capes (I call it my Poacher's pocket). On one particular day I had some biscuits in my pocket. Quite forgetting about them, I jumped into the car. Imagine what the seat was like when I got out - I couldn't see it for crumbs. This time it was my friends in Allen Clark's baker's shop who came to the rescue. I dashed across the road but couldn't tell them my story because I was laughing helplessly. Eventually I said, "Can someone please help me to clear half a pound of biscuit crumbs off my car seat?" In no time at all one of the girls was across the road cloth in hand and hey presto, the job was done. The kindness of the Kosto family who own the shop where I buy my daily papers is something I shall always value. Mrs Kosto will not allow me to carry a heavy shopping bag. If my car is off the road, she always insists on taking me home. I could go on and on. I firmly believe that it doesn't matter whether you are handi- capped or not, everyone needs someone at some time in their lives. When I recently met Alex Maclntosh, the man who virtually 'put' me on T.V. I told him I owed him a great deal. "You've got where you are to-day through your own grit and determination, lass." was his reply. But I still say I couldn't have done it alone. Although I know I was not the most even tempered person in the world during my teenage years, it so happened that one day I was shopping in Dundee for a change. I said to the assistant, "Thank you so much, you have been most helpful." 115 "It's a pleasure, you're such a pleasant person to serve," she replied. 1 really would like to think that is the case. It's quite strange, 1 don't mind handing money over the counter in a shop, but when 1 go into the Post Office where, once again, 1 am given every assistance, sometimes 1 have to fill out a postal order, tear off the counterfoil and put it in an envelope which 1 have already addressed. The way 1 cope with this situation is to shut my mind off from the people around me and very often there are long queues. Although 1 know very well they are all watching this going on, for which 1 do not criticise them, as it's not every day that you see someone writing with their feet on a shop floor, 1 don't let myself think about it. You may think this odd after all these years, but as 1 said before, it's not something you get used to, you only learn to live with it, and this is part of how 1 do just that, it usually works quite well. 1 have found as 1 grow older that if you treat people the way you expect to be treated it's half the battle. Not so long ago, 1 was taking Barry back to work at lunch time and he said,---Inotice you're rather low on petrol, better see to it once you've dropped me off." On my way back 1 ran out of petrol! 'What now?' 1 thought. Well, 1 managed to flag down a passing lady motorist who very kindly gave me a lift to my usual garage. When 1 explained my predicament to Mr Fairweather, without hesitation he said,---Notrouble at all my dear, I'll be with you in a jiffy." Within minutes he had a can filled and 1 was in his van being driven back to my car. Can you imagine how much that meant to me? As on the occasion when the car broke down one Sunday and Barry and 1 had to walk home from friends. When 1 rang the R.A.C. the following morning, not only did he call for me first, but having got the car started he followed me down to the garage saying he would leave me just as 1 turned into it. However, on getting out of the car there he was. He said that he realised my difficulty regarding public transport, and he radioed in to his office to tell them he was taking me home. How's that for service? About eighteen months after 1 was married it was obvious that Mum could no longer live on her own, so once again 1 contacted the doctor. Of course he was familiar with the situation by this 116 time and realised that something had to be done. Again poor Mum went into hospital, but this time it nearly broke my heart as 1 knew she was going to be in for some time. However 1 knew she was in good hands and they would do what was best for her. During this time, the N.C.R. like many other companies, were having to make quite a number of their employees re- dundant and they were asking for volunteers. 1 had found looking after my own house and having a full time job difficult enough, but now 1 was having some trouble with my legs and on top of all that I was running backwards and forwards to the hospital every night and not really seeing a bright light at the end of this. 1 had to confess it was becoming almost impossible; at the end of each evening 1 was exhausted. Barry and I talked things over and we came to the conclusion that it would be better if 1 stopped working, so after nearly twenty years with N.C.R. on 6th July 1975 1 became a housewife. 1 still miss my workmates, but keeping in touch with them has helped a lot. Before leaving N.C.R. the doctors decided, after four month's observation, that Mum could no longer look after herself. Naturally 1 wanted to take her to live with me, but the staff nurse told me 1 could never cope. As 1 mentioned before, this was a progressive illness, and Mum would need professional care. So it was, after five months in hospital, Sister called me into her office one evening and told me Mum had been allocated a place in Ancrum House, one of Dundee's Residential Homes for Senior Citizens. The following day found me once again asking my boss for time off. How good they were, 1 certainly could not have worked for a better firm. It was obvious Mum was a bit apprehensive, she didn't like meeting new people, and with regard to living there, well she always liked her own company and 1 prayed that everything would work out all right. 1 need not have worried. Matron and staff were absolutely marvellous. Nevertheless, I'll never forget my first walk through the lounge. Mum was holding on to my cape and she said, "All these people. " It was at that moment 1 realised our roles were now reversed. All my life 1 had depended on her and here she was needing me very much. I'm sure many of you reading this book have had parents with this illness and must realise how sad I felt and how helpless. 117 1 i 1 I just had to sit back and watch it happen. All I wanted was to be able to look after her the way she had cared for me throughout my life. Mum settled down very well in Ancrum House. She herself had nothing but praise for the care attendants. Each time I asked her if she was happy her answer was always the same, "The girls are so good to me and we have a very nice boss." When she was first resident in Ancrum House she somehow associated it with work and to her the Matron was her boss. Mind you, anyone who isn't happy there must be very hard to please. In my opinion, and I know I speak for many people, it is like a five star hotel. Three months went by and it seemed Mum was quite content to live there. So came the mammoth task of selling off everything in her house - something I did not relish, but it had to be done and this was when I discovered that not only did I have good friends but also very good neighbours. When the couple above me, Jessie and Andy Livingstone, heard what had to be done, they offered their services without hesitation - Barry and I certainly couldn't have done it without them. Every night when they got home from work, off the four of us went. As we sorted everything out we came across an electric blanket in the airing cupboard. "I'll plug it in and see if it works," said Jessie. So I spread it on the floor - the bed had been sold. Some time passed then I yelled to Jessie to come upstairs. When she appeared in the bedroom doorway I said, lying flat on my back on the floor, "It works!" "What works?" she asked, "and what are you doing down there when you should be working?" "I am working," I assured her. "Yes it looks like it," she replied. "I'm testing the electric blanket and it works." Obviously she had forgotten all about it, as before lying on it I had covered it with a sheet which had the desired effect. "Well, since you've been working so hard testing the blanket, do you not think you'd better have a rest for a few minutes?" says she, muttering something about a 'daft goat' as she made her way downstairs again. 118 It made us laugh as did the incident over the dusters. Some- times as we cleared out drawers and cupboards my eyes would fill up, and when Jessie saw this she'd say, "Guess what I've found Marilyrt. " "It couldn't be another duster, could it?" I'd ask. As Mum's illness progressed nothing was in it's correct place, so consequently we found about twenty dusters in various parts of the house. You see 1 had to laugh at this sort of thing, because if 1 hadn't it would have been very difficult to accept the fact that 1 no longer had the Mum 1 knew. People would say to me, "You must miss your mother for making your clothes.---Of course 1 do, but that's not really what 1 miss her for, it's the fact that 1 can't go and tell her all my little worries that only a mother can under- stand. She was so wise, when 1 told her my troubles she would say,---Don'tworry Marilyn, it will work itself out. " 1 always came away knowing that it would. That's what 1 miss - her counsel. Some time back 1 mentioned how helpless 1 felt when my friends' baby was ill, because I couldn't ever put my arm round her shoulders to comfort her. How could 1 have dreamed that sixteen years later 1 was to feel a hundred times more inadequate. For some time, Mum's condition had deteriorated so much that she now required full time hospitalisation. She can go for a walk only if someone links her arm through theirs. Do you remember how delighted 1 was when with my artificial arms, 1 was able to link my'arm'through Auntie Dorothy's? Now here 1 am, twenty three years later, for the first time in my life wishing that 1 had arms so that 1 could take my Mum for a walk, such a simple thing for the ordinary person but impossible for me. Please don't misunderstand me, 1 haven't come down with a bout of self pity. All through my life it's the unimportant things I've wished 1 could do like hold an unbrella, or hold hands with a boyfriend, things 1 could laugh about, but this was different. My mother made me what 1 am to-day and 1 can't even help her in return. It's silly, but somehow 1 feel I'm letting her down. 1 had to include this in my story, because it is something which goes very deep within me. She loved it when 1 went to visit her, telling everyone I was her daughter, so 1 had to be content that she looked forward to seeing me and was quite oblivious of the fact i that, after all the years she devoted to me, I didn't feel that 1 was doing anything constructive now that the roles were reversed. As time wore on, it was becoming obvious that as my legs were having more and more to do, the strain on them was much greater. 1 have muscle trouble in my groin which can make my legs ache. One thing 1 had learned not to do was stretch up for something which was out of my reach. As with my dressing story earlier, 1 learned to adapt by using my nose or my teeth, particu- larly when it came to switching on and off lights. But 1 have an aversion to 'creepy crawlies' particularly spiders. One evening Barry and 1 were going out somewhere and 1 waltzed into the bedroom flicking down the light switch with my nose. Well, 1 have never been a hysterical person, but the whole street must have heard me that night as 1 ran screaming into the bathroom. 1 grabbed hold of Barry's trouser leg. He said---Whatis it, what's wrong, for goodness sake tell me?" "A-a-a-bove the 1-1-light switch in th-th-the bedroom," I eventually blurted out. As he crossed the hall into the bedroom 1 made my way into the livingroom, shivering. When 1 heard him say, "Good grief!" 1 realised there had not been any exaggeration on my part. In pressing down that light switch 1 had come 'nose to nose' with one of the biggest spiders 1 have ever seen; my blood runs cold every time I think about it. 1 appreciate that it's only the people who feel about spiders as I do who will understand how 1 felt, but let me tell you, 1 shone a torch on light switches for a long time after that. It was also becoming apparent that when my leg troubled me, something which was happening more and more frequently, 1 couldn't walk as far as 1 used to and never used public transport. When 1 was young, Mum would go mad when she saw me jumping off buses before they stopped, not so now however, it must be old age! 1 think the able bodied person would agree that when you realise you're not a teenager any more, your confidence seems to go, at least to a certain extent. Escalators are another problem. I'm quite convinced that if they were moving ramps 1 would not have the same difficulty, but they form into such big steps and 1 have the most awful fear 120 of falling backwards - as with buses, I can't hold on to the rail. On one occasion Barry and I were in Boots the chemist in Dundee and their escalator is in two parts, just like two flights of stairs. He held me firmly as I stepped on to the first part, but when we got off I refused point blank to go up the next flight which of course was really stupid, because that was us stuck there. You can imagine what Barry was saying and it wasn't, "It's all right darling, I'll get the manager to stop the escalator so that you can get off." It was more like, "This is absolutely ridiculous, I'm here - now come on!" Well, never liking to admit defeat, it wasn't long before I had plucked up courage to go the rest of the way - much to Barry's relief. Isn't it strange though, I have always been one for saying "If so-and-so can do it, there's no reason why I can't." This had been my attitude when I learned to dress myself. Well, recently we were visiting friends in South Wales. Now Jane has no arms either and escalators don't bother her at all, so when we went in to a department store and she stepped quite confidently on to one, I couldn't let her see that I was'chicken'. So on I went - that did it. I use them all the time now. In fact it was during that same holiday that I added another string to my bow. Earlier that year, I had read a newspaper article about an English school teacher, now resident in Wales - someone else without arms. His name was Frank Letch, mar- ried with three children (he and his wife Helen now have five, she recently had twins). Barry and I decided to call on them. They made us very welcome and as we talked it became apparent that Frank had many talents, dart playing being one of them. "Have you ever tried playing darts Marilyn?" he asked. "Well as a matter of fact I have," I replied, "but without much success." An hour later saw the four of us in Frank's 'local' and I was given my first lesson in the art of darts playing. It was only as I watched him that I realised how stupid I had been when I tried on a friend's dart board at home. I had tried to throw the dart the way people do with their hands and of course all mY darts ended up on the floor. The secret was to lift one's foot as if kicking a ball 121 - simple when you know how! Anyway, I'm pleased to say, all my darts went in the board - not a champion's score, but certainly not one to be ashamed of either. You will have realised by now that I have quite a number of friends who have no arms - all of whom have perfectly normal children. I don't believe it crossed their minds that they shouldn't try to have children. Naturally they would be very concerned before a baby was born, but surely this happens to any couple about to become parents. Name me one mother whose first words after her baby is born are not, "Is he all right?" I'm sure the first thing she does is count the fingers and toes - just to make sure. I know when Barry and I got married it never occurred to us that we should not have a family because of my disability. Of course I would have come across many difficulties, but hadn't I overcome many in the past? Granted, I'm not twenty-one any more, but that wasn't an insurmountable problem either. I'll be perfectly honest with you, after eight years of marriage I've shed a few tears over the fact that we haven't been blessed with a family. We both love children, but I still believe there's a purpose for everything and I suppose God has other plans for us. I must admit however that Lynne's and Walter's children (Barry's sister and brother-in-law) are a source of great comfort to me and the two eldest ones come and stay with us for a month every summer. We get on perfectly with each other. I do their washing and ironing and they do things for me which I find difficult like hanging up the washing. Suzanne is just a toddler but Janet is now ten and Angela eight and, out of all the children I have met, they seem to be the most sensitive regarding my lack of arms. When Janet was little she would say, "It's nearly Christmas, Auntie Marilyn, I'm going to ask Santa if he'll bring you arms." Recently, Angela said something equally touching. Barry and I had taken them to Hadrian's Wall, part of which had to be climbed. On reaching the top (with a struggle) Barry had to lift me over a very awkward stile. Watching all this. little Angela's brain must have been working hard because she said, "You know Auntie Marilyn I told my friend I wanted to give you my arms, but I can't because they won't come off." So if I don't have 122 1 children of niv own I couldn't think of a nicer substitute than the Buckingham girls. It was about this time that the Mobility Allowance came into being. This is an allowance to which certain handicapped people are entitled. Even if they can't drive, it can then help to pay for taxis to get them from point a to point b. You may remember that I had been refused the Private Car Allowance, so nothing daunted, I decided to apply for this new one, especially now that I was having so much trouble with my legs. Off went the necessary forms and to cut a long story short. I was turned down. However there were twenty one days in which to appeal, which of course I did. About five weeks later I went before two doctors. On bringing up the point about my legs, one doctor told me that this was irrelevant! I had no arms and as a direct result of this my legs were beginning to groan a bit under the strain, but still I did not qualify. "What do these people want," I asked myself, "blood?" However, I had one more appeal left. This time I had to travel to Edinburgh to go before a Medical Appeal Tribunal who asked all the usual questions. "May I now ask you a question?" I asked. "Have you ever tried a full day with your hands tied behind your back? You know, when I was a little girl I was rather pretty, it's years of constant failing which has made my face the way it is to-day," I went on. At this they had to smile. Having, got their attention I continued, -N4y little niece said to me the other day, 'can you run Auntle Marilyn?' I said. 'No Janet I can't,'back came the reply, 'oh no of course you couldn't, you need your arms to help You run'. Janet is six years old, gentlemen - the insight of a child." Once again they smiled as if to say "A very good point." After a physical examination I left. Six weeks later I received a letter which stated in the first paragraph that I did qualify for the allowance - however (second paragraph) the Commissioner was to ask leave to appeal to the Secretary of State for Scotland against the Medical Tribunal's decision. Talk about giving it with one hand and taking it back with the other. So I waited yet again. Two months later a letter arrived which 123 said that leave to appeal had been denied. However, it was made quite clear to me that the Commissioner, had he so desired, could have appealed directly to the Secretary of State, but it had been decided to carry this action no further and to grant me the allowance - it was like pulling teeth! Once again 1 was in the minority - nevertheless, 1 had won after nine years of fighting, first for the Private Car Allowance and now the Mobility Allowance. What never fails to astound me is the fact that one man is sitting in his remote office making decisions which affect the lives of other human beings so cruelly, and can be quite oblivious as to what he is doing. We visit Barry's family quite frequently and it was during one of these visits that Lynne, my sister-in-law, knowing how much I loved dogs, told me that a bitch belonging to a friend of hers had some three week old pups, and would I like one as the girl was looking for good homes. If you're a dog lover you'll understand how I felt when I saw them. Emma, the mother, had had seven altogether - they were gorgeous. I decided straight away that if I was going to have one, it was to be the smallest in the litter. Emma was a lovely black shaggy dog, and looking at this pup I could see the wavy hair even at that early age. I told the girl I'd have to think about it, as a puppy would be a great deal of work. Needless to say I couldn't resist the temptation, and four weeks later we were back to pick her up. By now she was seven weeks old and had been given the name of Judy. We saw no reason to change it, Judy she remained. When she was three months old we decided it might be a good idea to take her to a dog training club to learn basic things such as staying by my side and coming back when called. I got in touch with Bert Scofield, an old friend who runs the Maxwelltown Dog Training Club in Dundee. Bert explained that he didn't normally begin training pups until they were six months, but in my case he would start with Judy now, so that I would have no difficulty in handling her as she became bigger. I'll never forget that first training session, she was so little. When Bert took her from me for her first lesson in heel work, she kept looking back to where I was standing with such a pathetic look on her face as if to say, 124 "Please come with me, Mum. " It's amazing hoW s1V Jlar dogs are to children, she was appealing to my better nature jpst as a child would who was being scolded. At Bert's suggestion, I had a harness made wl~,~h goes over my shoulder (the same idea as my shopping bag) tt the end of which is an ordinary dog's lead which I clip 0,, o~udy's collar without any problem. I found this worked very W,j I indeed and wished I'd had it with my last dog where it had yen a case of holding the lead between my toes which ma(le wplking rather difficult, especially if he saw another dog across th,(oad. Hop-a- long Cassidy didn't have a look in! It wasn't long before Judy was becoming ~bedient and Itlite some of the club members suggested I might like to with them to dog shows where they compete for various PrizQ~- In time this became quite a hobby for me, but Judy had differe~t ideas. If we trained her in the park or at home, she was really pte good, but immediately club nights came or at an obt(ll-en~e show, she wasn't happy at all - there was many an 0,,,,sion when I wondered why I bothered! I became quite disc. ~ed to say the least. lura Each year our club runs a bus to Crufts Dog Sh,,Av in London, so off I went (Barry was left to doggy sit). As we #alked round Olympia I spotted this woman standing behind ~ stall signing books - it was Barbara Woodhouse an abs(lute authority on dogs. On my return, I told Barry all about my wWk-end and of course he was most interested in Barbara WO(dh,,use. 11 "Why don't you write and ask her if she can h& You' said Barry. I did, and a few months later Judy was beill 9 P ~t through her paces by one of the best known dog trainers in the country. Unfortunately, we didn't have very long With her, but she certainly knew what she was talking about sure she and Judy had telepathic conversations. Some time after my visit she was a guest .. Cete Murray's Open House which used to be on Radio 2 each aft~rnoon during the week. As I listened Pete Murray said to her t,hat he under- stood she taught handicapped people to trairl the "Yes indeed," she replied, "why only a fe\V w I had a 125 letter from a lady without arms asking if I could help her in any way." It was a few moments before it dawned that here was me being discussed on a Radio programme. She went on to say that, on reading my letter, the first thought that occurred to her was how could I show my dog that I loved her when I couldn't even stroke her. Isn't it strange, the little things like that which you take for granted. I was told recently that right from the very beginning I didn't think of myself as being different from other children, and I quote, "You simply got on with the business of living." So you see when you know that you can do most things people with arms can do, it never occurs to you that those same people can't imagine you doing such things as, for instance, stroking your dog. Barbara Woodhouse said I not only showed my dog great affection but was very proficient at throwing a dumbell for her to retrieve and putting on her lead. "And all with her toes, just as you and I do with our hands. She was absolutely marvellous." Praise indeed from a remarkable lady. Recently she came to Clydebank to spend a day training dogs and she asked me if I would come through to give a demonstration of how a handi- capped person can train a dog. I'm delighted to say Judy didn't let me down. I maintain that Judy and I have an unusual relationship. I think I have an affinity with her, let me explain. When she's having her meal, her dish is on the kitchenette floor. By the time she's finished, it has moved half-way across the floor and I often find myself holding it for her. You see I've been in a similar position - no, I don't eat off the floor! However, I have chased a piece of bread round a plate, being unable to get my big toe underneath it in order to lift it. Often, for convenience, I put a plate on a low table with my food on it. If I have friends round or we're watching TV I might even put a plate of biscuits on the carpet. Judy never touches this food, however hungry, even if I'm not in the room. My friends are amazed by this especially those who have dogs of their own. I also know what it's like to be closed in somewhere being unable to manage a handle, for example a public 'loo', so I automatically open doors for her. Barry laughs at me, but over 126 the Years 1 feel she trusts me more than anyone, because 1 would never trick her. If 1 said "come in and get a biscuit," it would never occur to me not to give her that biscuit once she was in; it wouldn't be long before she would become wise to me and would end up being a most disobedient dog indeed because 1 had cheated her. I've seen dogs get the blame for things which were their master's fault. Dogs deserve better owners, in a great many cases. 12 Learning how to drive and getting married was letting me in for some unexpected adventures. One journey down to Northumberland will live in my memory forever. It was January 1977, and whilst we wouldn't normally travel at that time of the year, for some reason or other we found it necessary to make the trip. Barry rang the weather centre in Edinburgh to find out what conditions were like on the A68, thinking that if Carter Bar was clear, which was the highest point between here and our destination, we would be all right. Weather conditions favour- able, off we went. Everything was going quite well until we reached Jedburgh, not too far from the border. There was freezing fog and the snow began to swirl round us, thank good- ness Barry was driving. 1 would have been petrified as visibility was practically nil. We came to Carter Bar eventually and got over the top without much trouble, so we were fairly confident that the worst was over. However, as we drove on it was obvious that this was turning into a real blizzard, you just couldn't see for snow. Barry drove very cautiously, and when we were about twenty five miles from our destination our headlights picked out a car just in front of us. It was stuck in the snow. By the time we realised this it was too late, all we could do was stop and Barry got out to see if he could he of any help to the driver in front, he couldn't and tried to reverse our car without success. That was us stuck good and 127 1 1 proper. Just then we thought we could hear something behind us. Barry looked in the mirror, "I think there's a wagon behind us," he said, "I can see lights. Perhaps he would let us spend the night in his cab, it would be much warmer." He got out of the car, torch in hand, only to find there was nothing behind us, it was a weird experience. I'm always complaining about things being left in the car, but my goodness, I was glad that night. I had a map of Edinburgh wrapped round my chest and Barry had the Times and Observer round him (not that I'm insinuating he's fat). We had opened the case and pulled on extra trousers and jerseys. Fortunately, we managed to get Radio Luxemburg on our portable radio and this went on until three in the morning and periodically there were weather bulletins and one said, "Britain is, at the moment, in the grip of winter with arctic conditions and temperatures near to freezing." I had to agree with the chap who read the report as each time Barry shone the headlights, the car in front disappeared further and further into the snow. Three hours went by and suddenly I said to Barry, "Are we going to die?" "Don't be silly, of course we're not going to die." he replied. He admitted afterwards he had the same thoughts himself. Judy played a fantastic part, she came into the front of the car when I said "Judy, come," and Barry positioned her so that she was lying on top of me rather like a fur rug - she was better than an electric blanket. We even hit on the idea of sitting on each other's feet to keep them warm. At about eight o'clock a newsreader began his broadcast by saying that five people had been found dead in their cars, two of them were not far from the Scottish border. "I hope your family's not listening to that," I said. By eleven o'clock it was obvious that we were not going to be rescued so there was nothing else for it but to walk to a village about two miles back along the road. The snow was so deep I was sure Judy would be buried - but not her, she thought this was great fun and waited for Barry to throw her ball. So the 'great trek' began. It had stopped snowing but the drifts were so deep Barry had to keep lifting me over them, remember I'm only four feet eleven. When we first got out of the 128 car we could see a farmhouse about quarter of a mile back, so we stopped there to ask if we could use their loo. When we explained what had happened the farmer's wife insisted on making us something to eat, which was most acceptable as you can well imagine. Thanking her very much, we continued on our way, but by this time it had begun to snow again. I've always said glasses should have windscreen wipers! Pretty soon it was so heavy we could hardly see a thing, I'm sure we must have looked like Good King Wenceslas and his servant, because all I could do was step where Barry had already trodden. At last we arrived at the Gun, an inn in Ridsdale - the abominable snowman and his wife. I don't drink as a rule, but when Barrv asked what I wanted to drink, without hesitation I said, "Bacardi and coke." Once again we were met with such kindness. People ushered us over to a lovely fire which was crackling merrily and we sat down beside a marvellous couple, Lynn and Bob Charlton (not the Bob Charlton I hasten to add). As soon as we finished our drinks they invited us to their home for a meal. Fortunately they had a coal fire because there was no electricity in the whole village, the snow had brought down the cables. As we had to leave the keys in our car just in case a snow plough got through and it had to be moved, Bob thought it would be a good idea to go back and take out our belongings. Understandably, Barry didn't relish the thought of walking all the way back to the car, but he knew Bob was right so off they went and, believe it or not, several men from the village, men who didn't even know us, went with them armed with shovels to see if it would be possible to dig the car out, however they couldn't. Barry's family were worried sick by this time, and it was some time before we could get through by 'phone to let them know we were all right. We had set out from Dundee at seven o'clock on Thursday night and arrived at Lynne's, one hundred and sixty-five miles away, on Saturday morning, thirty six hours later - a night to remember indeed. The following March Barry's uncle died, and as Barry had just started a new job it was impossible for him to get away so I went in his place, the worst of the winter being over by then, or so I thought. The morning I was due to come home it began to snow 129 just a bit, but didn't seem to lie. Naturally Barry's family was most concerned after the previous year's experience, as this time was on my own apart from Judv. I set off fairlv earlv hoping to get well on my way before the snow came to anything. The roads were fine until I reached the infamous Carter Bar, and to my horror there were lorries stuck all the way up. My heart sank, however I did not panic. As I approached the first lorry I checked to make sure nothing was coming towards me, then verv slowly I started to climb. If only I could keep moving, to stop would be fatal. By this time there were two or three cars behind me. Cautiously I passed the first lorry, then the second, next a tanker and heart in mouth I reached the top. As I rounded the bend, there sitting right across the road was a dormobile - surely I wasn't going to be beaten now! One thing I had always been good at was judging the width of my car, and on weighing up the situation, I crept slowly forward and was reasonably confident of getting through. At this point, nerves got the better of me and I was dying to go to the loo. Strangely enough, this is the one thing which really scares me. If I did get stuck how on earth could I get to the loo, you see this is the one thing I couldn't cope with. Let me explain, I had to be in a Ladies before I could cope on my own; there was no way I could manage under the circumstances in which I now found myself - perhaps this is what had spurred me on to get this far. As I was passing the dormobile - near disaster - it began to slide backwards, heading straight towards me. "Please God help me," I prayed out loud, and He did. Having made that rather precarious ascent I now had to steel myself for what I thought must be a very 'dodgy' descent - it wasn't, and would you believe that about a mile further on there was no snow at all. I felt particularly pleased with my effort when, looking in my mirror, there wasn't another car behind. Now we only travel to England between April and November. People sometimes ask if 1 wish I had arms, but what you never have you never miss. In fact 1 probably wouldn't have had such an interesting life if 1 had been born with arms, nor would 1 have met so many people. For instance in the summer of that year 1 130 was to have the thrill of a lifetime - meeting Sean Connery, my teenage idol, Many years previously, when we were both working for N.C. R., Irene Gibson and I discovered we had at least one thing in common - Sean Connery! One eveningwe had planned to go and see him in Thunderball, but things don't always work out that simply. On my way to meet Irene at the cinema, I had tripped over a stone, failing quite badly. My knees were horriblv bruised and cut and I narrowly escaped serious injury. It was with great difficulty that I managed to get up at all. But nothing would have kept me from that film. When I returned home, Mum, in her frustration, almost blamed Sean Connery for my injuries! However I was now about to meet him in the flesh. Douglas Bader and Sean Connery were playing in a golf tournament at Gleneagles. Although I wasn't in the least bit interested in golf I was willing to make an exception. Sir lain Stewart arranged the meeting and Thursday morning saw Barry and me sitting in his suite awaiting the great star's arrival. You would have thought I was still sixteen because when the door opened I could hardly contain myself. Barry must have wondered what on earth was wrong with me. He was every bit as nice as I had imagined - there were no airs or graces with him. Of course I have several friends who feel about him as I do and one of them is Margaret Carden who had volunteered to look after Judy - on one condition - that I got his autograph for her. When I explained this to Sean he wrote Thank , you Margaretfor watching Marilyn's dog which she really appreciated as did I the signed photograph he gave me. All my friends were green with envy, especially Irene Gibson. She reckoned that as she had nearly frozen to death waiting for me that night we went to see Thunderball the least I could have done was take her with me. But she too had to be content with his autograph - poor Irene! The year Barry and I met, there was a seminar for thalidomide children in Stoke Poges outside Slough to which Michael Parkinson had been invited for the day. He was astonished to learn that I drove a car with my feet. "This I must see," says he. "Why don't you get in beside me?" I asked. Did I detect a 131 1 slight hesitation? Never! Everyone knew that Parkinson was game for anything. In he got and I drove him round the grounds. While his knuckles weren't gleaming white like the other chap I mentioned, he didn't seem reluctant to get out when the car came to a halt. In November '77 Barry and I had gone to his sister's with the Christmas presents. On our return we found a note had been put through our letter-box. On reading it I discovered it was from an Australian couple Arthur and Audrey Thompson who had a daughter Laura, also born without arms due to thalidomide. Apparently my T.V. documentary Two o , f a Kind had been shown over there and being here on holiday, they were most anxious to meet me. I contacted them at once and it was arranged that they visit us the following day, which they did, bringing a friend, Anne du Chatcaw. They were delightful people -and it was obvious that Mrs du Chatcaw took a great interest in Laura. We spent a wonderful day together before they set off on a short tour of the highlands. Almost a vear after their visit, I received a letter from Anne du Chatcaw. On opening it something fell out. However I was so delighted to hear from her that I momentarily disregarded what- ever it was. Her letter was most interesting and as I read on, was absolutely flabbergasted to find that the slip of paper which had fluttered to the floor was a cheque for f-200. Apparently during their short visit I had mentioned how beneficial I would find a tumble drier, as one thing which was absolutely impossible was hanging my washing on a line. In her letter she was asking me to accept this money to buy a drier. Let me tell you, it took me several days to compose a letter in reply. I was so overwhelmed to think that this woman, whom I had met only once, had sent me E200 in order that I might have something which would make my life easier. 'Thank You'was so inadequate a response to such generosity. Eventually I did get that letter off, and I told Anne that if she was at all familiar with the British climate, she would know how eternally grateful I was. Soon after I left my job, my friend Pat rang me to say that she was having to give up looking after two children who came to her 132 before and after school each day. "I know how much you children, Marilyn, " she said,---so1 thought you might like to take over from me." ---Thatwould he super, Pat. It was good of you to think of me, but you'll have to find out how the mothers feel about it," 1 said. "Yes," Pat said briefly and went on talking about something else. Just before she rang off she said,---SoI'll tell them you're willing to keep their bairns?" 1 said, -Yes, but make sure you put them in the picture "About what?" she asked. "The fact that 1 don't have any arms." "Oh that, why should that make any difference? You're every bit as capable as anyone else.---said Pat indignantly. You see, she's known me all my life as being one of the famous 'Pitfour Street Gang' and couldn't understand that perhaps someone else may not have the same confidence in me that she and all my close friends have. In November '78 1 went into hospital for minor surgery. During the course of the morning a young houseman came up to my bed to take the necessary particulars. Having looked through my notes he said, "What about vour blood pressure, Mrs Carr?" "It hasn't been taken doctor," I replied. "Off he went to get the blood pressure equipment. On his return he said, -Just lift up your arm - " "I'm afraid I don't have an arrn," I replied. "Oh, " he said, rather startled. "Do you have one on the other side?" "Would you believe I don't?" I went on rather mischievously. He thought for a moment. "Dare I ask if you have legs?" "Ah, now you're in luck, I have two of those." I joked , Of course by this time he realised the predicament in which he found himself, the equipment wasn't long enough to go round my thigh, so he placed it round my calf and I actually found myself having my blood pressure taken. He succeeded where many others hadn't even tried. 133 That same year Barry became Deputy Warden in a housing complex for handicapped people and we became very friendly with the Burns family. That summer they were having a caravan holiday and we had arranged to pay them a visit. They didn't travel far as both their young lads are in wheel chairs. What talented young men they are. Neil Jnr. the elder lad can take apart anything electronic, find the fault, and put it together again, while his young brother Michael is a marvellous artist. As a matter of fact he did a drawing of Judy my dog, which has pride of place in my home. I'm sure you'll agree these are talents indeed when you realise both lads have muscular dystrophy. On our arrival at their caravan, Neil said, "I'm really glad you've come today, we've met a most interesting couple from Glasgow, Walter and Jean Buchanan, who are here with their son Murray, and we have invited them along for the evening." Their son was charming, extending his hand to everyone until he came to me. Instead of making what I consider to be a perfectly normal mistake, he bent forward and kissed me on the cheek, which I thought was very nice. You may think there is nothing unusual in this but his natural tact was remarkable when you consider he has Downe's Syndrome, in other words he is mongol. During the course of conversation Mrs Buchanan told us the story of how, one day while on holiday in Dunbar, they parked near the harbour while they went shopping. Murray decided to stay in the car and watch all the activity in the harbour. His parents hadn't gone far when there was quite a commotion behind them. Turning round they saw a crowd had gathered at the edge of the water. Following their gaze they could see a car disappearing into the sea. Instinctively they began to run, and looking across at the empty space in the car park it became frighteningly clear to them that it was their car, inside which was their son. Naturally Mrs Buchanan had to be restrained from diving straight in. A fisherman got hold of a rope to tie round his waist but there was no need. Seconds later Murray's head appeared above the water and the fisherman then threw the rope out and pulled him to safety. Later, when his mother asked him how he 134 managed to get out of the car, he told her he had watched a television programme in which Dave Allen had been lowered into a tank of water, in order to demonstrate how to cope in this situation. Who would dare to say that such youngsters cannot be taught after reading this story? Do you realise that you or I could have drowned in that situation? We would have panicked, but Murray actually heard Dave Allen telling him what to do and obeyed to the letter. In May 1979 the Matron of Ancrum House (the Residential Home where Mum had been for the last four years) called me into her office one day and told me that it was impossible to keep Mum any longer. These particular Homes are really for men and women who do not require special care and assistance in dressing and going to the loo. Well of course when my mother was first resident, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but now the problem was becoming worse, for instance whilst she was not incontinent, she simply didn't know where the toilet was. She'd put cardigans on before her dress and that sort of thing. So the psychiatrist in charge of her case was called in and unfortunately the decision was that she would now have to be hospitalised. I don't think I'll ever forget that day. 1 wanted to take her but was told she would have to go in an ambulance, which would arrive at approximately half past ten. 1 went to Ancrum House at nine thirty. Although by now her speech was somewhat impaired, 1 tried to make lighthearted conversation which was not an easy task. She knew something was going on. 1 kept telling her she'd be leaving Ancrum House for a time and all she said over and over again was, "I'm frightened, I'm frightened." At about ten forty five the door opened and two ambulance- men walked in. I've faced many hazards in my life but at that moment words can't describe how 1 felt. 1 had to choke back the tears - she had loved this place and 1 knew she was going to a place where life would be so different - and 1 couldn't even make her understand. 1 followed the ambulance to the hospital - a psycho-geriatric hospital, and once again 1 felt 1 was letting her 135 down - there was this feeling of utter helplessness. 1 stayed an hour, to see her settled - how 1 got home I'll never know. People have said to me over the last two or three years, "It could be worse, at least she's not suffering and she doesn't know anything." How do we know that? Although her speech is now totally gone, to me, at least, her eyes are full of expression. How can anyone say she's not suffering when we have no idea what's going on in her mind. One thing 1 do know. since the day she left Ancrum House she has deteriorated at twice the rate. A nurse said to me the other week, "It's dreadful to see her so unhappy. Isn't unhappiness a form of suffering? When men and women like my Mother go into these hospitals what is there for them to do? There aren't enough staff and so they simply vegetate because there are no facilities to try to keep the brain stimulated, so it deteriorates twice as fast. Furthermore there is not enough research done into this type of mental illness. I L seems to me that putting it down to old age is simply not good enough. Since my mother went into hospital 1 know of several other women with exactly the same illness - the youngest was fifty three. How much younger do they have to be before some- thing is done about it or is fifty three still classed as old age. Mum is now seventy three and looks ten years older. 1 can't believe how much she has deteriorated since 1 began to write my story. I'm nine~y nine per cent sure she still recognises me, as she becomes terribly agitated about five minutes after I've sat down. She won't walk any more and cats very little, so 1 try to persuade her while I'm there. It's strange, people used to tell me about friends or relatives like Mum and how it changed their personality. Of course until you've experienced it yourself, it's extremely difficult to comprehend. As you know, Mum and 1 were very close, is this the reason why, whenever she sees me, she gets so upset? She doesn't seem to want me there and no-one can know what's going on in her mind. Could it be that deep down inside she knows she's not herself and doesn't want me to see her like that? On most visits, she pushes me away all the time. At first, 1 would leave in tears, but now I've come to terms with it and realise this is not the Mum 1 knew - but 1 still love her dearly. 136 1 think rny tears have all been shed over the last few years. She won't go before her time, but when she does 1 will not cry. I will thank God that He has taken her home where she will be at rest. 1 firmly believe in life after death, and when she's gone, we will be able to share things. Once again she will be watching over me and guiding me just as Dad has done with both of us all these years. In October 1979 Barry and I spent almost a week at the home of Joan and Douglas Bader. As you know I had idolised Douglas for years, and now I had become extremely fond of his wife. She is a wonderful person and we get along very well together. This particular year she was taking us to the International Horse Show at Wembley. I was thrilled at the thought of seeing this competition live as I love show jumping. In fact Mum used to laugh at me leaping over the fences when I watched it on T.V. Naturally during our week with the Baders we talked a great deal about horse riding. One evening just before dinner I said to Joan that I'd dearly love to see if I could ride. Without a word she rose from her chair, picked up the telephone and dialled a number. "Hello, FZosanne, Joan here. Do you have a horse that a friend of mine without arms could ride? You do? Wonderful, right, see yc)u then, thank you so much." With that she replaced the receiver. -you will have your first riding lesson tomorrow morning about ten thirty." she said. I was speechless (not something that happens very often). Imagine me taking up riding at my age! Well you know the saying 'nothing ventured. . .' Dead on ten thirty the following day we arrived at the stables I of Joan's friend. As well as running a prep school for bovs. where riding could be part of the curriculum, Rosanne also ran a course for disabled riders. I'm pleased to say I was on my own. I wouldn't have wanted to make a complete ass of myself in front of her twelve to fifteen year old handicapped riders. I'll bet they would have shown me a thing or two. Rosanne's young daughter very kindly loaned me her horse. 137 1 Of course mounting was to be a problem in itself. First of all I stood on top of a tree stump then I have to admit Barry had to heave me the rest of the way. Complete with hat, there I was safely seated - my goodness, the ground looked so far away. But I'd got this far and I certainly wasn't going to back down now! Two of Rosanne's friends had very kindly given up their time to help by walking one at either side of me. Rosanne was to lead the horse. -All set? " she said as everyone took up their position. "I think so," I replied rather hesitantly. I don't think I shall ever forget my feelings as the horse moved one leg. I have to admit to being more than a little afraid! However, nothing daunted, we moved off. Strangely enough, it wasn't long before I got the hang of it and learned to move my body with the horse's movements. Well you know me - I still wasn't satisfied, you see I didn't have control of the horse. As you know the reins are buckled across the horse's back, which made it impossible for me to be in command. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't such an idiot as to want Rosanne to stop leading the horse, oh no, what I wanted to do was steer him in whichever direction I wished while she held the rope loosely, ever poised if he were to rear up or bolt you understand. No sooner said than done, someone came up with the idea of loosening the reins and tying them, one to each stirrup, so if I pulled my right foot back the horse would turn to the right, both feet back and he stopped. Off we went down a country lane. Mind you, I made sure the girls on either side were never very far away! That evening Douglas arrived home from work. "You'll be standing at the dinner table this evening m'dear," he said with a decidedly mischievous gleam in his eye. "Not at all Douglas," I replied, equally mischievously, "as you can see I'm well padded!" At that he simply roared with laughter. Strangely enough it hadn't been my 'rear' that had suffered as I slid down into Barry's arms, it was the ligaments at the inside of my knees. "Had enough then?" Douglas went on. "On the contrary, Rosanne has kindly offered to let me ride every morning until I go home." Although I had just met Rosanne and her friends, they didn't treat me as a handicapped person. They reallsed I wanted to learn to ride, not just to sit on a horse and be lead for evermore. So on the third morning Rosanne said, "Well I think it's time for a lesson in trotting!" Me trotting, when I'd only just learned the art of staying on when the horse was walking'? Oh well, in for a penny and all that. Up down, up down, up down - boy did my brain rattle! Everyone had a good laugh too, at my tongue which was sticking out all the time as I concentrated on how not to fall off. However, I wasn't finished yet. Back in the stable vard, upturned buckets were placed about ten feet apart and without anyone beside me or holding the lead rope. I was told to guide my horse in and out, do a full turn at the bottom and make my way back. How delighted I was on the completion of my task. I was thrilled when Rosanne remarked on my last day that she was so pleased at how quickly I had learned. She said she's had pupils who took months to learn what I had learned in a few days. As I wasn't twenty one any more, this was music to my ears. Then came the night I had been waiting for. The Horse of the Year Show. Joan's friends had got us two 'passes' so that we could go behind the scenes to meet some of the personalities. As I approached, Harvey Smith (who had obviously been briefed) greeted me with "A fellow rider I believe." I also met David Broome, Ted Edgar, who was quite a character and Caroline Bradley to name but a few. Everyone was wonderful - it was an evening I shall remember for a long time. On my return home, I decided not to let the grass grow under my feet. After all Joan and her friends had spent a great deal of time on me and I couldn't let what I had learned fall by the wayside. On making enquiries, I discovered that there was a group which met each Saturday morning not far from Dundee - The Angus Riding for the Disabled. After all I've said throughout this book about not going to clubs for the handicapped perhaps you're wondering why I decided to join Riding for Disabled. It's 139 simple - I know my limits - it would have been very foolhardy to think I could join an ordinary group of riders. In this instance I had to join a group which offered the necessary facilities. I went to see Mrs Thomson, the lady who runs this group. She was very nice and explained that although the season was finished, she would see if she could get two helpers for two or three weeks so that I wouldn't forget what I had learned. This she did, which meant that I knew some people before the new season began. May 1980 saw me begin my lessons officially. They were every Saturday morning, weather permitting. I did feel rather like a fish out of water. All the riders were so young. The first week I felt like Methusala! However, it wasn't long before I had made friends with the parents and helpers. Barry came along too, and being nearly six foot and sixteen stone (he'll kill me for revealing that last bit) Mrs Thomson felt he would be ideal for lifting the less able youngsters on and off their horses. This year was the tenth anniversary of the group and one Saturday Mrs Thomson made a special announcement. Princess Anne was to attend our open day on 22nd September. Great excitement. Of course this meant that the committee had to put their heads together to make up an interesting programme for Her Royal Highness. Would you believe it was arranged that I should have a solo spot? Wait for it - I was to jump over cavalettes. Now I realise that these are not five bar gates, but to a mere novice such as me something that was two or three inches off the ground might as well have been just that! So the weeks of practise began. First of all we walked the horse over then came the serious business of jumping. I was really rather proud of myself to be still in the saddle after the first attempt, and after that it became easier. It was arranged that I should do my bit then walk the horse in front of the Princess, dismount and give him a polo off my foot. This is something I had done right from my first lesson in England and everyone thought it would be a very good finish. At last the big day dawned, I wish I could say with bright sunshine, but alas that was not to be. The morning was dull and misty and all we could do was pray that it wouldn't rain. Well our 140 prayers were answered; while the sun didn't come out at least it kept dry. The programme began at two o'clock and everything went without a hitch. 1 was rather worried about my part with the polo as at the rehearsal the horse knocked it off my foot three times before he finally got it in his mouth. However, he must have known we had a special guest that day as he performed beauti- fully. Afterwards we were presented to Princess Anne, who really was gracious. 1 told her that 1 had been rather nervous at appearing before her as 1 was sure she must have seen a young thalidomide girl 1 knew, also without arms, who rides exceptionally well. -Yes 1 have seen her; but you must remember, she has been riding a considerable number of years which is more than you have. 1 enjoyed your performance very much," replied the Princess. She went on to ask about my driving, and when 1 told her 1 was making a mad dash to the West Coast that evening to speak at a meeting, she thanked me very much for taking the time to come. Now it's not often I'm speechless, but somehow 1 felt that it should have been the other way round. As 1 said before, a very nice lady. So ended our special day and indeed the end of our season. 13 Some years ago 1 became involved with an organisation which is against abortion - Society for the Protection of Unborn Children (SPUC). It all began one day when Hannah Farrell here in Dundee rang me up saying she was a member of this organisation and did 1 believe in abortion. Well 1 immediately said 1 didn't except in extreme cases, for example when the mother's life is in danger, which is becoming extremely rare, or the baby is growing in a diseased womb. In these cases there seems to be no alternative. 141 1 ~ 1 Before this lady rang me, I'm ashamed to say that 1 hadn't given abortion much thought one way or the other. However, we decided to get together on the possibility of my speaking at the SPUC Rally to be held in Dundee the following month. She let me see slides of the baby growing and then the awful slides on how abortions are carried out. Well of course 1 agreed to speak at the forthcoming rally which was to be held in our Town Hall, which holds 3,0(K) people. 1 have to confess 1 was extremely nervous. There were six or seven distinguished public speakers including doctors, an Archbishop and 1 was there representing the handicapped. 1 very seldom feel out of my depth but on this occasion 1 certainly did. Finally it was my turn to speak - the hall was packed but, as so many times before, God was with me. Once 1 got started the words came pouring out. Amongst other things, 1 said that all handicapped people have the right to live - let's be honest, if abortion had been so accessible forty years ago and my mother had known that she was carrying a baby with no arms, 1 would have been a prime candidate! During my talk, 1 glanced quite a number of times at Barry who was sitting in the third row and 1 could tell by his face that I was doing quite well. How well, 1 was to realise when 1 had finished. As 1 sat down everyone in that hall rose to their feet and the sounds of them clapping must have been heard right across our City Square - imagine me, out of all those distinguished speakers, getting a standing ovation. 1 looked down at my husband and my heart was full - there were actually tears in his eyes. What a wonderful moment that was. Little did 1 realise then how much that talk and several others to follow, were to affect my future. Although 1 wouldn't condemn any woman for having an abortion and 1 can understand how appalling the thought of having a physically or mentally handicapped child is to most mothers., 1 am sure it is not the answer. Prevention, where possible, is one answer. Why don*t women have a vaccination against rubella (German measles) before they marry? Where there is no obvious method of prevention and a handicapped baby is born why not let nature take its course? This would seem to me to be much kinder than withholding food and giving large 142 doses of drugs to'help'a baby to die. I know several handicappe people who were expected to die soon after birth but who, because they were treated the same as normal babies, survived. I am sick of the expression, "but what quality of life would they have?" Doctors probably thought this when I was born but I think I have proved that the quality of my life is good. I know youngsters who had difficulty communicating, but when a way was found they sometimes turned out to be quite brilliant. Who are we to say who lives and who dies? God is the only judge as far as I'm concerned, a baby can't ask for the chance to live. I have lots of handicapped friends and not one wishes they hadn't been born. Oh, I'm not saying they, but then who doesn't? I really believe that handicapped people are on this earth for a purpose. Maybe the world needs us. Compassion, understanding and acceptance are amongst the most important of human qualities. At another SPUC Rally about a year ago, I met Phyllis Bowman, who is the director. Having heard me speak, she asked me if I was interested in politics. Well, I must admit, I have always wanted to 'spout off to the people who could do some- thing about conditions for handicapped people. She told me that her organisation was very keen to put up a candidate in a by- election when the time was right. Talking about it rather excited me, but as the months passed I forgot about our conversation. I was, however, reminded of it in no uncertain terms one afternoon, 27th June 1981 to be precise. It was one o'clock on a beautiful Saturday afternoon when the 'phone rang. It was Phyllis. Having gone through the usual pleasantries she said, "I think you should sit down." I wondered what on earth was wrong. "I don't know if you are aware," she went on, "but the Conservative MP for Croydon north-west died last week and there will be a by-election in the autumn and we would like you to stand as an independent Pro-Life candidate - the very first in Britain. We would be your sponsors." I was stunned. Oh, I know we had discussed it several months before, but such things are all very well in the abstract. All that time I suppose I never imagined it would ever come to pass. I like me, don't have their off-days 143 thought that SPUC would look more deeply into it and find someone far better suited for the job. "Can I have time to think about it?" I croaked. My voice seemed to have gone temporarily. "You discuss it with Barry," Phyllis replied, "and I'll fing you back at seven o'clock." I put the phone down and walged slowly into the living-room, where I stood, motionless. Barry looked up from the book he was reading and looking at my face said, "What on earth's the matter, who's died?" Perhaps that will give you sotne indication of what my face must have been like. I moved towards the armchair and sat down very slowly. "Phyllis Bowman has asked rpe to stand for Parliament," I said, almost in a whisper. Barry oeing Barry, immediately burst out laughing! "You're having me on," he splEittered, "I know you mentioned it some time ago, but I didn't thilik much about it at the time." "You haven't heard where it is yet," I continued. "Well?" he replied enquiringly. I remember taking a deep breath before replying, "Croydon," and waited for the explosion. It didn't come. I can't explain how I felt then as we sat there discussing the pros and cons of my being a Parliamentary Candidate. It wasn't long before we realised we were getting nowhere. We decided to talk with someone who wasn't closely involved. Who would understand my dilemma and all the thoughts which were hurtling through my mind? And of course who would be available to listen on a beautiful Saturday afternoon? Within fifteen rninutes we were on our way to Brechin, a small town about thirty miles from here, to see my good friend Shirley Constantine, who is also my riditig instructor. When we arrived she and her husband Steve were in the garden. I said exactly the same as Phyllis had said to me, -I think you should sit down." She sat on the wall. "About two hours ago I had g telephone call from London asking me to stand for Parliartient in the Croydon north-west by-election." Her mouth opcned and closed, but only momentarily was she surprised,rhen she jumped up and said, 14 "That's absolutely marvellous, I can't think of anyone better suited for the job." "I'm no politician," I replied, very flattered by her remarks. "That's why you're the perfect choice as a pro-life candidate, what you say comes right from your heart," said Shirley. The four of us talked, ending with the unenviable being said, that the final decision had to be mine. I have to admit, I dreaded t1he 'phone ringing at seven that evening. I never was very brave at making important decisions. Well the hour duly arrived and promptly at seven the telephone rang. As I rose from the chair Barry suddenly said, "Say you can't do it, it's too far away." I'm afraid I didn't listen. It was now clear to me that I could do what I'd longed to do for yeors: try to convey to the powers that be that handicapped peopl(-- were human beings and should be given the same chances in life, as the able bodied. I made the decision that was to begin (ne of the most interesting and fascinating experiences of my lifte. "Right, I'll do it." Little did I know what those four words would mean over the months thzit were to follow. Suddenly I felt the burdens of the world had been placed squarely on my shoulders, and I found myself pouring them out to Judy, my dog! Only weeks before, I recalled saying to myself, "Nothing exciting ever happened to me!" Why didn't I keep my big mouth shut? Monday lunch time saw me, aAnd a super lady who was asked to accompany me, on the way to London to get my first glimpse into the world of politics. Of co-urse the story had hit our local newspaper that morning. I'll nev-er forget the heading on page 5 and I quote, ARMLESS DUN-DEE WOMAN TO FIGHT CRCOYDON SEAT. 1 had managed to ring a few o-i my friends the day before the news broke. There was one in pa rticular who lives in a sheltered housing complex for disabled pec~ple. She has to have an electric wheelchair in order to move arou rid, but she was absolutely over the moon. Although she is severely handicapped she enjoys every moment of her life. The word 'abortion' absolutely appalls her. A would have thumped you if you'd said no," she quipped. Let me say at this point that the hours which passed before I boarded that train are hours which I will never forget as long as I live. Barry was working that Sunday. I had neither eaten nor slept thinking I had bitten off more than I could chew. Phyllis' words kept ringing in my ears. "Don't expect to get into Parliament, but believe me you'll be going out there to win." At that time I only went to London for a few days to SPUC headquarters where we discussed plans for the by-election. We reckoned it would be called sometime in the Autumn. Of course I soon realised that I would be away from home a great deal in order to do the job properly. Obviously I must know the problems of Croydon and keep up to date with home and world affairs. You see although I was to be standing on an Independent Pro-Life ticket it was vital that the people of Croydon north-west realised that I had very definite views on other things, therefore it was most important that I acquaint myself with all aspects of political life - no mean feat I can assure you. However as you are no doubt aware my life has been built on challenges and what bigger challenge could I possibly have? Having been 'briefed' on what I must do, it was decided that I come home for a few weeks during which time arrangements would be made for me to go back, this time to Croydon itself and start off by visiting the groups of people with different disabilities, to see if they thought a disabled person would be beneficial in the House of Commons. So it was, on 7th August, I made my way back to the Big Smoke, staying in Penge, a London suburb, with a wonderful girl who herself had a story to tell. Debbie Sanders had two sons, David and Richard. David is mentally handicapped. When he was born, as is the case with a great many mentally handicapped children, his disability was not diagnosed. When he was about three years old Debbie began to realise there was something wrong and during the next year or so 146 she had several appointments with paediatricians w-ho told he there was nothing wrong with David. At nursery school, ever, the teacher also realised things were not as the- y should be' and at last something was done. At the age of fcjur he was diagnosed as severely mentally handicapped. His %peech was practically non-existent. He had been late walking a,nd was still in nappies. Debbie was given little hope of things ever The doctors said he would 1 i for him. David is now eleven years old, his main handicap today is shyness. By the age of six he was using the loo, w-alking and talking like any other six year old, and has progres sed from a school for severely retarded children to one catering for less handicapped children. He enjoys nothing more than a night at an ordinary Scout Group with his brother. It makes itne wonder who on earth can judge anyone's quality of life. Anyway a young man had been delegated to drive- me round the various organisations in Croydon and 1 was awriazed but delighted to hear from most that they found facilities faor disabled people very good on the whole. The two things whicL did seem to keep cropping up were housing and education. Of course 'access' 1 found is still a problem, even as modern buildings spring up the architects still forget about accessibility fcor disabled people. Peter, my ch auffe ur-cum -secretary, jotted down all the detai Is and after a week doing this sort of ground work , 1 brought the information home to study it in rnore detail. During the month that followed, things really begain to move, although slowly at first. We had some difficulty gettin g Election Rooms and of course we needed an Election Agent. 1 was becoming rather anxious about this but by the end of August we had both and would you believe the Agent turned out to be a Scotsman from Glasgow. It seemed the election would never be announced, each day brought new speculation about the date. However ori Tuesday 22nd September it was finally announced - Thursday 22nd October. This meant we had a week before the official campaign began, all the wheels which had been set in motion some weeks before now had to be speeded up. 1 never would have believed improving. y q y ng to he done 147 1 1 the work that goes into an election campaign. Of course there was much more work involved in ours, because in the first place, we were all beginners (except my election agent) and secondly we had nowhere near the full-time manpower of the other main parties. However, the manpower we did have worked their tails off from nine thirty in the morning until ten thirty at night (sometimes later) every day. There are 55,000 electors in Croydon north-west. Every house had to be canvassed and various leaflets put through doors. I will never throw away another piece of election literature without reading it thoroughly. The miles my workers trudged, including Barry, no matter what the weather each day, was incredible. Of course I began to realise what it was like when I began canvassing myself, you begin to feel rather like a broken record. "I'm Marilyn Carr your Independent Pro-Life Candidate. Do have a copy of my policies. Tell me if you agree with much of what I have to say and would you consider voting for me, after all what have the main parties done over the last thirty or forty years?" And so it went on. One day Ron, my Agent, suggested that we ought to try to get in touch with Malcolm Muggeridge, the famous journalist and broadcaster, who was actually born in Croydon and who is a true Christian, pro-life gentleman. No sooner said than done., and before I knew it Ron had called. Within ten minutes Mr Muggeridge had invited us to afternoon tea at his home two days later. He and his wife were perfectly charming and it wasn't long before we were deep in conversation about the election. As I was airing my views on various things, Mr Muggeridge said, "My dear, that's the sort of thing you should say at your public meetings." Well you know me, I never miss an opportunity, so quick as a flash I replied, "Well MrMuggeridge you could say them forme, if you would consider coming to speak on my behalf." "I would be absolutely delighted," he said enthusiastically. I couldn't believe my luck, imagine me speaking on the same platform as the Malcolm Muggeridge! It was arranged that he come on Tuesday 20th (my eighth wedding anniversary) two days before polling day. 148 8thNomination papers had to be in by four o'clock on Thursday October and Ron believed in doing everything in style. He had been walking to the office one day and happened to notice a vintage car sitting outside a house, so nothing daunted, in the bold boy walks to enquire about us having the use of it to take the nomination papers to the Town Hall - he got it too! The gentleman who owned it was only too pleased to head our motorcade. You see by this time Barry had brought our car down mainly because it was important to show people the fact that not having arms was no reason why I couldn't become an MP. As a matter of fact we would be driving round Croydon with the public address system on the car and I would say, "This is Marilyn Carr, your Independent Pro-Life Candidate, perhaps you will notice I am driving this vehicle with my feet." People literally stopped in their tracks and stared. Ron and I were in stitches. At eleven o'clock on the 8th October our little motorcade of three cars, bedecked with posters, streamers and balloons, set off for the Town Hall. If anyone had told me that placing nomination papers could be a gruelling experience, I wouldn't have believed them. Everything on these papers has to be correct right down to the last full stop. You must have ten people to nominate you and they must sign their names exactly as they are written on the Electoral Roll. Addresses must be accurate, any of these things being wrong and the papers are declared invalid. Also once the papers are actually declared in order and you've handed over your deposit, you are committed to the bitter end, the only way you can get out of it then is to die! I decided I enjoyed living too much! The last few days before polling day was the big weekend. Supporters came from all over the country to canvas for me, about 400 in all which was absolutely tremendous. What was even more fantastic was the fact that they were coming back to the office having had conversations with the canvassers of the three main parties. All of them said the same thing, that they had never had so many questions asked about abortion. Some even said that if I'd been standing for one of the main parties I may have won! So instead of hostility, which I must confess I 149 thought would be quite obvious during the campaign, I was actually gaining a great deal of respect. Now it was two days before polling and the day Malcolm Mugge ridge was to speak at my public meeting. We only managed to have one, because it is extremely difficult to get an audience to the public meetings of a minor candidate. Malcolm and Kitty had previously agreed to do a 'walkabout' with me that afternoon for Thames T.V. and we did get a spot on the six o'clock news which was great. As eight o'clock drew nearer, I must confess I could feel my heart thumping against my ribs -who would have thought I was about to make my first ever political speech - me involved in politics! As with all the other big occasions in my life I couldn't help letting my mind fly 430 miles to Dundee and my Mum - I don't mean to sound pompous, but she would have been so proud. This more than anything, made me realise what I was standing for. If the doctors hadn't been so understanding all those years ago when Mum couldn't accept me in the beginning I would have, as happens today, been considered rejected, and perhaps neither Mum nor I would have had a second chance; in some hospitals it might have been thought humane to allow me to die. The hour was nigh and I stood up to address probably 80 to 100 people which wasn't too bad considering I was competing with Shirley Williams and Michael Foot who were addressing meetings in other halls. If anyone had told me I could deliver a speech which included help for the Third World, Nuclear Arms and the Common Market I'd never have believed them. Although not the most brilliant speech in the world, I must confess it was very well received. Thank goodness I spoke before Malcolm Muggeridge - that man is so eloquent, he has such a gift with words, one could listen to him all night. At last it was over. Perhaps however you will recall my mentioning this was our eighth wedding anniversary. Well my workers hadn't forgotten, we were presented with a beautiful bouquet and a huge card signed by everyone, including Malcolm and Kitty Muggeridge. The great day dawned at last. I hadn't slept a wink of course. It was to be the longest day of my life, beginning at eight o'clock 150 and going through until one the following morning. In all I received seven telegrams and four good luck cards. As a matter of fact my first telegram arrived two days before, and of course it was from my good friend Jean Buchanan and her son Murray (Jean's husband has died since I began my story). It read "STATURE SMALL. ABILITY TALL" At around nine o'clock Ron, Barry and I started touring the polling stations, just to see how things were progressing. As in all b\ -elections things moved slowly at first. hotting up after five o'clock. At last it was ten o'clock and I went along to a polling station to watch the boxes being sealed - it's almost a ceremony. They're tied with a special knot and then sealed with sealing wax. Then it was off to the count in Fairfield Halls in the centre of Croydon. As there were so many candidates (twelve in all) only seven people per candidate were allowed in to watch the counting of ballot papers. As well as my workers, we had all agreed that Liz or Phil Gough must be there. This was the couple whose home we had invaded for the past six weeks, in fact on reflection their house began to look more and more like an extension of our office. They had two young boys, but not once did they complain. We never could have done it without them. As you know, I love children and they were no exception. Every morning Stephen, who is two and a half would yell, "See Marilyn off Mummy, see Marilyn off." while his elder brother Matthew, six. would draw me all sorts of wonderful pictures. Phil came to the count (I expect they tossed for it) and once inside, Ron instructed us to spread ourselves out round the tables. Well let me tell you, I was a nervous wreck. I simply couldn't watch. You see my name was immediately underneath the Conservative's - need I say more? Eventually I couldn't stand it any longer, I had to leave the counting hall and have a cup of tea (I suppose I ought to have had something stronger) to calm my nerves. Earlier in the campaign I had been running at 5-1 to come fourth and it wasn't long before it was obvious that there was to be a -battle for fourth place between myself and the National Front. In the end that candidate beat me by 88 votes - 429 to my 340. At first I was terribly disappointed, but then I sat down and thought that I had come from nowhere to 340 votes. 151 1 They are a national party and have been in existence for some time, so in actual fact he didn't do all that well. I'd love to have got seven or eight hundred so that the other parties would realise that we were a force to be reckoned with. On the other hand, although the votes didn't perhaps get me as near Parliament as I would have liked - 1 know in Croydon my presence was felt. The top three had never been asked so often about abortion on derriand, so 1 still feel that we made our mark. Now it's all over and 1 have already been asked if 1 will stand again so who knows. Although this is the end of my story to date it may only be the beginning ... RANDWICK-BOTANY JOINT LIBRARY RANDWICK- BOTANY JOINT LIBRARY i Jacket designed by Charles Miller Canongate Publishing Ltd, 17 Jeff-rey Street, Edinburgh, ScotLvW