runaway in search of the bright lights.
Foul play, they agreed, had been the cause.
Change was in the air not only in the town, with familiar landmarks vanishing overnight, but also in the classroom: in February 1971 we switched to the metric system and the joy of decimals. My
brothers married and my mother found the house in Ashgrove too large. She flitted round the corner to School Street, and one of her brothers, Bobby, who had been abroad for many years and was also
divorced, moved in. It was company for her, and the arrangement suited them both.
The Anderson girls married and moved away, perhaps feeling they could never have a normal life when the disappearance of their sister was still the focus of speculation in the town. Janet
emigrated to Australia, and Marjorie moved away to England.
On the face of it, I was happy and I found marriage liberating. I enjoyed the years of primary teaching before we started our own family in 1978. For a young woman in her twenties, though, my
health was not perfect. From puberty, I had suffered crops of severe mouth ulcers, which appeared two dozen or more at a time. I was never free of them for long. I was referred to the Glasgow
dental hospital, where I was examined by consultants, dental hygienists and others to attempt to analyse the cause, but to no avail. Pregnancies made little difference, which disappointed those who
said hormones were to blame, vitamins did not help, and blood tests showed up no abnormalities. For many years I had to cope with mouthwashes and, during very bad spells, doses of steroids.
It was a mystery, they said, in someone who otherwise seemed perfectly normal. But although I used to believe that if feelings are not expressed outwardly, they disappear, now I know better. As
a child, I had been required to file away horrific memories.
The more painful they are, the more poisonous they become within our system. After many years of pain, homeopathic medicine, where the whole person is examined, helped me. The ulcers reduced to
manageable levels. Recently, I have even been ulcer-free, and able to enjoy the bliss of eating whatever I wish. Significantly, the homeopathic treatment coincided with a long spell of counselling
when, with specialist help, I was able at last to speak of the secrets I had buried deep within me. I was made aware of how much our emotions and memories are tied into the nervous system and how
stress can manifest itself.
When my grandfather died, my father was traced by the police for his dad’s funeral, and arrived at the last minute. Ronnie and I had a glimpse of him getting into the
funeral car. It was the first time my husband had seen him, for I had never shown him any photographs. I refused to sit anywhere near him. Ronnie and I sat with my mother at the opposite end of the
room, and I would not look in my father’s direction. He spoke briefly to my brothers, which had me seething with anger but, wisely, he knew to avoid me.
Granny Jenny had moved to a tiny sheltered house in Bellshill. My mother phoned her every day, and I visited regularly. I said nothing when I noticed that pictures I had given her of my family
disappeared. I guessed she had sent them to Leeds. As she reached her nineties, and eventually Alexander was her last living child, she sometimes became pensive. Robbie, her favourite, she mourned
openly, but once she discussed Alexander. She pondered on the terrible things he had done. When I looked at her quizzically, she added hastily, ‘I’m just meaning the awful things he pit
your mammy through, hen. He pit ye all through hell, and me and Grandpa, tae, God rest his soul. Aye, he wis certainly awfy stupid.’
Renowned for her sense of humour, that day she was depressed. ‘Wicked, wicked,’ she repeated to me, ‘but all of us love our ain. Ye can’t help lovin’ you and yours,
even when ye know they’ve—’ She broke off and wiped her eyes. She motioned me closer to her chair.
‘Even
Foul play, they agreed, had been the cause.
Change was in the air not only in the town, with familiar landmarks vanishing overnight, but also in the classroom: in February 1971 we switched to the metric system and the joy of decimals. My
brothers married and my mother found the house in Ashgrove too large. She flitted round the corner to School Street, and one of her brothers, Bobby, who had been abroad for many years and was also
divorced, moved in. It was company for her, and the arrangement suited them both.
The Anderson girls married and moved away, perhaps feeling they could never have a normal life when the disappearance of their sister was still the focus of speculation in the town. Janet
emigrated to Australia, and Marjorie moved away to England.
On the face of it, I was happy and I found marriage liberating. I enjoyed the years of primary teaching before we started our own family in 1978. For a young woman in her twenties, though, my
health was not perfect. From puberty, I had suffered crops of severe mouth ulcers, which appeared two dozen or more at a time. I was never free of them for long. I was referred to the Glasgow
dental hospital, where I was examined by consultants, dental hygienists and others to attempt to analyse the cause, but to no avail. Pregnancies made little difference, which disappointed those who
said hormones were to blame, vitamins did not help, and blood tests showed up no abnormalities. For many years I had to cope with mouthwashes and, during very bad spells, doses of steroids.
It was a mystery, they said, in someone who otherwise seemed perfectly normal. But although I used to believe that if feelings are not expressed outwardly, they disappear, now I know better. As
a child, I had been required to file away horrific memories.
The more painful they are, the more poisonous they become within our system. After many years of pain, homeopathic medicine, where the whole person is examined, helped me. The ulcers reduced to
manageable levels. Recently, I have even been ulcer-free, and able to enjoy the bliss of eating whatever I wish. Significantly, the homeopathic treatment coincided with a long spell of counselling
when, with specialist help, I was able at last to speak of the secrets I had buried deep within me. I was made aware of how much our emotions and memories are tied into the nervous system and how
stress can manifest itself.
When my grandfather died, my father was traced by the police for his dad’s funeral, and arrived at the last minute. Ronnie and I had a glimpse of him getting into the
funeral car. It was the first time my husband had seen him, for I had never shown him any photographs. I refused to sit anywhere near him. Ronnie and I sat with my mother at the opposite end of the
room, and I would not look in my father’s direction. He spoke briefly to my brothers, which had me seething with anger but, wisely, he knew to avoid me.
Granny Jenny had moved to a tiny sheltered house in Bellshill. My mother phoned her every day, and I visited regularly. I said nothing when I noticed that pictures I had given her of my family
disappeared. I guessed she had sent them to Leeds. As she reached her nineties, and eventually Alexander was her last living child, she sometimes became pensive. Robbie, her favourite, she mourned
openly, but once she discussed Alexander. She pondered on the terrible things he had done. When I looked at her quizzically, she added hastily, ‘I’m just meaning the awful things he pit
your mammy through, hen. He pit ye all through hell, and me and Grandpa, tae, God rest his soul. Aye, he wis certainly awfy stupid.’
Renowned for her sense of humour, that day she was depressed. ‘Wicked, wicked,’ she repeated to me, ‘but all of us love our ain. Ye can’t help lovin’ you and yours,
even when ye know they’ve—’ She broke off and wiped her eyes. She motioned me closer to her chair.
‘Even
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