Looking through family photographs from the 1960s, I feel little connection to the small Debi who peers back at me. If she could speak now, I'm sure she'd feel an equal distance from the future version of herself who somehow managed to turn her childhood bliss into a daytime job.
I truly cannot remember a time when I wasn't making books. I lived with my parents in the flatlands of Lanarkshire and my earliest memories were of a mostly solitary childhood. There was radio, but no television. There were adults, but no children. I suspect the nearest nursery school was miles away and as my parents didn't drive, this wasn't an option. We eventually moved to Glasgow so I could attend an all-girl's convent school. At four and a half.
Register now to continue reading
Thank you for visiting Nursery World and making use of our archive of more than 35,000 expert features, subject guides, case studies and policy updates. Why not register today and enjoy the following great benefits:
What's included
-
Free access to 4 subscriber-only articles per month
-
Unlimited access to news and opinion
-
Email newsletter providing activity ideas, best practice and breaking news
Already have an account? Sign in here
