Portrait of Jane
- Author:
HER MOTHER
It wasn’t until Jane was nearly eight years old that we knew definitely that she was not merely very stupid, but that her stupidity was such that she could never take her place alone in the world. “Half-wit”, “dim-wit”, “dumbbell “, all the names which we had teasingly called her normal elder sister, suddenly had a hideous reality when we used them for Jane, and we quickly stopped.
Looking back I realize that I had had many hints that Jane was sub-normal. She learned to walk and to talk rather later than other children, but that did not worry me at all. She was healthy, large, cheerful, and in my eyes very pretty, and I never wanted a daughter of startling brilliant brains, I wanted daughters that were strong, and happy, and affectionate. The first moment I remember feeling a wave of panic was when Jane was about six. That was in the war, and we had evacuated to Scotland. There was a parents’ day at the village school, and all the proud mothers went up to watch a play and some prize-giving. Mid-morning there was a break, and the children were handed bottles of milk and straws. I noticed that Jane was having trouble removing the top off the bottle, and managing the straws. Looking around I saw that children much younger than Jane were having no difficulty at all. At that instant I glimpsed the truth, and felt faint. I spoke to the schoolmaster, and he told me that she was undoubtedly rather clumsy and stupid, but that there was no need to worry?she would grow out of it.
We Learnt the Truth
The next eighteen months the situation deteriorated. We moved about Scotland following Jane’s soldier father, and Jane went to several schools. The reports grew more serious. If a child cannot read at five or six, it is not important. If she cannot read at seven and a half, something is very wrong. At last we went to a famous child specialist in Edinburgh and were bluntly told the truth ; Jane was just over the borderline, she simply did not have enough intelligence to take her place in the normal world. A nightmare feeling enveloped us?this could not happen to us. There was no other case in our family ; we had, in fact, unconsciously considered ourselves a clever family ; if not brilliant ourselves, we lived in the reflected glory * of uncles and grandfathers who had done well in the professions. We saw four more specialists in London, asking and asking ” what can be done ? ” It took us a year to realize that at the present time, in Jane’s type of case, the medical profession has no solution. There was nothing to be done.
I think, at this period, while we were always acting to help the child, we were actually thinking almost entirely about ourselves. There is a very strong instinct in all parents to be proud of their children. Quite modest people will bore you with tales of the miraculous progress of their young, in which they see themselves reflected. When you find your child is a ” half-wit you feel very ashamed at first, and later you feel very humble. You certainly feel very sorry for yourself.
We learned a great deal about backward children. We visited ” special ” schools and read many books. As our friends learned of our problems we found that we were not alone in having a backward child, and we learned of many cases quite close to us that we had not known existed. People do not go about talking of relations who are a bit ” queer “, but as soon as they find that you have the same problem, they are anxious to pour out their hearts. The official reports told us that three to four per cent, of the school population are placed in the mental deficient class. These depressing statistics were an enormous comfort to us ?’ slowly our problem fell into perspective. There was no more reason for us to be ashamed of a backward child than there was to be obnoxiously proud of a clever child?children just fell into different groups, and you just naturally loved and protected them however they turned out. We were lucky to place Jane in a boarding school for ” special ” children, in the countryHere her days were filled with a busy routine of classes that she could follow, and she was much happier than she had been in the normal school, bewildered by lessons that were gibberish to her; she learned to read, to knit, to dance, to singto make her bed and to wash dishes. We were * Reprinted by permission, from Everywoman, January, 1950. “People in the Making, No. 17. The Backward Child” delighted in her progress and took pride in what she could do, and we stopped worrying that she Probably would never learn to write properly, and that the chances of her ever learning to add or subtract were remote.
She came home for holidays and, now that her Problem was generally known among our friends, we found a great number of people who shared the burden of looking after her. She is of a sunny cheerful nature and friends would take her for a half day, and she would help with their shopping or house-work. A responsible person must always be with her, which would be a great strain if the task was not shared. Ninety-nine Per cent, of the time she behaves quite satisfactorily, but you cannot be sure.
Her Sister Understood
There was a morning when I sent her out to get a newspaper from a shop quite close by, and she came back with the newspaper and a volume of children’s stories, which she said she had brought home to read. The fact that she had shoplifted ” the book had no meaning for her. % heart leapt, and for a moment I thought I heard a policeman’s steps approaching the house ! I dashed to the shop, and my heart ~1(3 not stop pumping until I had paid for the hook ! Since that day I have not let her go shopping alone.
The war ended when Jane was eleven, and her cider sister, who had been evacuated to America tor five years, returned. I worried a great deal ab?ut her sister’s reaction and imagined she Would be as ashamed and embarrassed as I had been. How wonderfully wrong I was ! She is ?ur years older than Jane and has a tremendous Protective feeling towards her and, with the Vltality of youth, is often much better able to c?pe with Jane than I am.
. I have learned since that older brothers and sisters of backward children usually handle the Sltuation with love and gentleness, and understanding. When Jane did surprising things like Sjnging to herself on buses, her sister thought it Was very funny, gave her a poke and told her to be quiet ; while if I were tired, and Jane made herself conspicuous, I tended to feel embarrassed and miserable.
What of the Future ?
Of course, like all parents, we think of the future, and wonder what will become of Jane when we are dead. We haven’t much money to leave her and we do not wish her to be a burden to her sister, who will, no doubt, have her own family and its problems before many years. We would hate to think that she might be put into a public institution among some really bad cases.
We hope that she will end, as other backward children have ended, in some simple supervised job that she can manage. We have heard of girls who have worked on farms under some kindly farmer’s wife, or who have worked domestically in the country. We have found people everywhere so kindly disposed, and Jane herself so good-natured and adaptable, that we dare hope that she may find her niche and become as useful, in her way, as the normal child. If Jane had been born a hundred years ago of a village family, and had never been expected to read and write, to add and subtract and cope with ration books and petrol coupons, she would probably have passed as normal, though eccentric.
Jane is now fifteen, and I have just come back from a very happy weekend with her. I took hei away from the school on Saturday to buy some necessary clothes. Like all girls, she took great interest in the purchases and in the tea, with many cakes, that we consumed. I do not think that anyone we passed in the shops or in the street noticed anything abnormal, but perhaps they did as, at Jane’s suggestion, I bought two balloons, and possibly a tall girl of fifteen and her middle-aged mother do look a little strange walking down the main street with one large red and one large yellow balloon waving in the wind behind.
But I have at last reached the point when, if Jane is happy, I am happy too, and quite oblivious to what people think of our conduct. Perhaps we have started a new fashion in Worcestershire and perhaps, when I return next month for another short visit I will find all adults in the main street carrying balloons, and very pretty it will look.
The Editor regrets that it has not been possible to include in this issue, the fourth article on ” Maintenance of Mental Health The series will, however, be resumed with the next issue.
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