He was born the much‐loved first child of two caring
parents.He was an alert baby, interested in all that was around him.He did not sleep well, and he cried a lot, and it was not easy to soothe him: picking
him up to comfort him only increased his distress.Anne and Peter quickly learned
that he was much more content with a soft toy in his hands.If a toy did not
settle him, quiet music usually did the trick.He fed well and seemed healthy.
Edmund’s first real smile came late, not in response to Anne’s face
but in response to his favourite toy, a big red plastic rattle.He explored his
world well and loved his toys.He took a great interest in his own hands; he
would move his fingers into different patterns and seemed to be studying them intently.
Edmund’s first word came very early, at 8 months.And it wasn’t “Ma” or “Da”.It was a two‐syllable
affair, “soosi”, in response to music on the radio.For he just adored music:
music of any kind, soft or loud, slow or fast, Scottish bagpipes or Spanish guitar.
Anne and Peter had sensed early that Edmund’s verbal development
was going to be exceptional.He had learned the meaning of “No!” at
7 months, and he obeyed it from the start.As soon as he had enough words
– and soon he had them in abundance – he used them for reasoning.At
14 months the questions started.“Why, why, why?”Why do we go to sleep?What are birds for?Where is the man in the TV really?What am I made of?
Edmund’s cognitive development was rapid in other directions
too.By 12 months he was matching objects by colour, shape and size.He loved to stack up building blocks, but could be inconsolable if they fell
down.At 15 months he mastered one of those puzzles where different shapes
are to be posted through corresponding slots.He did not have the manual skill to
post the shapes through quickly, but he always seemed to know which shape belonged to which slot with no delay
at all.On one occasion, as he succeeded in posting the last of the five shapes,
a cube, he remarked almost casually, “There.That’s all five of them in
now.”Peter and Anne were astonished: they knew he could recite his numbers up
to 10 but they had never heard him use a number greater than 2 in context.He was to show a quite remarkable understanding of number before his second year was
Edmund’s first walking steps came late.His steps were restrained and unadventurous.He wanted to
walk, but he seemed timid about it, frightened almost.For many weeks after he
began to walk he would skirt round the furniture, not actually holding on to it, but always having it close at
hand in case he needed it.Peter’s attempts to coax him across a room by taking
his hand were invariably rejected, sometimes with tears.When at last Edmund did
begin to cross a room on his own feet, it became clear that his movements were quite clumsy.He would often step into furniture, as though he did not know where his own feet
were.And when that happened, he would seem to be hurt and become most upset,
even when Anne was sure that the bump had been very gentle.
Over the next 18 months, Edmund, to borrow a Biblical phrase,
“increased in wisdom and stature”.Ordinarily in stature, and extraordinarily in
Numbers and shapes and music
It was around Edmund’s third birthday, to the best of Peter and
Anne’s recollection, that his incessant questioning began to take a new tack.
“Mummy,” he asked one day over tea, “where did I come from?”Anne embarked on the
usual business about Mummy’s tummy, but Edmund made it clear that that wasn’t what he meant.He couldn’t find the right words just then, but he tried again a few days later.“Mummy, what’s the name of the place where I was before?”
“What place, darling?”“You know, the happy place.
The place with all the numbers and the shapes and the music.And all the stories
about numbers and shapes and music.”Anne told him she was puzzled, as she knew
of no such place where he had been.Had he been dreaming?“No Mummy, because dreams are just for a few minutes.I
was in this place for a long time.Years and years.”
Anne and Peter rather hoped that these puzzling questions would
stop, but they didn’t.They grew and grew.So one
evening Anne sat down with Edmund.“Tell me more about this place where you were
before, dear.What was it like?”
“It was a happy place,” began Edmund’s long and now lucid
description.“The teachers were very kind and very clever.”
“Was I there with you, Edmund?”
“No, you weren’t there.And Daddy
wasn’t there too.”
“Do you mean Sunday school, darling?”The family had attended their parish church for just a few weeks some months before.
“No, of course not, silly!” hissed Edmund in a manner that
suggested that his mother was a total fool.“In Sunday school the teachers were
very kind but not very clever.These teachers were much cleverer.They knew all about shapes and numbers and they taught us everything.And stories about shapes and numbers.”
“What do you mean by a story about shapes?” asked Anne, by now
intrigued and beginning to lose her fear of this strange topic of conversation.
“Tell me a story about shapes so that I know the sort of thing you’re talking about.”
Edmund felt frustrated at his inability to express himself and
cried a little.Anne put an arm round him and Edmund angrily pushed it
away.Then he brightened and said, “Mummy, do you remember when I was a baby and
I had a plastic box and I had to push the right pieces through the right holes?
The holes and the pieces, they told stories about shapes.”
“I see,” said a bemused Anne.“And
can you tell me a story about numbers?”
“That’s hard,” said Edmund, but his mother could see his resolve:
she had set him a task, and he was determined to see it through.“I don’t really
remember them.I’m not big enough yet.I know I’ll
remember them when I’m older.”He sat and concentrated with an intensity Anne had
not known he was capable of.“I know,” he said suddenly and excitedly.“If you’ve got a star in the sky … two, no, three stars in the sky and…” – he
spoke loudly, and more and more rapidly – “if there’s three stars in one bit of the sky and three more
stars in another bit of the sky that’s three stars in two bits that’s six stars and there’s two more stars and
there’s another two more stars and that’s ten stars and Oh Mummy I’m all confused,” and he broke down
in tears again.
“Don’t worry,” said Anne calmly.
“You can tell me about it some other time.Would you like a glass of water?”
“Yes, thank you” said Edmund politely, as he took the glass.He had recovered his composure quickly.Then he changed
his mind, put the glass down and said, “I don’t want to tell you about it some other time.I want to tell you about it now.”
“Ok,” said Anne quietly, as she took a sheet of paper from the
computer printing tray.“Stars and bits of sky can be confusing.Let’s see if we can make it work with cows and fields.”
She drew a circle for a field and invited Edmund to draw three cows in it, which he did.“Now do we want another field?”Edmund nodded.He drew the circle and added three squiggles that would pass for cows.“Good,” said Anne.“How many cows altogether?”Edmund answered correctly.“Now we’ll draw a big line
across the middle of the page, and we can draw something else on the other side of the line.Can you tell me what you want to draw on the other side of the line to balance it and
finish the story?”
Without a word, and completely calm, Edmund drew a field with two
cows, and another field with two cows, and another.“There,” he announced
proudly.“Three fields with two cows, that’s six cows.And two fields with three cows, that’s six cows too.And
that’s a story about numbers.”
“And now it’s time for bed,” said Anne.
Edmund prepared for bed contentedly and without a word.He brushed his teeth and tucked himself in.“Goodnight,
Mummy,” he said quietly.“You’re a good teacher.”
Order and rules
Anne and Peter rejoiced in Edmund’s high intellect, but other
aspects of his development troubled them.He could be very fussy, and intolerant
of anything that was not exactly as he thought it ought to be.He hated when
music on the radio was faded out, and would complain angrily that “the man should have let it play right to the
end”.Tea time was five o’clock and he would become impatient if tea was five
minutes late.One evening he refused to settle into bed on the grounds that a
tiny piece of wallpaper in his room was peeling away, and the matter was resolved only when Anne stuck it down
again.Any change to his routine upset him.He
would spend a lot of time in his own room looking at books, with a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, and if
either parent intruded he would be furious.Most worrying of all, he never
adapted to nursery school and made no friends there, unless you count the teachers.He said he found the games silly and the other children stupid, “especially the
girls”. He had no herd instinct, and if the class were on an outing then it was
quite possible for three teachers and the entire class to move off and leave Edmund standing, if the teachers
were not careful.His never‐ending questions at home had long since become
tiresome: they were also deep, and he was persistent, and never satisfied with trite or conventional
answers.One evening the topic of conversation was saying “thank you”.
“Mummy, why do we say ‘thank you’ when somebody gives us something?”
“It shows we’re grateful.”
“But I’m supposed to say ‘thank you’ even if I don’t feel grateful.”
“That’s right, Edmund, because it’s polite.And you’re very good at remembering to say ‘thank you’.”
“But if I always say ‘thank you’, even when I’m not grateful, then saying ‘thank you’ doesn’t mean I’m
grateful at all: it only means I remembered to say ‘thank you’.”
“I suppose so, Edmund, but it doesn’t cost anything to say ‘thank you’, and it does no harm to let the other
person think that you’re grateful.”
“But Mummy, you’re always telling me to try to understand what
other people think.Daddy knows I’m good at saying ‘thank you’.So if Daddy gives me something and I say ‘thank you’, it doesn’t just not mean I’m
grateful.It doesn’t even make Daddy think I’m grateful, because he
knows I’ll say it anyway!”
“Oh Edmund, stop your incessant arguing, will you!”
Tears followed.“Mummy, I didn’t mean
to make you angry: I just want to understand it.”And scenes like that were
Edmund was interested in all things scientific, and he explained
this by saying he liked things that work by rules because he could understand them.He was fascinated by Peter’s diabetes, and understood the necessary balance between the
sugar and the insulin in Peter’s body, and asked many questions about it.“Why
does Daddy keep his insulin pen all locked up?”Anne explained that if he didn’t,
someone who didn’t know what it was might use it by accident.“What happens if
Daddy loses the key?”Then he could quickly get an emergency supply from his
doctor.“What happens if the doctor is out?”“Oh
Edmund, he would phone another doctor.And that’s enough questions for now.”
The trouble with Edmund and his rules was that he needed to know in
the most minute detail what were rules and what were not.Bedtime was eight
o’clock, and that was a rule.But teatime was five o’clock, and following a
recent scene he had been told in no uncertain terms that that wasn’t a rule, and wasn’t to be treated as one.
“So Mummy, why do you say that tea is at five o’clock as a rule?”
“As a rule just means ‘usually’, Edmund.”
“Why is bedtime at eight o’clock a rule but teatime at five o’clock isn’t a rule?”
“Oh honestly Edmund, you and your rules.Rules will be the death of you, Edmund.”
Edmund never liked this kind of criticism, and he was very quiet for fifteen minutes.
Learning and remembering
Edmund continued to love music.He
was spellbound when Peter took him to a classical concert, and he sang several of the main themes in the car on
the way home.On his fourth birthday when Peter and Anne suggested to him that he
might have violin lessons, he jumped at the chance.He quickly bonded with Hugh
his violin teacher, and was heard to say that Hugh was the only person who understood him.He made excellent progress with the violin for a child of his age, and Hugh always said
he had a superb ear.
Peter and Anne regretted not teaching Edmund his alphabet earlier,
for when they did teach him it he read well almost immediately and began to write within days.He would sometimes write little notes for his parents, enjoying the game of expecting
written replies, and tickled pink that he could communicate in that way.
Edmund’s numerical ability continued to be his strongest
suit.Mike, a friend of the family who was a mathematics student at university,
would show him little tricks with numbers.Edmund loved Mike, and soon Mike was
coming round for an hour each week to teach him.
When Edmund turned five, Mike introduced him to chess.Edmund had been reluctant to try this, protesting that he didn’t like games.But at the end of his first lesson, he was ecstatic.
“Daddy, do you know what?Chess is cool.It isn’t a
game at all.It’s a big, big,
BIG story about numbers!Numbers and shapes: all the shapes move in
different ways.And you have to think very, very hard, and if you watch what
pieces the other person moves, it’s amazing, you can work out what they’re thinking!”One lesson, and he was hooked.
One evening Mike decided to introduce Edmund to something more
advanced, just to find out where lay the limit of the understanding of this unusual boy.Mike drew a large right‐angled triangle, and highlighted the right angle, “like a
floor and a wall”.Mike drew a square on each of the three sides.“Show me the biggest square, Edmund.Good.And the smallest one.Good.
“Now, which do you think is bigger, the biggest square, or the two others put together?”Edmund’s alert little face grew more solemn as he gazed and pondered.Then he said, very slowly and with a puzzled expression:
“I … remember … this.Somebody showed
me this … a long … time … ago.Are they …Are they
… the same size?”
“So who’s been teaching you High School geometry, kiddo?” asked a shocked Mike.
Edmund sat stock‐still, his face glazed.“It … was … in Happyland!” he exclaimed.“My teacher in
Happyland showed me it.I’d quite forgotten it until you drew the shapes.”And Mike listened to Edmund’s story intently.
Afterwards Edmund shared this all with Anne and Peter.They tried not to let him see just how scary they were beginning to find it.“Edmund, who else have you told about Happyland, besides us?”
“Just Mike and Hugh,” said Edmund.
“Nobody else would understand.”
“I think you’re right about that, Edmund.Best to keep it that way.”
At his next violin lesson, Edmund shared with Hugh the joy that he
had found with Mike in that latest story of shapes and numbers, “the story with the special triangle and the
three squares”.And he had remembered something else, too.“That story,” he confided.“My teacher in Happyland told
me he found it himself.He was the first person in the whole universe to know it,
apart from God.He was one of the best teachers in Happyland, and I was given to
him as one of his pupils because I was one of the best pupils in Happyland.”
Hugh pondered.“Edmund, can you
remember your teacher’s name?”
“People didn’t have names.Happyland
was different from here.You just recognised a person from what he knew.”He paused.“Actually, a person sort of was what
“Did your teacher tell you if he had discovered anything else?”
Edmund thought briefly, and then replied with increasing
confidence.“Yes.I’m remembering more and more
now.He said he discovered two big things, and lots of small things.The story about the special triangles was one of the two big things.I don’t remember what the other big thing was.Perhaps I’m
not ready to remember it yet.”
The violin lesson was now ten minutes old and not a note
played.The two got down to business, and they began with Edmund’s favourite
piece, Highland Cathedral.Edmund came to an open G, which he
played with gusto.He stopped abruptly.He bowed
the open string again, and watched it closely.He bowed it again.He was deep in thought.
“Why does the open string bulge out like that when I bow it strongly?”
“It doesn’t really bulge, but it vibrates very wide and it looks as
if it’s bulging.”Hugh’s heart was in his mouth as he willed, willed the child to
“Does it always bulge in the same shape?”
“What do you think, Edmund?”
“How do I make it bulge in two halves, like my teacher showed me in Happyland?”
“Go on, Edmund.”
“If it bulged in two halves, it would make a higher note, would it?”
“Indeed it would.How much higher do
you think it would be?”
“Would it be an octave higher?”
“That’s exactly right, Edmund.Who
taught you that?”
“Very, very nearly an octave higher,” corrected Edmund, and his
words now flowed out in an easy, wide river.“I remember it all now.It’s one of the happiest stories and it’s about numbers, and shapes, and music, all
together.It’s such a happy story because the music and the shapes and
the numbers all understand each other so well.You can make it bulge in two
halves, or in three bits, or four bits, or any number you want of bits, and my teacher knew all the shapes it
made and all the notes it made when it bulged like that.That was the other big
thing he discovered.He said in Happyland it’s exactly an octave, but when I came
here the octave would be spoiled a little because the strings are too thick and not bendy enough.I think that’s sad.”
Hugh lowered his face and covered his eyes, which were wet with
emotion.How was he to take Edmund’s words, if not at face value?And if at face value, was he to understand that this child had visited the World of Pure
Forms, and that the teacher he spoke of was none other than Pythagoras?He
conducted the rest of the lesson on autopilot.
At the end of the lesson, Edmund said, “You can tell Mummy and
Daddy what I’ve told you about Happyland, but you won’t tell anyone else, will you, Hugh?I don’t think they would understand.”
“No, I won’t, Edmund.I won’t.”
“You still haven’t shown me how to make the G string bulge out in two halves.”
Hugh showed Edmund how to play a G harmonic.“Thank you; see you next week” said Edmund happily, as he put his fiddle back into its
case.“Sounds like an octave to me.”
A silence and a wall
The following evening, Edmund was quizzing his parents about
Willowdale Primary School where he was due to start in two months.What would it
be like?How many would be in his class?Would it
be better than nursery school?
“How long will I be going there?” he asked.
“We’ve spoken before about this, Edmund.Remember, it’s just like nursery school.You don’t go at
weekends, and the school holidays are quite long.But apart from weekends and
school holidays, you’ll be going every day.”
“Yes, but for how many years?”
“Seven years, Edmund, and then after that you’ll go to High School for six years.”
Edmund looked dismayed.“Then… then
when do I go back to Happyland?”
Peter and Anne looked at each other and there was a long and
shocked silence, which Peter broke as kindly as he knew how.“Edmund,
darling.You’re here now.You live with
us.You’re part of our family.We love you, and we
want you to be happy here.Your future is here, with us.You don’t go back to Happyland.”
This was too sudden for Edmund.His
face went white; he froze.
“Let’s all have a cuppa,” said Anne.
And Edmund let out the scream and the wail of a wounded
animal.His fists beat on the floor and his head shook as if it would come off
its moorings.Through anguished tears he spluttered, “I thought I was going back
to Happyland – I want to go back to Happyland – I’m meant to go back to Happyland…”He rose and fled for the door, lost his bearings and ran straight into the wall, which
felled him with a loud thud.He seemed not to notice.He picked himself up, ran to his room still howling about Happyland, and buried his head
in the blankets.
A visitor and a big question
By morning Edmund was his usual rational self, and feeling fine
apart from a sore head.At breakfast he raised the topic of Happyland again with
Anne.“I’ve been thinking.When I get old and die,
is that when I go back to Happyland?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so, Edmund.When people die, they go to heaven.That’s if they’ve been
“Tell me about heaven.”
“Edmund, I really don’t know.These
are difficult questions, and I don’t know the answers.”
“Does Daddy know the answers?”
“I don’t think so, darling.”
“Somebody must know the answers.Can
I ask somebody who knows the answers?”
So Anne phoned their parish church minister, Mr Williams, and
he agreed to this unusual request for an audience with a five‐year‐old.They invited him round for a coffee.After the
introductions, Edmund came straight to the point.“Mr Williams, can you
teach me about heaven, please?”
“Edmund, what do you think is the most important thing in the whole world?”
“Do you mean the world, or the universe, Mr Williams?Sometimes Mummy and Daddy say the world when they mean the universe.”
“The whole universe, Edmund.”
“The perfection of God,” replied Edmund, evidently without having to think about it.
“Who told you that?”
“Mummy, may I tell Mr Williams about Happyland?”
“You may, Edmund; I’ve mentioned it to him.”
“I learned about God in Happyland.”
“Tell me about Happyland, Edmund.”
Which Edmund did.At length.At great length.
“And what did people in Happyland say about God?”
“My teacher told me that God made Happyland.God is perfect, and so he made Happyland perfect.In
Happyland all the stories are true, and the numbers and the shapes and the music get on perfectly
together.We used to thank God, every day, that he kept it perfect, and that he
never let anything go wrong with it.”
“Would you say that the numbers and the shapes and the music loved each other, Edmund?”
“Loved each other?Loved each other?I don’t think so…No.Definitely no.They’re
not the sort of things that love.But they understand each other perfectly, and
that’s why they get on together perfectly.Why didn’t God make here perfect too?”
“He made it very good, Edmund.And he
tries to keep it very good by loving us, just as your parents love you, and by asking us to love him and to
love one another, just as you love your parents.We don’t talk so much about the
perfection of God here.But we do talk about the love of God.”
“When I get old and die, where will I go?”
“That’s a difficult question, Edmund.Even ministers don’t know the whole answer.We do know
that God will look after you.People talk about going to heaven, but perhaps
that’s just a way of speaking.”
“I remember something else my teacher said.He said I was coming here because I had to learn about things that aren’t
perfect.And then I would go back to Happyland.Do
you think he was right?”
“About coming here to learn about things that aren’t
perfect?I have a feeling he could be right, Edmund.Yes, in your case I do believe he may very well be right.”
“And about going back to Happyland when I get old and die?”
“I don’t know.I just don’t
know.You’re a very deep thinker, young man.But I
do think you should look forward to all the good things in this life, and not worry about the next one.And remember that God loves you, and he wants you to be happy.”
As soon as Mr Williams had left, Edmund gave Anne his
verdict.“Mr Williams is very kind and very clever,” he said.“And he loves the sort of truth that doesn’t change.”He
nodded sagely.“There are lots of teachers like Mr Williams in Happyland.”
A new school and a momentous week
At last the big day arrived when Edmund started at Willowdale
Primary School.The first two weeks were to be mornings only.The new intake, 11 boys and 14 girls, all arrived with their parent or carer
around nine o’clock on the Monday morning, and the adults were invited to stay for the first morning to help
the children settle in.The children were welcomed by the Head of Lower Primary,
shown to their classroom, and introduced to their young class teacher Miss Davies.She took the register and said she was delighted that all the expected children were
present.She explained to children and adults that part of the first morning
would be spent introducing the children to school procedures: the structure of the day, the buddy system, where
the toilets are, and so on.
At this point Edmund complained to Anne that he felt sick and had
to go outside.Anne took him into the playground.
He became very pale, and he threw up a little vomit.Anne consulted with Miss
Davies and explained that she needed to take Edmund home.Back home Edmund
recovered quickly, and Anne was unsure whether to put his sickness down to a bug or to anxiety.He seemed relaxed however, and said he was looking forward to school the next day.
Tuesday was not a happy day for Edmund.Anne took him to the school and delivered him to the door of his classroom.But Miss Davies was off sick, and the class was taken by an older, sterner woman
Mrs Crumm.She took the register, and saw from it that all the children had
been present the previous day, and had therefore, she presumed, received the necessary induction.At playtime Edmund got separated from his classmates – he could be a bit dopey
about things like that – and found himself in the wrong playground, getting in the way of older boys
playing football.He was accidentally knocked to the ground by a boy from
Primary 5, who was apologetic, checked that Edmund was not hurt, and kindly rejoined him with his
classmates.Back home at lunchtime, Edmund told Anne all about his morning, and
it was clear that the football incident had dominated the day in his mind.For
Edmund, Tuesday was not a happy day.
Edmund seemed bright enough at the start of his school day on
Wednesday.Mrs Crumm took the class again.At
playtime he found the right playground.He asked a classmate where the toilet
was, as the playground supervisor was otherwise busy, and he went on his own.
Unfortunately he used the girls’ toilets and found himself the laughing stock of an unkind group of older
boys.Otherwise his day went well.But, back home,
it was again evident that his mind represented his one little mistake out of all proportion.
At breakfast on Thursday morning, Edmund said he did not want to go
to school.Anne put it to him that he really had no choice, and within that
constraint she was as reassuring as she could be.Edmund went with her
reluctantly.Again Mrs Crumm took the class.
Edmund’s day went well until, as he left the school at lunchtime, he fell and skinned his knee.Mr Timms, the Primary 7 teacher, came to his aid, offered a hand and asked him
to come with him to get the knee washed and dressed.
This was a scenario that Edmund had been carefully prepared for at
home.Here was a man he didn’t know, who was trying to take him away.Edmund screamed and punched and kicked.Mr Timms
stepped back smartly.“Steady on, young fellow.
Calm down.Nothing to be afraid of.But we’ve got
to get this knee of yours patched up.Come along with me please.”
This was the stuff that nightmares are made of.Edmund’s screaming and punching and kicking had not deterred this stranger in his bid to
abduct.Edmund had been taught what to do next.He
bit.He bit hard.His teeth were sharp and drew
blood.Mr Timms in pure self‐defence wrenched Edmund away from him
and deposited him on the ground with a brusqueness that verged on the unprofessional.“You must never, never bite,” he admonished stiffly.Edmund saw his chance and fled.He found Anne in her car
at the school gate.He was terrified and dumbstruck.The pursuing Mr Timms arrived just too late.Anne
took him home and attended to his knee.
Edmund took no lunch and Anne could not get a word out of
him.She wanted to drive back to the school to find out what had happened and
asked Edmund to come with her, but he refused to leave the house.She phoned
Peter, but Peter was in an important meeting, and by the time he could get home the school had closed for the
day.Meantime Edmund had gone to his room, put up his ‘do not disturb’ sign and
stayed there for well over an hour.Then he went outside and ran round and round
the garden, which he sometimes did for five minutes when he was feeling out of sorts, but on this occasion he
was still running half an hour later, and when he came back inside he looked exhausted.He took no tea and still refused to speak.All evening he
was silent and afraid.Anne explained to him that he would not be going to the
school the next day, that Peter would take time off work to mind him, and that she would go to the school to
find out what on earth had happened.She told him he really ought to eat
something before going to bed as he had had nothing since breakfast, but he refused.Anne read him a bedtime story, still with no response, and settled him down for the
night.She checked him at 9 pm and he was sound asleep.She hoped that a good night’s sleep would soothe his fear and allow him to talk in the
But, for Edmund, morning never came.
When Anne went to rouse him at 7.30 he was white.And cold.And dead.
Anne and Peter did not find his letter.It was the police who found it.It was in his bedroom and
the dictionary was beside it.The handwriting was the scrawl of a
five‐year‐old, but the spelling was perfect:
Dear Mummy and Daddy
School is horrid.The big
boys knock me over and laugh at me.At home I only get a row for being
bad, but at school today I got a big row from a man for being good by obeying the rules and biting
him.I don’t want things to be like that for 13 years.
I’m going back to Happyland now.I know I am, because my teacher there promised me I would and I trust
him.I know you’ll be glad, because you love me and you want me to be
happy.And God will be glad, because he loves me and he wants me to be
I used Daddy’s insulin pen.
You told me he keeps it locked up in case someone who doesn’t know what it is uses it by
accident.But it’s all right, because I do know what it is and I didn’t
use it by accident.I used it lots of times to make sure, but I had to
stop because my arm was getting too sore.I’ve put it back where it
belongs, and I’ve put the dial back down again to 4 where Daddy needs it.I’ve put the key back where it belongs too.
Say goodbye to Hugh and Mike for me please.
Thank you for looking after me since I was a baby.And I’m not just saying thank you because I remembered to.I’m saying it because I’m grateful.