Childhood wonder and my ghost…

This doodle popped over this morning when I was least expecting him, a reminder of what I must have been – all startled wondering eyes and not quite hiding behind two too open fingers, surrounded by the inky black and talking to my ghost.

Childhood - such a wonderful time in every sense of the word.

I can’t quite remember when I lost my sense of wonder. In fact I can’t quite remember if I ever had a sense of wonder at all. But I must have, or something very close to it. Otherwise why would I have been so excited on those so far too few Christmas Eves when Father Christmas remained reality? And wasn’t I going to travel the world and see all the Seven Wonders of the World? And what about the conversation my pre-school infant had with that pallid boy-ghost behind my parent’s bedroom door?

‘I know you’re there ghost.’ I confidently whispered. ‘You might as well come out. There’s no point in hiding. You don’t frighten me.’

But of course he did and how was I to know that only the pyramids remained?

Back then it seemed that there was a thin dividing line between wonder and fear – one I used to often cross whether I wanted to or not.

Even now I still wonder at Jimmy Braham’s ability to jump that ditch, too wide and full of water, and the fetid fear as I landed waist deep in the stinking, black, mud, already knowing what my mum was going to say and do when she saw my bedraggled self safe home. Me in my brand new reversible anorak (blue and black), the one that’d she’d bought especially for the field trip to Swanage. Sometimes it seems like I’ve been landing in that mud ever since.

The first time I saw the horses racing across my bedroom ceiling my eyes almost popped out of my head in wonder. I could hear the beating of the hooves and smell the horse sweat, even feel flecks of mud from the galloped-up turf. I lay listening to the sound of the whips as the jockeys urged their rides to go faster. It was only after the twentieth time that I wished it would go away, becoming fearful that it wasn’t a dream after all, but rather a premonition of something still to come.

‘Faster, faster, faster’, the jockeys cried as they whipped and kicked their horses.

Yes, childhood is such a time of wonders, mysteries, and fears. At least it was for me.

I’ve tried to keep my child eyes in, keep them sharp and clear these long years and some of the time I’ve managed it. My imagination stays hard and bright, my sense of the silly raises its ridiculous painted head every now and again, and of course I still believe in Father Christmas deep inside my childish heart.

But it isn’t so easy to tell the ghost that I’m not scared of him any more, and it’s getting harder to have the courage to even attempt to jump that ditch. And as for the horse race - well, it turned out to be a premonition after all and I’m still running.

Yes, I know you’re there ghost. You might as well come out. There’s no point in hiding. I’ve spotted the devils hiding in the darkness and I now know who you were you see.

You were me.