Essay about The Day Of An Ambulance
At 7am on 26th August 1943 in a place called Rose Cottage at School Green, Thornton, Bradford, something stirred.
It was me.
My mother, Hilda, had been waiting for my arrival for the past nine months and now was the time for my big entrance into the world, and, oh boy, I just couldn’t wait.
My grandmother, Nellie, had held a deep fear of hospitals all her life and although my mother was an only child, she just could not bring herself to accompany my mother to hospital. So a close neighbour and friend, Mrs Naylor, had agreed to deputise for her.
As the ambulance arrived, I was well on my way and Mrs Naylor was given a pad to hold me in to prevent my birthplace being forever shown on my birth certificate as ‘in the back of an ambulance’.
As our party arrived in the delivery room at the St Luke’s Hospital, Bradford, I made my appearance, at 7.30am on the dot.
Thus was my entry into the world, swift, eager and ready to go. I am told that I cried almost constantly for the first six months of my life, but that 's not hard to understand bearing in mind the frustration I must have felt, being so keen to get on with my life and not being able to walk or talk! No wonder I cried all the time!
My first memory was actually two years later when I was at home at number 12, Thorpe Avenue, Thornton, Bradford, playing in the snow. I remember I was wearing a pair of mittens connected to each other by a piece of string that ran up the arm, across the neck and down the…