Trouble I was born in Appledore in Devon and, just in case anyone thinks that I only got into trouble at Chailey, read on. One day I left home to get a comic from Dickie Fishwick’s news agency. I was in my wheelchair making my way slowly when I came to a drang. A drang is the local name for a narrow lane. I paused to make sure all was clear. A boy wandered up to me, he was obviously an emmet (a holiday visitor), and looking me over said “How do you spell cat?”. He had a nasty little smirk on his face. “C A T” I replied ... and thought to myself “Nasty!”. “How do you spell OBSEQUIOUS?” I replied, having just discovered but hadn’t yet found a use for such a deliciously greasy word. “That’s not a real word.” Said the boy and then shouted “CRIPPLE!” at me. It was a red rag and rage poured through me. I leant forward and grabbed his jumper and wouldn’t let go. He tried to walk away and I went with him, down the drang, across the road, along the quay and into the playground. I finally let go and away he ran. It was nothing momentous, meeting up with my sisters we all went home for lunch, and I put the incident out of my mind - being more intent in wondering what Mum would be giving us to eat. When you are young food is important. Back home there was a knock on the door. Mum said “Watch the potatoes” and went off to see who it was. Raised voices quickly drew our attention and we all made our way to see who was there. A very angry looking woman with a boy in tow stood there. She was shouting at Mum who was listening to her. The shouting got louder and we could hear words like “SAVAGE”, “RUINED”, and “MY POOR BOY”. We tried to peer around Mum but all six of us couldn’t get that close. “Look what your daughter has done to my son’s jumper! I knitted it special for our holiday! She’s ruined it!” And she spun the boy round, and the back of the jumper displayed the damage. It was stretched so far out of shape that it could have been used as a potato sack or a fishing net. The six of us were quietly giggling. My mum looked down her nose at the red-faced visitor. We waited, wondering what would happen. “I can’t waste any more time on you and your son … I’ve got dinner cooking. What’s more you had better give him a lesson in manners.” I felt pride in my Mum well up … but, as she closed the door on the visitor, she said to me “Don’t argue with stupid people!” If you are wondering how the visitor found me … well I was the only girl in a wheelchair in a very small village. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be different.