Childhood Speech Impediment, Maybe?

I have already described two minor problems of my childhood, colour blindness and short sightedness, and now for the third and final problem, which was many people could not understand what I said.

My older brother said I did not talk until I was two, and since then I have never stopped.

No one in the family seemed to have any problems in understanding me, nor Ricky my pal from across the street who was just two and half weeks older than me. So all was well until I went to school.

I was quite keen to learn and shine at school when five years old and so was often the first to shoot up a hand to answer teacher's question. If the teacher chose me I would immediately give the answer and the teacher would then ask Ricky what had I said and he would tell her. Now the only problem to me was I had to wait a bit longer for the teacher's response, praise or correction.

Things must have been worse than I realised because suddenly I was being taken to a speech clinic on Friday afternoons. Now this did bother me, Friday afternoon at our school was play time, you were given access to a cupboard full of toys and you chose whatever you liked. I had to go with mum, catch the bus and go to this mysterious place in Solihull.The clinician decided the root of my problem were my tonsils and the solution was to have them cut out.

I remember a lot about my stay in the children's hospital. First night two of the bigger boys got us all to bang on our bedside cupboard and shout until we saw the door being opened and then to pretend to be asleep before the nurse walked into the ward.

The day of the operation I was put into a white shroud, a "tea-strainer" placed over my nose and mouth and told to count to ten. I managed to get to seven. But I also remember waking up in a "kitchen" lying on the "table" with people in white coats all around me. On went the "tea-strainer" again and I was told to breath in and out a couple of times. I woke up with a sore throat, but this meant I qualified for ice cream meals for the next 24 hours.

Afterwards I still had to go to the speech clinic but Solihull told us that there was a new one opened in Shirley which we now were to go to. So off we went a week later. I was handed a book and told to read what I could from the page. I can see the scene plainly today 63 years later. He said "Nothing wrong with you, you just talk too quick. No need to come again."

---

I cannot recall any problems since with people misunderstanding me. Most of my working years were with IBM, first as a systems engineer and then a salesman, both involved giving countless talks and presentations and no one complained.

The closest was when I was in hall in the second year of university. Around the table were people from all around the country, Yorkshire, Geordies, Londoners, Welsh and others. I commented that I was the only one without an accent. I was quickly corrected and told that I had the strongest accent of all being a brumie.

---

So of my three childhood problems, allthough problem is really too negative and strong a word, this one was false, short sight was corrected as a result of cataracts at an older age so only colour blindness remains. This is common in many people, especially males, so really I have nothing to complain about.

Posted with Blogsy

Short Sightedness

I did not realise I was short sighted at first, but with hind sight I can now recognise the signs.

First was when Ricky, my pal from across the street, and I went every week to the children's matinee at our local Odeon cinema, known affectionately as the Six Penny Rush. Before each feature the British Board Of Censors certificate was shown on the big screen. I could never read the small letters and would ask Ricky "What's on next?". After the certificate the big title screens which I could read easily would confirm what Ricky said.

Apart from this I can not recollect any more signs in my early life. There was however one strange visit to the doctors I remember well. I could only have been around eight years old but I was aware that I felt strange, as if I was viewing life through a television and I had a feeling that things were actually smaller than they were. Perhaps my subconscious was telling me something was amiss.

I cannot remember when I first had specs. but it must have been when I was about 12 or 13, this I know because of fighting. I went to a large secondary modern school in Shirley near Solihull which was all boys and over 900 of them. One was expected to stand your ground if challenged and fight your corner. There was no disgrace in losing a fight only in refusing. Now I was just under average height for the time but I never refused a fight, never went looking for one either. I soon was one of the boys you did not bother with. However when I started wearing specs. my confidence took a dip and I think this was because for the first time I could see the determination and aggression in my opponents eyes, whereas before my short sightedness would blur this intensity. I did not turn weak overnight but I distinctly remember the change.

Another indicator of my age is given by Arthur Ransome books. I read them all at least twice before I was 13. There were a brother and sister in the later stories, Dick and the Diana I think we're their names. Dick was a keen bird watcher, as was I. When he spotted a distant bird one of the adults said he was very keen eyed and observant even though he wore specs and this simple sentence gave me solace.

At the age of 15 we moved into the Worcestershire countryside and I went to a much smaller mixed school. OK there was a couple of scraps to establish my position in the pecking order amongst the other boys but now this was secondary to trying to impress the girls. Therefore the specs. came off when not needed to see the black board.

At 17 I took my driving test for motor bike and the eye test involved reading a number plate a set distance away. As we walked out to the Test Centre the examiner pointed to a car and asked me the registration number. Well I got that wrong, I was still not wearing glasses all the time, see previous paragraph. "Never mind" he said and pointed to one half the distance "Try that one." This I managed.

At a regular checkup the local optician was horrified to think I was riding my motorbike without glasses and strongly recommended that I do so in the future, so I began to wear them permanently.

Shortly after this I started playing rugby for both the school and the local market town and for the first time I began to regret my poor eyesight. I have in an earlier post described how being colour blind had unfortunate effect on my playing and so did my short sight. A couple of examples:-

I confess that I run most of my life on the cusp of lateness. This particular away game was somewhere in Birmingham on a large municipal site with several pitches used by more than one club. I had arrived a little late on my motorbike and was the last to leave the changing rooms which were on a rise above the pitches. Now my team mates knew that with the combination of colour blindness and short sight I would have difficulty locating them. As I scanned over the various games I homed in on one team jumping into the air and waving, there they were.

Embarrassed at keeping them waiting I set off at a quick trot down the slope and across the unused cricket pitch. Suddenly my motion was arrested and I was stuck by the palm of my right hand and the top of my left leg, luckily just below my testicles, on barb wire which was unseen all around and protecting the cricket pitch. Quick reverse and scamper around the square, grab a piece of mud to plug the tear in my hand and ready to start. 

This second example is a home game. I spent three years at London University but came home every third weekend to see my girlfriend. When my local rugby club were short the club would ring my folks on the off chance I was home. As mentioned in another blog entry for a small guy I was a surprisingly effective tackler, good job because I was pretty ordinary otherwise, and so occasionally I would fill in as  fullback. In this game I found myself facing a burley forward charging down on me, the try line behind and only me to stop him. Then one of their players crashed into him and peeled off to his left with the ball. Quick change of direction and I nailed him saving a certain try, but on regaining my feet  know congratulatory remarks from any team mates.

 I looked at my opponent lay full length on the pitch with his head in his hand, elbows in the mud who calmly said “I don’t mind Rod but it was a bit of a shock.” It was our stand off! At least between us the try was averted.

The above photo shows me removing the engine from my van which I had written off by going over country crossroads on a grey raining day in the path of an old Morris Minor, also a write off, probably a result of poor eye sight or maybe just carelessness. Anyway sum value of both cars at the then 1967 rate was about £25.00.  Note the specs.

Throughout most of my adult life being short sighted did not bother me. When I was about 50 and having a bit more disposable income I started collecting classical cameras. Specs were a hinderance then as most of the viewfinders on older classical cameras had a very short eye-point, the distance you place the eye from the glass. Now my correction was -5 and -6 dioptres and if the camera had a dioptre adjustment it typically was +2 to -1. Therefore to determine what the camera was capturing meant pushing the camera up to my specs and moving it about so that I could see into every corner. This tended to reap havoc with the surface of my glasses. Incidentally  this made the better TLR (Twin Lens Reflex) attractive as I the bigger screen was viewed from much further back and the Rolleiflex is a great camera as well.

Of course being short sighted means you can see things up close extremely well. So when needed I would just peer above glasses to get a great detailed view.  In my earlier days my party piece was to read a Bible with the page pressed against the end of my nose. When my record player, which was being played less and less as the industry moved to tape, and then CD,  sounded awful the cause usually was dust behind the needle. I was surprised when inspecting this less my specs that I could not focus on the needle from the customary three inches. I know that older people, a group I was joining, often need glasses to read. I had hoped this was because the ageing process caused people to become long sighted and therefore as I grow older it would be an advantage. Alas no, it is caused by the eye muscles losing strength and not being able to focus the lens as close. So instead of getting better I had to start having two sets of spectacles, one for normal viewing and the other for reading which was like the former but with reduced strength making it equivalent to the positive lens for normal sighted people.

But there was to be a cure for my short sight and this came in 2010 when I was 63 with the growth of cataracts, but I will describe this another time, but cataracts proved to be a blessing.