Whenever I think of my earliest memory I am not sure if I am actually remembering it or if I am recalling photographs or perhaps stories from my parents.
But I am pretty sure my earliest memory is when my brother, who does resemble Ginger Meggs a wee bit, ran over my fingers with a billy cart.
We were five, it was the Easter school holidays. All the neighbourhood kids were in the street, racing billy carts. I was pushing my brother, he lent back, the cart tipped up, my little fingers were scraped along the tar road under the weight of my brother and the cart.
Shocked ensued. Blood ensued. My brother was petrified of getting in trouble, so a friend walked me home.
As it was Easter the Dr was not readily available. My Dad had to take me to the surgery to meet him after lunch. I recall shaking from the adrenalin and the Dr picking tar out of my fingers. My little bitty fingers.
I had to have the bandages changed every day for a week. It hurt like hell.
That wasn't the most upsetting of the whole ordeal though. I was devastated about missing school. I loved my kindergarten teacher. Mum took me up there every day to see her though.
My fingers are still scared, perhaps that is why I remember.