The Mystery of My Mum
When I was a toddler, I used to get carted off to various playgroups. I realise now that these things had two functions: one was for the benefit of the kids, but - primarily - they were for the benefit of the kids' mothers, who'd get a couple of hours off and a rudimentary social network. I can see in retrospect that "friendship" between toddlers would often be a surrogate for friendship between their parents; going to someone's house to play would be a means of the adults getting together for decent conversation.

One of the other kids with whom I was told I was a friend lived in - probably moved to, actually - a village a little way away from where we lived. One of my earliest memories is of trips to see A in the village of B; pretty much all I can remember is the name of the village and a bit of the road leading to A's house. But I do remember it vividly, and had spent 25-plus years wondering on occasion whose house it actually was, A's identity having faded in time.

Anyway: a few years ago, my parents and I happened to be in B. "Oh, I remember this. We'd used to come here when I was small," I said. "Who was it that lived here?"
Maybe my mother would know. She was the one who did the driving, after all.
"I've never been here," she replied.
I pressed her further. Her denial was adamant.

Now, I know - or am pretty certain - that this was not déjà vu, because I know that I'd mused about the trips to B many times over the years (I could always remember B's name), and because my fragmentary memory of B was subtly different: I could remember a sunny day, and this was misty and damp; I remember the road as being unmetalled or potholed, and this was well-maintained. But it was certainly the same road: the same gradient, the same fields on either side, the same bend, and so on.

So how come my mother denied it? Could she genuinely have forgotten? Was she part of a spy ring? I have no idea to this day. Maybe there'll be an astonishing deathbed confession.

Fingers crossed.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 10:44, 4 replies)

Maybe
she was having an affair?
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 12:20, closed)

I don't remember there being any dads around...
and I don't think she has the imagination, to be perfectly honest.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 12:55, closed)

Hah!
Never underestimate a mother.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 17:21, closed)

Indeed.
Who says there'd have to be a *man* involved?
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Mon 15 Feb 2010, 7:15, closed)

Interesting, I have very vivid memories of being a small child and playing with kids from another family. I remember where the house was, I remember details inside the house, details about the kids etc, and am 100% certain its not just imagination etc, but my mum always denied any kind of visits anywhere there, and of the existence of this family when I asked about it in later years. As a teenager I had always wondered if there was some sinister reason we shouldnt have been there.

My mum is mental now and cant confirm her own name, never mind people we might have visited nearly 30 years ago so I suppose I will never find out the truth.
(dave likes cheese, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 17:23, closed)

Same here
I remeber me and my mum used to have spells of visiting various houses in the village; these would dry up after a bit, then start afresh with another mum. As said above there were never any men about; and Im pretty sure my mum dont "bat for the other side"...or did she?
(kitescreech still here, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 17:28, closed)