Read an excerpt from the book
MY CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING of a blur to me now,
but there are several episodes that stand out. I
do remember that my parents continually set
us challenges. My mother was determined to make us
independent. When I was four years old, she stopped
the car a few miles from our house and made me find
my own way home across the fields. I got hopelessly
lost. My youngest sister Vanessa's earliest memory is
being woken up in the dark one January morning
because Mum had decided I should cycle to Bournemouth
that day. Mum packed some sandwiches and an
apple and told me to find some water along the way.
Bournemouth was fifty miles away from our home in
Shamley Green, Surrey. I was under twelve, but Mum
thought that it would teach me the importance of
stamina and a sense of direction. I remember setting off
in the dark, and I have a vague recollection of staying
the night with a relative. I have no idea how I found
their house, or how I got back to Shamley Green the next
day, but I do remember finally walking into the kitchen
like a conquering hero, feeling tremendously proud of
my marathon bike ride and expecting a huge welcome.
'Well done, Ricky,' Mum greeted me in the kitchen,
where she was chopping onions. 'Was that fun? Now,
could you run along to the vicar's? He's got some logs
he wants chopping and I told him that you'd be back
any minute.'
Our challenges tended to be physical rather than
academic, and soon we were setting them for ourselves.
I have an early memory of learning how to swim. I was
either four or five, and we had been on holiday in Devon
with Dad's sisters, Auntie Joyce and Aunt Wendy, and
Wendy's husband, Uncle Joe. I was particularly fond of
Auntie Joyce, and at the beginning of the holiday she
had bet me ten shillings that I couldn't learn to swim by
the end of the fortnight. I spent hours in the sea trying
to swim against the freezing-cold waves, but by the last
day I still couldn't do it. I just splashed along with one
foot hopping on the bottom. I'd lunge forward and crash
beneath the waves before spluttering up to the surface
trying not to swallow the seawater.
'Never mind, Ricky,' Auntie Joyce said. 'There's
always next year.'
But I was determined not to wait that long. Auntie
Joyce had made me a bet, and I doubted that she would
remember it the next year. On our last day we got up
early, packed the cars and set out on the twelve-hour
journey home. The roads were narrow; the cars were
slow; and it was a hot day. Everyone wanted to get
home. As we drove along I saw a river.
'Daddy, can you stop the car, please?' I said.
This river was my last chance: I was sure that I could
swim and win Auntie Joyce's ten shillings.
'Please stop!' I shouted.
Dad looked in the rear-view mirror, slowed down and
pulled up on the grass verge.
'What's the matter?' Aunt Wendy asked as we all piled
out of the car.
'Ricky's seen the river down there,' Mum said. 'He
wants to have a final go at swimming.'
'Don't we want to get on and get home?' Aunt Wendy
complained. 'It's such a long drive.'
'Come on, Wendy. Let's give the lad a chance,' Auntie
Joyce said. 'After all, it's my ten shillings.'
I pulled off my clothes and ran down to the riverbank
in my underpants. I didn't dare stop in case anyone
changed their mind. By the time I reached the water's
edge I was rather frightened. Out in the middle of the
river, the water was flowing fast with a stream of
bubbles dancing over the boulders. I found a part of the
bank that had been trodden down by some cows, and
waded out into the current. The mud squeezed up
between my toes. I looked back. Uncle Joe and Aunt
Wendy and Auntie Joyce, my parents and sister Lindi
stood watching me, the ladies in floral dresses, the men
in sports jackets and ties. Dad was lighting his pipe and
looking utterly unconcerned; Mum was smiling her
usual encouragement.
I braced myself and jumped forward against the
current, but I immediately felt myself sinking, my legs
slicing uselessly through the water. The current pushed
me around, tore at my underpants and dragged me
downstream. I couldn't breathe and I swallowed water.
I tried to reach up to the surface, but had nothing to
push against. I kicked and writhed around but it was no
help.
Then my foot found a stone and I pushed up hard. I
came back above the surface and took a deep breath.
The breath steadied me, and I relaxed. I had to win that
ten shillings.
I kicked slowly, spread my arms, and found myself
swimming across the surface. I was still bobbing up and
down, but I suddenly felt released: I could swim. I didn't
care that the river was pulling me downstream. I swam
triumphantly out into the middle of the current. Above
the roar and bubble of the water I heard my family
clapping and cheering. As I swam in a lopsided circle
and came back to the riverbank some fifty yards below
them, I saw Auntie Joyce fish in her huge black
handbag for her purse. I crawled up out of the water,
brushed through a patch of stinging nettles and ran up
the bank. I may have been cold, muddy and stung by
the nettles, but I could swim.
'Here you are, Ricky,' Auntie Joyce said. 'Well done.'
I looked at the ten-shilling note in my hand. It was
large, brown and crisp. I had never held that amount of
money before: it seemed a fortune.
'All right, everyone,' Dad said. 'On we go.'
It was then that I realised he too was dripping wet.
He had lost his nerve and dived in after me. He gave
me a massive hug.
- Losing My Virginity
