In Safe Hands

Dear Simon,

A meeting with a small girl made me realise just how lucky I am. She looked at me very closely and said: “You are so lucky, you’ve got angel’s hair. It’s all white and pure.” I thanked her, only to be told: “You are very old. Are you going to die soon? “I was rather taken aback but said I would have to wait and see what God said. Her response, hands on hips: “You know, God doesn’t want any troublemakers in heaven.” I felt well and truly sorted out.

I have a friend who has a very small granddaughter. She is quite healthy, just small. I said: “Drink milk, it’s very good, look at the little calves in the field. They only drink milk and grow into big cows.” Her little face crumpled, tears flowed, and she sobbed: “But I don’t want to grow into a big cow.”

Little boys have a great ability to make old ladies laugh. On holiday, I stumbled and landed on the stairs. A seven-yearold lad raced to my rescue. He held my walker while I stood up, then he picked the contents of my handbag up.

Once upright, he pulled my sweater straight. As I thanked him, he smiled and said: “I’m very good with old ladies, and I help them when they fall over, poor old dears.” He will go a long way, that one will.

Boys will always surprise you. Toby, aged four years, was thrilled, his mummy was “Growing a Baby” and Toby knew all about it. When the baby arrived, she had a large brown mole on her shoulder. “It’s an apple pip,” said Toby, “Mummy didn’t chew it up properly.” Maybe he was right.

Children are so proud of their parents’ fundraising activities. Danny was boasting about his father who cycled from Grantham to Lincoln and back on the same day, to raise money for local charities. He kept a “diarrhoea” for the journey and was going to have his “diarrhoea” published to raise more money. I do hope it sells well.

We can learn so much from young children. Last week I had a geography lesson from a small girl. She had a puppy that her father carried and a small dog on a lead. The dog was called Archie, and his puppy was called Pelly. I misheard and said: “It must be awful to call: ‘Belly, Belly’ when you want the puppy to come in.” She giggled: “It’s called Pelly not Belly. Archie, Pelly, go, it’s Australian.”

Thank goodness we have such happy, healthy children to learn from. Our future must be safe.