Snapshot: My twin brother and me in 1958
What a shock they had coming. My mother and father were leading happy, settled lives: she was 45, an overlocker; he was 48, a coal miner looking forward to retirement. My sister, 20, was engaged, and my brother, 17, had entered a plumbing apprenticeship.
Everything turned upside down when my mother visited the doctor suffering from what she thought was indigestion. The doctor conducted tests before giving her the surprise news, “Mrs Harper, you are pregnant.” My mother was flabbergasted, and even more so, when he said, ‘Your baby is due in just 12 weeks.’
She duly visited the hospital with my father and grandma, and, at 7.05pm on 3 November 1958, I was born, and everyone was excited. The biggest shock, however, was still to come. The midwife exclaimed, “I think there may be another one in there!” Sure enough, 10 minutes later my twin arrived.
Grandma couldn’t contain her excitement and shouted, “Are they livers?” And then, “I don’t know. Two babies and only one vesser [vest].” Only one name had been picked, mine – Barry, so, because we were identical, our times of birth were scribbled on to our little cardboard wrist tags to avoid us getting mixed up. However, the tags were removed at bathtime, giving the potential for much confusion and mischief.
The next 48 hours passed in a flurry of activity, the pram was returned, and a twin-pram purchased, extra clothing bought, and another cot ordered, and my brother became Anthony. Family life would never be the same again. I don’t know how my parents coped.
So began a massive sibling rivalry. We were very close, but didn’t think twice about hitting or kicking each other to get what we wanted, (probably similar to what had already happened in the womb). Yet woe betide anyone who came between us. I have my own feelings, but also feel his. On one occasion I fell out of my high chair and he started crying. Another time, he locked himself in the bathroom and I cried out from another room to alert my parents.
It can be extremely frustrating being a twin, but I wouldn’t change it. As growing boys, we strove for our own personalities. Why did everyone buy us exactly the same presents? I never once saw my own name on a greetings card, they were always addressed to “The Twins”. As adults, we followed similar paths in life. We both joined the police, we had children within five days of each other and our iPods always contain the same songs. I just hope I’m who I’m supposed to be.
Barry Harper (I think!)
Playlist: Buddy Holly saved my mum’s holiday
Oh, Boy! by Buddy Holly
“All of my love / All of my kissin’, / You don’t know what you’ve been a-missin’ / Oh boy (oh boy), when you’re with me / Oh boy (oh boy), the world can see / That you were meant for me”
In August 1991, when I was 10, my parents, younger sister and I packed up the Saab for a week’s break in East Anglia; one last jaunt before the dawning of a new school year. There is a running joke in our family about driving a long way to our holiday destination and, indeed, while on the trip itself – and this was no different.
The battle for control of the cassette player and radio is an old trope, but anyone who has been on a family holiday will recognise the fight over what to listen to. In this respect, for us, things were complicated slightly by the 1991 World Athletic Championships taking place in Tokyo.
These championships captured our imagination – Tony Jarrett’s bronze in the 110m hurdles, GB’s gold medal in the men’s 4 x 400m relay and Carl Lewis’s world record in the 100m final (9.86 seconds). We were, quite simply, engrossed.
Well, I say “we”. My poor mother, marooned in a hot car with three athletics-infatuated family members, was forced to listen to intricate analysis of Sally Gunnell’s hurdling technique. Oh, how she demanded compromise, which, I am afraid to say, was not always forthcoming. I blame Dad, by the way – my sister and I were just kids.
However, the one compromise we did arrive at during that summer, was the wonderful Buddy Holly and the Crickets. Every single song on our battered old cassette remains a classic – not least Oh, Boy!, which I especially remember. It started a family love affair with Buddy Holly that continues unabated. And as much as I look back fondly on the athletics that year, the memory of the four of us singing along to Buddy as the sun set on the east coast is what sticks.
Not unlike Chris Chambers and co in the movie Stand By Me, nothing takes me back to carefree childhood summers like Buddy Holly.
Ivan McDouall
We love to eat: The scones my mother made
Ingredients
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
¼ cup shortening
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup raisins/currants
1 cup milk
1 egg white beaten to a froth
1 egg yolk
Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Cut in the shortening. Mix in the sugar and fruit. Add the milk gradually and mix. Add the beaten egg white gradually and mix. Place the dough on a floured surface and, with floured hands, shape into a ball. Cut into four portions and shape. Score the top into quarters and brush with egg yolk. Bake at 200C/gas mark 6 for about 25 minutes. When baking, always follow the instructions to the letter and remember patience is a virtue.
Dear old Mom made these for years. We would eat them hot out of the oven or cold. She packed them for our school lunches or we’d have them with a cuppa at night.
I’ve made them over the years, but would polish the whole lot off. I ive in Germany now and these are so British – not to mention delicious – that when I gave them to a Ukrainian woman of my acquaintance last December, she declared they must be a Christmas cake.
Gordon Shortt
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