Frances Burrows

21st April 2026

It’s 1946.

Normal day. Playing under the table, my favourite place.

Mummy called – legs went the wrong way, I couldn’t get up.

Mummy called again – nothing happened, fell over.

Start of nightmare……..

The ambulance came and I was taken to Norwood Isolation Hospital and put in an iron cot with other children, distraught parents only allowed visits once a week.

Even then, at two years old, I was determined to stand, refusing to eat and clinging to the cot sides until I could pull myself up.

My parents decided to move north to Newcastle and there started years of physio, hot water baths, electric shocks, operations and the world of callipers and boots – I hated those boots, I wanted pretty little patent shoes.

But it wasn’t all bad – you just had to get used to the system and a new way of doing things. Having an operation in the 1960s was very different from today – months in plasters and we made lots of friends in the hospital. I remember jumping up and down on the clean white bedspreads and singing all the current songs (Matron wasn’t too impressed!). Visits once a week and all sweeties had to be handed in, we were allowed six treats after supper……I always chose the Smarties.

I loved school – I wanted to join in with everything and there was many a broken calliper where I had landed badly after skipping. I started a new school and was so excited, had to catch the bus, and of course could never wait for anything so took a flying leap off the platform, and yes, broke my calliper. There I was at the gates, sitting forlornly on a staddle stone, when along came a coal lorry. So, I arrived on my first day aloft a coal truck – it’s one way to make an entrance! I was probably labelled troublemaker from thereon in.

At thirteen I went to a co-ed boarding school with a whole new chapter and met a special friend who now only lives an hour away. We were in a dormitory together and of course once I had taken off my calliper at bedtime, I then had to crawl to the loo – I learned to scamper along the corridor at great pace. We had such an enlightened headmaster who allowed me to do anything, things that other people had deemed “too difficult”. I could shin up a rope in the gym faster than anyone else, became a guide patrol leader, won prizes for French, Latin and Handwriting, swam nearly every day, and my disability did not exist.

I married young, worked hard to become an accountant/auditor but had to retire when I was just turned fifty – PPS had entered my life. I was very lucky to meet all sorts of lovely people in the workplace and outside and met no prejudice. Two sons, six grandchildren and a Staffy called Rosie. I was widowed six years ago after so many wonderful years but still live on my own and tear about on my electric wheelchair, dog in tow, scaring the locals. I love watercolour painting, genealogy and gardening (amazing what you can do with a long-handled fork!).

So, it’s 2024.

Still under the table, but with a bottle of ginger wine and a chocolate bar!
Frances Burrows