Nature v Nurture

CET in colour

When I was training to become a teacher, I remember one lecturer stressing that the child (and ultimately, the adult that he or she becomes) is a product of heredity and environment.

The formula given was H x E = I: heredity combined with environment makes the individual. It’s maybe a bit simplistic but it gets the message across. Nature and nurture together have a huge impact on what we become.

In my book The Cosmic Egg Timer – a comprehensive introduction to astrological psychology –  I include a chapter explaining the Family Model, the primary source of heredity and environment, in the natal chart. By considering the planetary positions of the Sun, Moon and Saturn in a person’s chart, a lot can be learned about the Mother/Father/Child relationships which existed as that person was growing up, and what might have shaped and influenced them. Astrological psychology is about self-awareness, personal growth, and taking charge of your own life. It has nothing  to do with prediction or “fortune telling”, and often a lot to do with healing personal rifts and wounds.

The Sun – our star – symbolises, in the natal chart,  the will and the mind together with IMG_0698aspects of the personality which relate to “self”, like self-confidence, self-esteem and self-identity. A young child is not ready or capable of developing these things for him/herself; they’re something which develops slowly as the child grows and matures. The child therefore projects their own Sun/sense of self on to the person in the family whom they assume plays that “leadership” or sense of self role.  Traditionally that is the father, but nowadays it could just as easily be the mother, in which case the child will look to the mother to fulfil both parenting roles. Note that this role may also be shared by both parents, depending on the role each assumes within the family set up. Ideally, the Sun in the natal chart will be placed high and somewhere near the top of the circular chart. This “perfect” placing doesn’t always happen and variations and what they mean are explained in The Cosmic Egg Timer.

Saturn, the planet which is sometimes associated with boundaries and restrictions, is symbolic of the physical self as well as security in all its manifestations. Security means different things to different people, but one thing is for sure –  we all need security, especially when we’re children. Who is the first and best person to offer this, along with protection? Mother of course, so a child will project their Saturn needs on to her. She’s the one who gives out the rules and guidelines on what’s what as the child grows up. She – or the parent who assumes this role (again, it could be either) – is the one who keeps us on track. Ideally, in the natal chart Saturn will be placed low down. You can read more about this, and why, in The Cosmic Egg Timer.

The Moon symbolises emotional needs and how people express themselves with and through their feelings. Feelings can be a minefield which some people prefer not to walk through, and the sensitivity and vulnerability of the Moon is something which can stay with us into adulthood. The Moon in the natal chart represents the child in the context of the Family Model – it’s about you or me as we grew up in the family we were born into. In the chart the Moon is ideally placed somewhere on the horizontal axis of the circular natal chart where it stands the best chance of making contact with others and connecting with them.

There is much more about the Family Model in The Cosmic Egg Timer, where family relationships, family dominance and specific bonding between child and one or both parents is covered. Once our own Family Model is understood, a lot of insight can follow, along with healing some of the stuff left over from childhood.

 

 

 

 

Whatever happened to Lobby Lud?

On holiday, 1950s. Lobby Lud in the trirly hat? From my personal archives.t?

On holiday, 1950s. Lobby Lud in the trilby hat? From my personal archives.

This question arose as husband is currently giving a touch of fresh paint to the area between our kitchen door, which leads to the utility room and also has a door  giving access to the garage. I call it the lobby. He calls it an alcove. Daughter calls it a porch.

Using the word “lobby” had us both remembering a certain character called Lobby Lud, who was around in the late 1950s/early 1960s when we were taken on seaside holidays with our respective parents – me to Clacton-on-Sea, him to Blackpool and Scarborough.

As I remember, Lobby Lud was a mystery man who roamed around the resort, probably wearing a trilby hat and carrying a certain newspaper. People were encouraged to look out for him, and if they recognised him from his picture in the newspaper, to approach him and say “You are Lobby Lud and I claim my £5”.

The whole thing was a ruse to get people on holiday to buy a daily newspaper. As I recall, it was probably either The Daily Mail, or The News Chronicle who ran this event, and it was done to boost newspaper sales. People often didn’t bother to buy a paper whilst on holiday so this was a way to encourage them to do so, with the potential £5 as the prize. £5 was quite a lot of money in the 1950s.

The whole thing had a quaint, slightly quirky ring to it, but I don’t think my dad ever saw Lobby Lud when we were out and about – or if he did, he tried to get me, but an innocent young child at the time, to go and challege Lobby and ask for the £5. I would never have dared to do this, but I was always on the lookout for a man in a trilby hat, carrying a newspaper when we were walking around in the central promenade area near the pier.

Oh, those were days of innocent holiday family fun alright. In Clacton, as well as Lobby Lud, there was a concert party on the pier twice daily and live entertainment and shows to go to. Today’s holiday makers are more likely to go to a multi-screen cinema with a bar, and read the news on their smart phones or tablets. And more often than not it’s only the older generation who have a folded, well-thumbed tabloid tucked under one arm.

Grandchild on board

“Oooh, Audrey’s got a TV too!” said granddaughter, as I removed the cover from the flat screen TV so she could watch her Mr. Benn DVD. Audrey is the name of our Murvi Morello campervan; Mr Benn is classic children’s TV from the late 1970s when her dad used to watch this same programme.

On site Freidrichshafen

When we put in the order for our Morello we asked for an extra bunk to fit in the cab area so we could initiate granddaughter into the delights of going on holiday in our palace on wheels. We were shown how to set up the bunk on handover day, and I tried it for size and accessibility, but we had yet to use it for real. That was granddaughter’s job.

At 3 years old, and rapidly approaching her 4th birthday, we took her away for her first trip – two nights at the Caravan & Motorhome Club site at Chatsworth in the last chilly days of May. Excitement was running high when we set off over what she called the “mountains” (Peak District), but she had yet to see where she would be sleeping. The van was set up for transporting passengers, which meant a bit of push and shove as the long sofa was transformed into a back seat with seat belts. The child seat was strapped into one of them, and I was strapped into the other; she wanted Nanny to sit next to her while Granddad got on with the driving. We were on familiar ground here as she’d already taken a preliminary trip in Audrey the Van with her dad sitting next to her.

On arrival, the seat was magicked back into a sofa while she and I took an exploratory walk around the campsite. She liked looking at the vans and asked why some of them had tents (awnings) on them. She also liked the walk we had in the grounds of Chatsworth, and the ice cream she had at the end of it. But would she like the bed?

She ate hungrily, watched Mr. Benn and had some stories. She liked having two tables in the van where she could do her colouring in, and was fascinated by the loo flush mechanism and the way the lights in the van could be changed to ambient blue. She happily got ready for bed. We made it up so that her head was on the driver’s side, loaded it with the soft toys she’d brought and pulled the dividing curtain across, leaving a gap at the foot end for a bit of reassuring light to get through. Once in bed she made token gestures towards sleep but our expectations were realistically low. Rightly so too. She insisted on turning the whole lot around so her head was on the passenger side where she could peep around the curtain.

M in van bed

She proceeded not just to peep but to play, giggle, bounce, sing and generally be as naughty as she dared while we ate our meal and tried not to let on we were laughing too. At 10.25, her mum sent a text saying. “So is she asleep yet?!” and I firmly (but lovingly) read the riot act. She slept.

The next day we tired her out with a full day of walking through the parkland to Chatsworth House and a visit to the farm and adventure playground. That night she slept like a log. And she wants to go away in Audrey the Van again, claiming the bed is much better than the one she sleeps in at our house.

This was written when granddaughter was 3 and went on her first motorhome holiday. She’s now just turned 10, has several van trips under her belt and loves the whole camping experience.

Chatsworth Caravan & Motorhome Club site

Set in a walled area/ large walled garden. Broken up into smaller areas and cul de sacs. Many trees and shrubs, green areas, small children’s play area, reasonably well-stocked shop in reception. Baby/toddler bathroom (£5 key deposit). Direct access to the Park from campsite. Approx 20 mins walk to Chatsworth House and Gardens. Farm offers guinea pig handling, goat and cow milking demonstrations, tractor rides plus horses, sheep, pigs, chickens etc. Adventure playground excellently appointed with top notch activity equipment for young and older age groups, water play, treetop walkways, trampoline. There’s a first aid post on site with magazines for parents/guardians to borrow and browse while the children play.

This edited and updated article first appeared in the Murvi Club in-house e-magazine.

The Smallest House in Great Britain

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This tiny, quirky, bright red house is wedged into the walls of Conwy in North Wales. It’s been a tourist attraction for as long as I can remember and I went into it many years ago when my children were small. On this occasion, I was there with grandchildren who decided they didn’t want to go in (there was a queue) but went up to inspect it so they could see just how small it is.

I have vague recollections of how poky and gloomy it was inside the two small rooms – one up, one down. It was built in the 16th century. In 1900 it was occupied by a tenant, a 6ft. 3in, tall fisherman, who eventually had to move out ( perhaps he kept banging his head on the ceiling?!). It’s still owned by the same family and is open in the summer season as a tourist attraction.

There is always a lady in traditional Welsh costume on duty to take the entry fee and sell a small selection of souvenirs.

The freedom bug

I’ve been a motorhomer or 20 years. I love the freedom, flexibility and sheer joy of being on the road. I wouldn’t swap van trips for package holidays, and I reckon it all started when I was sat on the back seat of my dad’s black Ford Anglia. Here’s how.

We were following our brand new Connaught Cruiser caravan which was being towed from the deConnaught Cruiseraler’s in Ilford to a campsite near the Essex coast. It was 1950, I was 5 years old and completely innocent – I had no idea that the “freedom” bug would bite me hard as soon as we started taking holidays in that caravan. A magical exploration of seaside and countryside opened up. There were sand pies, Punch and Judy shows, dens to be made in undergrowth, and a stream to be paddled and fished in. Then there were the birds, butterflies and wild flowers to spot and tick off in “I-Spy” books, and long grasses to lie in watching bugs and insects of all kinds at close quarters.

The freedom bug that bit me continued to nibble away contently. In my 20’s, as a young mum, we took our 6 month old son on his first camping holiday in France. This was the 1970’s and there was a horrified reaction from family and friends to taking a baby abroad, let alone go camping with him. “You can’t do that!” they said. Fortunately, I’d married someone who was quite happy to go along with my passion for the freedom, fresh air and flexibility that camping offers. He’d never had holidays like it and he’s probably just a tad more enthusiastic about the freedom and flexibility thing than I am, having not grown up with it and coming to it later in life, so to speak.

We graduated from holidays in hired tents to owning our own but for years there had been a background yearning, a constant inner gnawing at us by the freedom bug, to have our own motorcaravan. In the 1980’s we nurtured a pipe dream of taking the children to the United States, hiring an RV and having the holiday of a lifetime; the dream dissipated when we did the sums. Practically, this wasn’t going to work as we simply couldn’t afford it. But the open road still beckoned along with the attraction of having a home on wheels.

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