Backward in talking (1933) : Susan Isaacs talks about the deep emotional connection between a child's emotional state and their language development.

 November 15, 1933 in The Nursery World  

 

Backward in talking 

 

“Speech is such a complex function both as regards its intellectual content and its emotional value, that it can get held up for a variety of reasons.”

 

“Optimistic” writes, “My husband wishes me to write to you about our elder son, aged two years and one month. He understands almost anything we say to him but does not speak himself yet. He can say ‘Mum’, ‘Dad’, Nan’, and ‘Bab’,  but I think my husband is right in saying that these words do not have the right meaning for him. When he says, ‘Mum’ he does not appear to mean me, for instance! He leads a normal, active life, has splendid health, sleeps all night, and for about two hours each morning, is full of high spirits and plays intelligently with his toys. I am not worried myself about his backwardness in talking but my husband – who is extremely clever – is disappointed; he longs for the boy to talk. He gets plenty of ‘talking to’ and ‘playing with’ – though he seems to prefer to play alone and seems less inclined to use his vocabulary when he is cutting a tooth. He has three more to cut so perhaps he will become more chatty when these are through. I read your advice in THE NURSERY WORLD each week and feel that you will be able to reassure my husband better than I can!” 

 

It seems to me quite probable that your little boy’s backwardness in speaking is only a temporary hold up, and that he will soon begin to speak and go ahead as rapidly as if he had begun earlier. Speech is such a complex function, both as regards its intellectual content and its emotional value, that it can get held up for a great variety of reasons. Sometimes the retardation is simply due to the child’s feelings. At other times it is definitely due to a general inhibition of learning or of intellectual development as such. Your feelings that the teething process and his willingness or unwillingness to talk may be connected in some way is quite a likely one, since the pain and irritation in the mouth resulting from teething always does have some psychological effect, and in some children would take the form of reluctance to use the mouth for other purposes. I think you are right in feeling that there is nothing yet to be anxious about in the boy’s not speaking. If, however, within the next six months he did not begin to use words more freely and actively, it would certainly be worth your while to have the matter looked into by a psychological expert. Will you let me know again what happens, and if necessary I will then suggest someone who would be able to discover the cause of the retardation and suggest methods of dealing with it? 

            Meanwhile I would not try to force him to speak or pay any particular attention to the matter. Let your relations with him be natural. It may be that the boy has sensed his father’s disappointment with his not speaking and that might act inhibitively, since he may feel that he ought to speak just as well as his Daddy, or not at all.

The Second Child (1933) : Ursula Wise advises a mother on how to prepare her son for 'the crisis that awaits him'.

 September 27, 1933 in The Nursery World 

 

The Second Child

 

The best way of preparing the only child for the advent of a small brother or sister, and of helping him to deal with the situation is discussed this week

 

“Prospice” writes:- 

            “I have read your page for some years now, and I am writing to you for assistance in preventing, if possible, a problem form arising. I have a thoroughly healthy and normal son of two, and in October he is to have a brother or sister; so far he has had no warning, as I doubt whether he can cast his mind very far into the future at the moment – he has never been called upon to do so – and I did not want to put any unusual strain on him. I shall have to be away from home for at least three weeks, and he will be left at home with my sister, the two maids who he has always known and liked, and the Daddy he adores; he is extremely busy and interested always and I have no doubt that he will miss me very little; he will also come to see me very often. Will you advise me as to the best way of introducing him to the idea of my absence and the simultaneous acquisition of a baby? I, perforce, do almost everything for him, but he has been accustomed to other people’s bathing him sometimes, and to being left in charge of other people on occasion for the greater part of the day; I have always been very careful to avoid his being too dependent on me. He is immensely interested in and pleased with babies, and gets on well with other children. He has had a room of his own from being a tiny baby, but comes in to us for a short time each morning, a custom I shall not stop; for some time I have not used for him any of the things the new baby will use, but I shall have to use his nursery for the baby’s toilet etc. He has breakfast apart from us, but lunch and tea with us, if we are in. I found that, as soon as he could feed himself, he enjoyed his meals so much more with us than alone, and he sits in his high chair and is no trouble at all, except for a natural desire to show off a little if anyone else happens to be there. He has had a period of difficulty over his morning sleep, but goes perfectly willingly now, and the perennial question of cleanliness is with us, but that seems such a normal abnormality that I have ceased to worry about it, and we are both quite calm and regretful when things go wrong; I feel sure it will right itself. He is affectionate , but not demonstrative, very happy and philosophical, tremendously active and full of curiosity about everything; he has always been given outlets for his energy and allowed to help about the house when he wished to. I  know that the arrival of a baby will make no difference to his routine, and I have no intention of ceasing to give him the attention he has been used to; that will be no strain as he is fiercely independent  and has no desire for assistance in his play, beyond requesting me to show him a book occasionally. It is because things have gone so comparatively smoothly with him – I don’t wish you to think he is a model, because he is not – that I am particularly anxious to deal with the coming baby in a way that will not seriously disturb his equilibrium, and I feel it is more sensible to ask your help now about the staging of the event, than when the damage is done.”

 

            It sounds to me as if things were specially favourable for your little boy with regard to the crisis that is awaiting him, since he is already so independent and sensible, and in addition will be taken care of by his aunt and his father and the maids with whom he is familiar and at ease. He should be able to  get over the critical time of your absence with the minimum of difficulty. Nevertheless, it is bound to be a crisis for him. Even with all this favourable background, the first absence of his mother, coupled with the sudden appearance of a little rival, cannot help but be disturbing. That is to say, it creates a new situation for him which is not likely he will be able to adjust to all at once. It is better to be prepared for a certain amount of emotional upheaval as a natural and inevitable consequence of such a fundamental change in his life. But with the help which you have already given him in your planning of arrangements and previous training in independent interests it is very likely that he will be able to make the necessary adjustments fairly readily. The most favourable point is, of course, that he is already very interested and attracted by babies.

The Only Girl,1933: Susan Isaacs helps a mother (and her sons) to manage her tyrannical five year old daughter.

 March 8, 1933 in The Nursery Word

 

A little girl of five who domineers her elder brothers

 

 

“A.R.” writes, “ Reading with interest your replies to other readers, I venture to ask you a question myself. I am only a working-class mother and have to manage my children alone. I have four children, the three eldest being boys, aged twelve, nine, seven, and my baby girl is now five. They are all dear children, but lately my little girl has grown very domineering , especially to her brothers. She orders them and expects them to wait on her, and everything they have she wants. She has been rather spoilt all her life, being the only girl, and now getting so selfish and over-bearing. What worries me as much as anything is the way the boys put up with it. They all give in to her without a murmur, even to her most outrageous demands. Bobby (aged twelve) is very fond of Meccano, and has a lovely set given him by my husband’s employer, but he will let Sylvia pull his best models to pieces, knock them on the floor, etc., and he never says a word. The other boys have lots of toys and games, trains, etc., not really suitable for girl, but Sylvia has them all whenever he likes. And yet the boys fight among themselves for the least thing, and Bobby is inclined to bully Keith and Owen, but he would not let anyone lay a finger on Sylvia, and neither would they. Surely it is not right for boys to be domineered over like that, and how can I stop them from spoiling her without spoiling their nice ways to her? They honestly do think the world of her and are always boasting of her. And she knows it, and I am afraid she will grow up vain and spoilt". 

 

I certainly think you are right in feeling that something should be done about this situation. It is, of course, very bad for the child to be able to tyrannise to that extent over three boys. I should definitely intervene when they allow the child to behave unreasonably – for example, when the biggest boy allows the little girl to knock his models about. It may be that he is allowing that because he thinks you would be angry if he did not, and I should certainly take steps to make quite clear that you disapprove of such behaviour and are on his side. I would not be angry, if he did not, and I should certainly take steps to make clear that you disapprove of such behaviour and are on his side. I would not be angry, but I would definitely represent the view that it is unreasonable for any person to be allowed to damage someone else’s constructive efforts in that way. It is not as if she were a tiny baby and could not understand. I am sure that it is better for her happiness and character that you should intervene on her behalf of sense and reason. And it is better for the boys, too, that they should not have this unnaturally quixotic attitude to a girl and feel that this is the only right way to behave towards her. If I were you I should speak to the boys about it when the little girl is not there. Tell them that you think it is very bad for the child herself, and appeal to them to be more sensible. They could still be friendly and yet not allow the child to tyrannise over them in this way. I do not think it will spoil their nice attitude to help them to be really more responsible and sensible. 

 

 

 

Cross in the mornings, 1935 – Ursula Wise talks about a seven year old’s emotional sensitivity about a ‘feeling of emptiness’ that could be part of her morning difficulty

  May 15, 1935 in The Nursery World 

 Cross in the mornings

 

Some of us wake up bright and cheerful, for others of us the morning is definitely not our best time. A little girl’s morning irritability is the subject of one of this week’s letters answered by Ursula Wise

 

“Irritating mother” writes: “I should be so glad if you could help me with a problem connected with my seven and a half year old daughter. She is a very jolly, cheery, happy little soul, except in the early morning during the getting-up and dressing processes. Everything then seems to go wrong, everything I do or say ‘irritates her’ (her own expression). She will take an hour over her dressing and when I try to hurry her becomes worse than ever; she is thoroughly cross, rude and almost unbearable. I have tried giving her magnesia, barley-sugar to suck, and fruit juice to drink – she refuses to eat anything before breakfast. We get up at 7.30, breakfast at 8.30. She always has malted milk for her supper at 6.45 p.m., but nothing to eat as she is liable to have bad dreams and we have found they are much better when she has not had any food. She is practically an only child as her sister is seven years older, and away at school, but they are tremendous friends when together. She has a governess and easy lessons in the mornings and ‘nanny’ comes at 2.30 every day and stays til after bedtime. She is inclined to acidosis, though growing out of it, I think, is rather anaemic as her lips are often pale. It is really quite a problem as to how to deal with her in the mornings. I have tried leaving her entirely alone and I have tried dressing her myself, but neither of these methods are very successful, and I should be so very glad if you can give me any suggestions. She is very dawdly in most things, and I am very quick. I am afraid I may get rather impatient at times, but she seems to get quite frenzied when I tell her, however calmly, to ‘hurry up.’ She is almost absurdly devoted to me, in fact, we often laugh together over her ‘soppy’ ways, but at these times and especially in the early mornings she is intensely rude, and I am so afraid of it becoming an ingrained habit that I should be most thankful to know how best to deal with it. Is it psychological; or physical; or merely hunger?”

 

            It seems to me probable that this irritability of your daughter arises from a combination of causes. Doubtless she gets cross more easily when she is hungry in the morning, but doubtless also, this is not purely a physical need of food so much as an emotional sensitivity about the feeling of emptiness. It is quite likely that it connects with the experience of weaning long ago. I wonder if you remember how she took to the process of weaning – whether she was difficult at the time? Many grown-ups are more inclined to be cross and unhappy before breakfast, aren’t they? Whereas others are at their best in the early morning. Evidently your daughter would belong to the first of these two types. But it is very likely that the acuteness of her irritability will get less as she gets older. It may be that she would do better if she had a little food at supper time, but you can only find that out by experience. If you give her any, I should not make any particular comment about it, or let her know that you are observing its results or anxious about the effect. On the whole, I should be inclined to trust to the normal course of development to get her over this special difficulty of the early morning irritation. It is a pity that she will not drink some orange juice before she gets out of bed, since this would certainly be a help. I wonder whether you could make it a general household custom to drink some orange juice before getting up in the mornings? At any rate, if you try to get her to do it, do not handle it as if it were drinking of medicine. Let it be a pleasure and an indulgence. I certainly would not try to dress the child. it would be far better to leave her to look after herself at her own pace, but if you do this, do not let her feel that you are punishing her by depriving her of your help, and do not actually refuse help if she wants to have it. Since she is so very devoted to you, and otherwise a sensible child, I am sure you will find she will get over this special difficulty of you can ease off the situation before breakfast for her. It might even be a help if you let her come to breakfast in her dressing -gown and dress afterwards. 

A Child's Point of View, 1930: Ursula Wise talks about the child's dignity and her right to this, as well as encouraging a sense of humour and a little self deprecation!

 June 4^th, 1930 in The Nursery World

 

A Child’s Point of View 

 

“Puzzled” writes: “I have read with great interest your answers to others in difficulty, and would be so grateful to have your opinion of mine. My little charge, aged four and a quarter, is a highly strung, nervous child. I find fault as little as possible, but when she has to be corrected, she has a most puzzling way of behaving. For instance, if I tell her in a very serious voice I am very displeased she will come to me a few minutes afterwards and say, ‘It is not nice of you to speak to me like that. Now I am very displeased and I am looking very cross!’ On one occasion she called me to look at something. I replied I would soon come but was very busy just then, consequently afterwards I found a very offended little mortal. I tried to make her understand that to get cross when I was unable to come was not right or reasonable. 

            A few days afterwards when I called her, she kept me waiting; when I said that she ought to come when Nannie called, she replied with great firmness that she had been very busy showing something to her dog, and if she did not come I ought not to be displeased over it. She evidently feels that if I express displeasure, she is entitled to do likewise, and also that if I can offer a reason for not going when called, she can do the same. If she happens to fall, she will generally hit the floor hard with obvious bad temper which seems mingled with hurt feelings. She is generally responsive to reason and persuasion where she loves. Will you please tell me how best to manage her with regard to these little difficulties?” 

 

            This is a very interesting problem, and one not easy for a busy grown-up, who has to get on with practical necessities to deal with. But it is by no means an uncommon reaction in children of high intelligence and a certain sensitive temperament. In finding out how best to deal with it, I think one has first of all to recognise that there is a certain amount of reason and justice in the child’s point of view. It isn’t just perversity, it is in part a real attempt to understand the moral values and intentions of adults. The child is reflecting upon what you have said to her, and trying to get the inside point of view about what you think unreasonable, or what you disapprove of. But, also, she is defending her dignity. It is painful to her to be subject to the judgement of other people, and by saying the same things to you she is trying to get her balance again and to get away from the painfulness of being small and dependent. To be so very sensitive does not make for social ease, and one cannot but feel sorry for children who find it so painful to be corrected. She may grow out of it to some extent, of course, particularly when she mixes with other children at school.

            I think there are three ways of helping her. One cannot, of course, altogether avoid having to show that one doesn’t approve of certain kinds of behaviour. Nor would it in the end help her if you avoided her correction when it was really needed. But one should admit to the full whatever justice there is in her point of view. As far as is really practicable, one should be as polite and considerate to the child as one expects the child to be to others. one should not cut across her play, for instance, unless tis really cannot be avoided. It is no good expecting such a child to be a model of automatic and unreasoning obedience, because she is simply not capable of being that, and to try to make her so would only cause deep resentment. It would help her very much, for instance, to explain how much depends upon your being able to get on with your work, and to talk this out without her reproach. 

            Another help you can give her is the utmost good humour! Such a child often suffers from a lack of the sense of humour. She takes herself too seriously, and if one can get her to laugh a little at her own tremendous wish to be as important and as morally powerful as the grown-ups, it does help her development. I don’t mean you must laugh at her. One would need to go very gently indeed. But I have found that when children feel the need to assume this great self-importance, one can ease things a little by a friendly good-humoured smile or laughter, in one’s voice, or the sort that is with the child not at her. 

            And the third form of help is undoubtedly plenty of the society of other children of her age. Active play with other children would probably help to lessen her special sensitivity a little, and to give her more confidence in herself, and therefore greater ease and a better sense of proportion. 

An important presence: parental violence arises only once throughout Ursula Wise's column. Here she stresses the huge importance of the nanny's rôle.

 "Unlucky Nanny" writes: 

 

“I have been helped with lots of nursery problems by your advice to others, but have never seen this question asked: How can one best help a little child who often sees her parents quarrel, and even strike each other? Nine months ago I had a breakdown, and was advised not to go back to the post I was in, because the domestic upheavals were worrying me. I had charge of a little girl who I loved very dearly, and still do. Her parents were very unhappy together, and as she was two years old, she was beginning to get very worried and upset. She is living with her mother now, but when I last visited them was always asking for her Daddy. Now my present little charge has had the experience of her mother leaving her, but she is back again now, and they seem quite unhappy. How can I help the little girl if there is trouble again? She is two.”    

 

            This is surely the most difficult problem which a child’s nurse can have to face. she cannot alter the primary situation and cannot, in fact, do a great deal to help the child face the central emotional difficulties aroused by quarrels and division between the parents. But she can do something, and that something is quite real. If she herself is stable and loving and wise in handling the child, she can help the child to go on believing that there are stable and secure people in the world, even though the most important people in it are so frightening and unhelpful. it is not surprising that “Unlucky Nanny” herself had a breakdown, if she saw the parents of her little charge in actual physical violence, as well as quarrels. In the present case the situation does not seem so acute, and Nanny may have more opportunity of being real use to the little child. One very important service which a nurse can render to a child in such an unhappy situation is by avoiding a tendency to exploit it for her own satisfaction. It would be very natural and easy to slip into an attitude that implied, “See how bad your parents are, and see what a nice and loving person I am.” To some extent the child is bound to feel like this, since indeed it will have some objective truth, but it would be very bad for the child if the nurse was to exploit this for the sake of getting extra admiration and affection from the child. This can be so easily done in subtle ways without ever being put into words. But it would not help the child so much as a large and tolerant sympathy, that would avoid condemnation of the parents whilst yet being a stable and secure refuge for the child. I am sure this sounds as if I were asking the nurse in such a home to be a marvel of wisdom and self-control, and I appreciate how hard it must be. And yet it is true that this is a very important aspect of the problem; and if ‘Unlucky Nanny” wants to help her little charge, she should be alive to the risk of (only too naturally and unwisely) slipping into the way of attaching the child too much to herself and turning her against the unhappy parents. Nevertheless, of course, she must give steady affection and real sympathy and understanding. She must show the child that she understands the latter’s fears and anxieties about the division between the parents. She can do this by a large, tolerant sympathy and a perfectly steady attitude of affection on her own part. She should avoid any mere indulgence of the child. Her handling should be firm and quiet whilst unshakably loving. If by any further development the parents were to part temporarily again, she should certainly comfort and cheer the child by saying that Mummy had gone away for a time but would probably be coming home before long. It is a very great responsibility for a Nanny, but the fact that she is herself so aware of this responsibility is an indication that she has some intuitive understanding of what it means to the child, and therefore of the best way of helping her. Occasional playtimes with other little children would be another great help which she could give her charge. Another important thing would be to be sure that the child’s active interests were satisfied in talk and play and seeing things in the word outside the home, and learning to use her limbs and fingers in all the ways suitable for her age. These indirect aids are just as important as the direct support of steady affection and sympathy, because they can help the child to realise that there are lovely and satisfying things and people outside the home, and that the world does not go to ruin even though one’s parents are unhappy or separated. 

 

Deceitfulness in a seven year old, 1938. Susan Isaacs replies to a teacher interpreting a child's behaviour, including linking it to her parents' financial worries, second teething and the inherent guilt in a child.

July 1938 in Home and School “Readers’ Questions”

Deceitfulness in a seven year old 

 "D.H.N." writes:- 

            I should be very grateful if you would advise me regarding the treatment of a little girl aged seven years, who has begun to steal, tell untruths and act deceitfully. This has apparently all happened within the last six months.

            The thefts have been little things taken from children’s pockets, e.g., marbles, handkerchiefs, a chain, a purse, halfpennies, sweets, apples. The money was invariably spent on sweets before the child went home. The other things were found hidden in her drawer in the bedroom. The child admitted to the thefts, after careful questioning, at one moment and denied them the next, and even when found with the things in her possession claimed them as her own. At no time did she appear conscious of wrong doing. She has been in the school since she was four years old and her teachers and I always regarded her as one of our brightest and most reliable scholars, calling upon her for leadership and special duties in the school. She is intelligent and possesses a very vivid imagination, e.g. she often plays alone at home, representing a number of characters in her play with perfect imitation. She will live over again activities and special functions which take place in school, using her dolls to express what she wants. She plays quite normally with other children of her own age and is invariably the leader. At school she is interested in her work and happy with her teacher. The child comes from a good working class home. There are three children in the family of which she is the eldest by four years. All the children are nervously inclined and highly strung, and the child in question has from babyhood suffered from nervous habits such a nail biting, finger picking, pulling of clothing and bedclothes to pieces. These characteristics have now almost disappeared. Recently she became very hysterical about the loss of a tooth and gathered a crowd in the park where she was playing. The parents are friendly and sympathetic with the children, giving them equal attention, and allowing reasonable toys and simple possessions. Recently the father’s income has been precarious owing to irregular employment, but the children have never gone short of their requirements. The mother tells me her little girl has only on one occasion taken anything from the home, when she took and hid a cigarette when her father sent her to bring it to him. She has, however, recently begun to rummage in drawers other than her own for no apparent reason. There has just been a development which seems more serious and the act of a more mature mind. The child went into a coffee shop and ordered biscuits in the name of a neighbour saying that the lady would call and pay later. During my thirty years’ experience with little children, I have never come across a case which has puzzled me so much. 

            The parents are naturally very worried, and having tried simple childish punishments, which have only seemed to arouse defiance, they spoke of resorting to corporal punishment. I have asked them not to do this, but to wait until we could have expert advice before doing anything further. They are willing to sacrifice anything for the child’s good, even sending her to a suitable home for treatment if such were available.

 

            In all the circumstances, you describe, there are two of the child’s experiences which seem to me likely to account for this change in her behaviour. On the one hand, she is losing her teeth, and you describe how strong her feelings were about this, and how hysterical she became.  

            You may perhaps have read what I wrote recently to explain the anxiety and trouble which second teething often brings to many sensitive children, who secretly feel that they are falling to pieces altogether, and don’t know where the process will end. 

            It is not at all uncommon for children to begin to steal just at this time. It is as if they felt ‘I must get back what I have lost.’ Of course these feelings have nothing to do with reason but are none the less strong because they are entirely rational. 

            In this little girl’s case, however, there is a special further circumstance, viz: the family trouble about the father’s irregular unemployment and the uncertainty of income. You say that the children have never gone short of their requirements; but an intelligent child of this age sees and hears everything that goes on around her. She will have heard lots of conversations between father and mother, and will see their anxious faces, and know what trouble they have in their hearts, and since her actual knowledge and experiences are very limited, since she has no way of helping her parents over this trouble, she can only deal with the situation by imagination. 

            I have no doubt from what you say that the child is in a very great state of anxiety about the family circumstances, and suffers secret fear of starvation, of loss and even of death. And not only is she feeling anxiety but also guilt. Long before this age, children feel even intense guilt about their parents’ troubles, and you describe how this little girl even from babyhood suffered from various nervous habits. 

            Such nervous nail biting, finger picking etc., always indicates deep-seated guilt as well as anxiety. Children who bite their nails do so partly because nails may scratch and hurt other people. And since this child’s parents are friendly and sympathetic, giving their children all the good things they can, as well as love and attention, it would be very surprising if a highly intelligent imaginative child of this age did not think about things from the parents’ point of view, feel sorry for them, feel grief and remorse for her own naughtinesses towards her parents in the past, and about her need to take so much from them. Most of these feelings will be quite unconscious, but intensely real all the same. 

            The little drama which you describe, of the child’s going into a shop and ordering biscuits in the name of the neighbour, so strange and so puzzling from the point of view of the adult, can be understood when we know more about the child’s feelings. I would say that she was acting out the fulfilment of a wish. She wanted to believe that her own mother could buy biscuits for her and pay for them later, even if not now. She created this little drama in her mind and acted it out in order to ease the feelings of guilt and distress about the fact that other could not buy the biscuits for her. And this would be not only because she wanted the biscuits, but because she wanted to feel that mother could pay for them, because she wanted to deny the mother’s grief and loss.

            It would not help the child or correct the development of her character to punish her physically. In fact no punishment would relive this trouble. If I were you I would talk over the whole situation with the child, and that you understand that she is really very troubled indeed about father’s work. She is really afraid that there will be no food at all, either for her or her father and mother and the other children; and she is so sorry for her mother and father, so troubled that she has even been naughty towards them, that she does not know how to bear these feelings. She steals the toys, money, food, etc., in order to prove to herself in imagination that there are good things in the world for her; and she orders things in the shop in someone else’s name in order to persuade herself that there is still a good mother in the world who will be able to buy her food and all that she needs. 

            You can be sure, too, that another thing the child is afraid of is that father and mother no longer love her. In their feelings, children often interpret genuine difficulties in the parents’ lives as a sign of a lessened love towards the children themselves. Again, of course, this is completely unreasonable, but that does not make it any less true in the child’s feelings. 

            It would help her if her father and mother, therefore, could talk over their difficulties very frankly to the child, less often in front of her, but more often directly to her, and in a way that will show the child that there is no loss of love in their hearts, and that their difficulties and anxieties about external things have not made any difference in their feelings towards her. 

            If, however, there is no improvement in the near future , I would strongly suggest your persuading the parents to take the child to the Manchester Child Guidance Clinic (Atherton Street Schools, Little John Street, Deansgate, Manchester), where they would certainly be able to get help for the troubles which underlie this behaviour. 

 

 

 

Displaced, 1930: Ursula Wise's understanding and compassionate words of advice for a mother and her little girl struggling with the arrival of a new baby

  July 2, 1930 in The Nursery World 

 

Displaced 

 

The letter this week deals with the emotional crisis faced by first children with the arrival of a new baby

 

“Petal” writes: “I should much appreciate your advice about my little daughter, now aged twenty-two months. I have just returned home after three weeks absence in a nursing home where my baby son was born. Since my return Audrey seems to whine and cry - real sobs and tears- if things are not quite to her liking, and if I bring her into the drawing room to see visitors we have quite an outburst. She has always been very shy, and would not go to strangers even when quite a baby, but I thought she was getting a little better. She is very conservative, and does not like any new experiences, new toys or new faces, and she took some days before she would come near the new baby, but she is now very interested in him and not the least bit jealous. I had not been with her a great deal for some months, so she has not felt my absence.

            “Ordinarily she is a cheerful, happy little person, and sits in her pen quite contentedly chatting to her toys, so she has not been spoilt or been the centre of attention. In fact I wonder whether I have kept her too quiet. We live in a very quiet country village, and do not have many visitors, but the grannies and the aunts I think ought not to pander to her idiosyncrasies, but I cannot make her if she does not want to. She is quite all right with people she knows, and not so bad with young people, but elderly people - usually large and dressed in dark garments - seem to inspire her with dread. I may say that my husband and I are very reserved people and do not shine in company, while I also was a very shy little girl, so do you think the trouble is hereditary? It used to not to be so bad when Audrey just sat speechless on my lap, as she usually brightened up sooner or later, but now she clutches me tightly and sobs, and I usually have to send her out of the room.  

            “I shall be most grateful for your advice, as it seems such a problem. She is perfectly healthy and most independent in other ways.”

 

            I don’t think there can be any doubt that the new baby is the immediate cause of the whining. Even though the child does not show jealousy in any open way, her querulousness is but a sign of the great effort she is making to deal with the situation. However careful and tender mother is, the little newcomer is bound to cause jealous fears in the older child, and the fact that your little girl would not come near the baby for some time suggests how strong this was. It will take her a little time to accept that the baby brother wholeheartedly, but as her direct interest in him develops, and as she finds that your won affection for her is as sure and warm as always, things will become a little easier for her. 

            But just for the present I should certainly not force her to see visitors who distress her. She is sure to be rather more sensitive all round just now, and to fear every sort of change even more than she normally does. You want her to grow out of such excessive shyness, of course, but she is more likely to do so if she is not forced to meet people who have no intrinsic appeal to her, or those who seem frightening to her - even if her fear does seem silly and unreasonable to other people themselves. I should choose rather carefully the grown-up friends who I did bring her in to see, and should arrange to send her out for a walk when someone was coming to the house of whom I thought she probably would be frightened. If she can make one or two really good friends among grown-ups, and her circle is gradually increased, she will gradually lose her fears and shyness and become more at ease. If, however, you insist upon her seeing anybody and everybody, including those who frighten her, the outburst of fear and crying must tend to make her worse rather than better, as she is bound to feel ashamed and unhappy about it afterwards. And as the nervous ones among us grown-ups know, it isn’t easy to feel happy and at home when we meet again people with whom we have already been social failures! Failure makes for failure, and nothing succeeds like success! So, I should go slowly, and let her have a few really happy and agreeable friends among the grown-ups. After all, she is no more than a baby herself yet! 

            And if a situation arises in which you can hardly avoid her being brought in to see someone whom you know she does not feel at home with, I should let it be no more than a greeting, and send her back to play again after the briefest possible time. 

 

 

 

Sleeping Alone, 1936: Ursula Wise reminds a parent that it takes patience and time to break habits, for both the child and the parent.

 

 

September 30, 1936 in Nursery World

 

 Sleeping Alone 

“H.R.S.” writes: “During the past three years I have so often found my problems in connection with my small daughter answered by your letter to other readers, all of which I find most interesting, that I have no need to write to you myself. But now I would be very grateful for your advice on several points. J. was three years old last month, and is a happy, healthy child, very intelligent and advanced for her age. So far, she has always slept in a cot in my room, and during the past year I have often taken her into my bed in the night, which I know is a bad thing to do, but it was started on a holiday to comfort her in strange surroundings, and has been very difficult to break. However, she is getting over that now gradually, and always says when she goes to bed that she will stay in her own bed all night, and tries to do so. But sometimes she wakes up in the night and says she wants to love Mummy, and if I do not take her into my bed at once, she gets worked up to a terrible pitch and nothing will comfort or quieten her until I take her. Then she is very loving and hugs and kisses me and says such sweet things and is so happy to be with me and goes to sleep at once. Now what I would like to know is, do you think it would be wise to put her into a room by herself, or would it be wiser to wait til she is a bit older, as she was not brought up to it from a baby? We talk about her having her own room and she likes the idea.  But often in the night I have to hold her hand when she wakes, she seems to need the assurance of my being near her. Would it be too much of a break for a child of her temperament to be suddenly alone? Can one expect a child of three to mostly do as it is told? When we are out for walks, J. often runs on ahead of me. If I call her to come back, she takes no notice and runs away as hard as she can go. I am terrified that she might get into the road and be knocked down before I can reach her, as the road is full of bends and she gets out of my sight. She knows she is disobeying me, but does it with a wicked look in her eye from sheer devilment, and although I try to reason and explain to her why she must not do it, she says she is sorry afterwards; she is always ready to run away at the next opportunity. She is very independent and adventurous and has no fears.

Too good (undated): Ursula Wise gives her advice to a parent concerned about her four year old son's fear of 'doing wrong'.

 Undated - found in Susan Isaacs archive of unpublished letters 

Too good

 

“Anxious" writes: 

“I would like to ask you about a boy of four and a half, who is not at all difficult – in fact, I sometimes think he is too good! The thing I am worried about just now is that he won’t look at or have anything to do with his small gramophone, which is his favourite plaything, since he accidentally broke a record some weeks ago. He knocked it off the table in passing, and was very upset. and since then he won’t touch it and says he ‘hates it’. Would you try to persuade him to use it again? I can’t understand why he feels like that about it, for no-one scolded him.” 

 

No, it would be better to leave him alone about it, at any rate for a time. The child’s fear and guilt about the gramophone he has damaged is neurotic – that is to say, it is not based on real fear, such as a threatening animal or a grown-up who does scold and punish. It belongs to much deeper things within the child’s own mind, to impulses and desires of his own infancy of which he felt ashamed and afraid; and the breaking of the gramophone has stirred those fears and guilt again. Such a degree of shame and fear about a simple accident would naturally go along with being “too good”. 

            I don’t think persuasion and reasoning will help, just because the real happening is only a symbol for the deeper fears. But time may help. Later on he will probably feel less acutely about it and take the toy out again. I should, however, watch the general development of such a child very carefully, and if there was much of this sort of behaviour, consult a psychological expert. 

Sensitive or Nervy, 1931– Ursula Wise thinks that this seven year old is likely to benefit form going to boarding school aged 7 years.

 

 

February 18, 1931 in Nursery World

 

Sensitive or “Nervy”

 

 “Mother of three" writes: “Can you suggest a treatment for stormy crying of a boy of seven and a half, who has always been a ‘cry-baby’? I do so want him to give it up to some extent before sending him away to school in September: and yet sometimes I wonder if the cure would be quicker if we sent him next May. I have an experienced governess to teach him, and I think he is very well grounded, and in advance of his age in a good many subjects.  He has always been emotional and obstinate. Others have found the same besides my governess and myself. If a sum gives him any trouble, or he happens to be in the mood, he either cries and bellows with rage, or lays down his pencil and states that he does not want to do it, and then cries. The crying is intense, not just a few tears and done with, but roaring sobs, and he upsets himself to such an extent that his brain is too muddled for work afterwards. I must add that it is not a new kind of sum which causes this trouble, but more often than not it is a familiar type, and possibly one that he has done quickly and correctly before. He is never scolded if a simple mistake is made, as his governess realises that everyone makes mistakes; nevertheless, the pointing out of a slip by her is enough to start the same flood of tears and consequent upset; in fact, he cannot bear to be wrong, and yet will not try hard enough to be right. Other subjects do not cause so much trouble, except dictation, and sometimes geography, neither of which are favourites. 

“Lessons are not the only cause for this obstinate temper; he sometimes refuses to give any reply to a simple question which his elder or younger brother puts to him. This also ends in a very few minutes of bellowing rage, not from any action on the brother’s part, except possibly signs of exasperation, but, I suppose just a helpless feeling of being unable to keep silence. He is also a ‘poor sport’, and cannot take even a mild bit of teasing in good part, and yet teases his younger brother himself unmercifully in a sly fashion, waiting until he thinks the governess is out of earshot. We do not punish more often than we can help, but bad behaviour at dinner, after two or three warnings, means no sweets afterwards. His younger brother, aged four and a half, will take this occasional deprivation like the ‘little sport’ he is, watching the others eating their sweets, without sulking, or protesting, or asking the reason for the veto - he knows quite well, and accepts it. Alas! the seven-year old will bellow first with pure rage, plead for a pardon for a long time, and feel and show that he is resentful of a rule which is inflexible. 

Imaginative Fears, 1931: Ursula Wise is sympathetic towards this parent, but clear that the child's fears must not rule the roost.

Imaginative Fears

A mother writes this week about her little girl of three years old who cries bitterly and clings to her whenever she has to leave her with her nurse or go out for an hour or two.

"April' writes: “May I once again ask for your help? Veronica is an only child, aged three and a quarter, and we live in the tropics where it is necessary to remain indoors between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. Veronica has little friends of her own age and seems as care-free and happy as any of them, but when I have to go out there is always a scene. Veronica has an English nurse of whom she is very fond, and I cannot understand the tears. For example, nurse and I often go out together with Veronica after tea. It is very hot to push the pram alone and at this altitude, and Veronica cannot manage to walk without a pram. If I know I am going out to see friends at 7 p.m. (it is the custom here to visit at that hour) I say to nurse and to Veronica, ‘I am going to Mrs. So-and-So this evening.’ At the time it produces no comment, but on our return home Veronica will not leave me while I change, and at the moment of my departure there is always trouble. Veronica, with tears streaming down her face and clinging hard to me, beseeches me not to leave her. I have to go, and I leave her, weeping bitterly in nurse’s charge. She tries to keep herself awake until my return, which is often not till 9 o’clock. If I go to her then and assure her I am not going out again, she will fall asleep quite happily. This does not only happen at night. I sometimes have to meet the train which comes in at mid-day. It is far too hot for Veronica to go out, and unless I can slip out without her knowing there is always a tearful scene. She makes huge efforts at self-control, and often says good-bye in a ‘choky’ voice and gives us a wan smile. Nurse tells me, however, that tears return after I have gone until she gets interested in some toy or book. I find this very distressing, but I try not to show it. The only thing that will comfort her is my handkerchief, which she takes from me when I go and keeps it tightly clutched in her hand until I return.

When fears are real, 1932: Ursula Wise discusses how to handle nervousness that arises from a real experience.

When Fears are Real

Fear based on actual experience needs different handling from the purely imaginative anxieties of childhood

My letter this week describes a situation in which acute nervousness arises in a child from an actual experience. It is probable that many of the phobias and anxieties of little children do arise in actual experiences, but very often these experiences are so slight that the grown-ups do not notice them at the time or think them important. In this case, however, a frightening experience was very definite and apparent to everybody.

“R. S.” writes: “I should be glad of your advice in regard to my little girl of just four years old. She is a bonny little girl, but suffers from occasional attacks of sickness, which I am treating as for acidosis. My problem is this: she is very nervous of other small children. She had rather an unfortunate experience with a little boy friend, who, when we were staying with him, used to bite her and take every opportunity of bullying her. This was when she was one year and nine month, and then she had a similar experience at three years of age. Since then she has been very nervous of other children, especially boys. She seemed to grow out of it with careful management. I have had little ones in to play with her when possible, and in time she got to like that and was very sweet and friendly with them, but at any sign of roughness or screaming, etc., would get terrified and cry bitterly. Then I thought I would let her start Sunday-school, in the hope that this would help her to mix with others.

            She did not much want to go, but as she had a very kind teacher who loves and understands children I thought it would do her no harm. She seemed to like it, and came home bright and eager to tell me all about it. But last Sunday, to my disappointment, when she arrived with her sister (a girl of thirteen) they found that her teacher had left, and Betty begged and cried bitterly to go home. Her sister could do nothing with her, and at last had to bring her home. I am puzzled to know what to do. I suffered dreadfully from nervousness as a child, and this so played on my health that I was from school a whole year with what the doctor called a ‘tired heart.’ I also had dreadful night terrors and walked in my sleep. In fact, nervousness has been a great drawback to me all my life, and I am so very anxious that Betty should not have the same handicap. Some of my friends seem to think that I should be firmer and force her more, but this only seems to make her worse and drive her into a panic. Do you think it would be advisable for me to start her at a small private school next spring, as she will have to attend the Council school eventually, and I am afraid that the roughness will be too much for her, going straight from home? Unfortunately, I am not able at present to have any little friends in, but I take her into company as much as possible. Do you think it wise to postpone going to Sunday-school for the present, or would you still insist on her going? She has only the one sister of thirteen years, who attends the Grammar school and is far too busy with homework and games to have much time for Betty. I hope my letter is not too long. It seems a small trouble to bother you with, but I am really rather worried about it, and long to see her an independent little person able to look after herself. Betty is also nervous of going out alone, and will not go a dozen yards from the house herself.  

            When a child has had a real and severe experience of this kind it is obviously more difficult to comfort her against fears than when they are purely imaginary. One can no longer say to the child, “There is nothing to be frightened of,” because she knows by experience that there is something to be frightened of, or, at any rate, that there may be. She has no guarantee that other little boys will not bully and bite, and if one simply says, “There is nothing to be afraid of,” the child feels that we are untrustworthy. Obviously, such a situation needs rather different handling from a case of a child who imagines it all.

            Time will be an important factor. So young a child cannot be expected to get over such an experience all at once, and as she has had it twice she had had a good deal of confirmation of her fears. Obviously her fears go beyond her experience, but then one can readily understand that being bitten and bullied at twenty-one months of age would seem overwhelmingly terrifying. There is no doubt that you would be well advised to shelter her from any possible repetition of such experience. I should certainly not force her to go to places where she is likely to be frightened, whether with or without justification. It would be a great mistake to treat her fears as mere naughtiness and force her. I am sure you are right in feeling that this will only drive her into real panic. I would not go on the simple line of saying, “There is nothing to be frightened of, because she knows that one is not always right. I would say, rather, that, “There are lots of boys and lots of girls in the world who do not bully or frighten little children. It just happened that you met one or two who did, but most of them are not like that.” I should try to arrange for as much social life as possible, but under really good supervision, so that she does feel she has a reliable friend to safeguard her. As regards the Sunday-school, I would not force her to go unless she finds a new teacher with who she feels secure. If you could it would be wise to arrange for her to meet the new teacher first - if she could come to tea, for example - so that she made friends with her. You could surely explain the situation to the new teacher, and she would then feel that if she won the child’s friendship everything would be alright. Otherwise, if this could not be arranged, I would not force her to go. 

            With regard to the idea of beginning her at a small private school, if you were satisfied that the school was the right sort of place I think it would be a good plan. If there is only a small number of children and the person on charge is really capable and reliable, then I think it would be a help to the child. It would make a bridge for her to ordinary school conditions. The large numbers at the Council school might themselves be rather frightening to her apart from the roughness. It will be in the play interval that there might be risk of the children being rough for her. But, again, you could speak a word to the mistress in charge about the child’s early experiences, so that she would keep a special eye upon what happens to her. If you can grade her experience in this way, giving her as much social life as possible, but making sure that she is not again put into a frightening situation, she may become as independent as other children. But one obviously has to be patient with a child who has had unfortunate real experiences. 

The Effects of Change, 1936: a parent wants some wisdom on how long it is safe for a mother to be separated from her baby.

January 15, 1936 in The Nursery World 

The Effects of Change 

“V.L.C.” writes: “I should be so grateful of your advice in my particular case. I have a little boy of fourteen months old whom I have looked after entirely myself, with the help of a little maid of fifteen who is very good with him. I left him last week for the first time with his grandmother (whom he adores) to look after him. He was quite happy and good during the day but gave her terrible nights, often being awake from 10 p.m. until 2 a.m. He is sleeping quite all right again now I am home. But I wish to go abroad for a month in February. I can leave baby with perfect confidence with mother and my little maid, but mother refuses to have the responsibility of him without a proper nannie. I would like this also except that I am afraid that to put him in the charge of a stranger will upset him very much. I would so much like your advice. Would it be better to have a trained nannie for a month, or to leave to the rather uncertain mercies of my little maid, who is very fond of him and of whom he is very fond? I cannot quite make out from your various letters and answers how much a change like this is likely to upset a child. It is only for a day or two, or is it likely to have a far-reaching effect?”

I confess that I should not myself want to leave a little boy of fourteen months, who has shown himself so disturbed by parting from you at night, for a month. One cannot say how much emotional disturbance will be involved. It is certainly more likely to have a far-reaching effect than to be a purely temporary thing, lasting a day or two. But it is perfectly true that some children would not suffer any permanent ill effect, whereas others would. I cannot tell you which would be so in the case of your little boy, and you alone can decide whether the reasons for going abroad for a month are good enough to justify putting this particular strain on a child of his age. A year later it would be a different matter, but at fourteen months to part with one’s mother for a whole month is a very big experience, which I myself and a good many other people wold not feel justified in imposing on a child, without very good reasons. If you do, I think you certainly ought to have not only a trained nurse for the child, but a very good one, one who would be really patient and understanding about him and would know how to win his love. And she would have to give him the comfort in the night that he needs, not to treat him sternly and strictly. I certainly would not want to put on a little girl of fifteen the enormous responsibility of managing the child satisfactorily without you. It is one thing for her to look after him when you are there, and another for her to have to deal with every emergency when you are not there to take the responsibly.

Keeping children safe: undated. Ursula Wise advises about teaching a healthy level of what is real danger without making the child more fearful.

Undated and untitled - found  typed in Susan Isaacs's archive. 

"R.P." writes: “Miss Wise has been so helpful in solving other people’s problems that I should be so grateful for her advice about some commonplace difficulties in the life of an otherwise happy little girl of two and a half. Contrasting with her love of dogs, cows and horses, M. has an evident fear of owls and pigs. This is perhaps natural, as she can hear the owls at night as they hunt for their supper (I have seen them fly close to the nursery window), and they certainly make strange noises, of which I have known some grown-ups be afraid. There are also some very large pigs on the farms around here, and it is quite an adventure for a two-year-old to meet one of these unexpectedly. Every evening she reassures herself by asking, ‘Owls, piggies won’t hurt me?’ and ‘Owls, piggies won’t hurt dear daddy?’ etc. There it ends; but I don’t think she is sure even yet that they are harmless. Her love of dogs is another problem; mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound are all treated as lifelong friends and patted accordingly. she sometimes says, ‘Not stroke strange doggies,’ but the memory of a two-year-old is short. The other day she wanted to ‘go in a field, stroke big horses, then them purr’. I’m afraid my courage was not equal to this. 

“How can on teach a child to have a healthy fear of real danger? Traffic is another difficulty. There is not so much in the country, but it tends to go even faster, and is just as real a danger as in town. M. is very good except when suddenly interested in something across the road, when she still forgets and dashes off without warning. Is there any way of teaching implicit obedience about traffic dangers without curbing a toddler’s freedom? M. is beginning to obey commands fairly well now, except when specially absorbed in something. Thanks to various suggestions in ‘The Nursery World’, we are never at a loss for occupations, and seldom have any trouble with ‘mischief’ or ‘naughtiness’ in the short time we are indoors.”

It is very understandable that your little girl should be rather afraid of the owls and pigs, and the only thing that can help her out of this is her constant sense that you are not afraid of them and her growing familiarity with them. As regards the dogs, one certainly has to train a child gently not to approach too readily a quite strange dog, but nevertheless one wants to do this in a way that will not cause an unreasonable fear of dogs in general. The best way is not to speak sharply or frighteningly in warning, or say that dogs are rather dangerous, but to tell the child quietly that some dogs are rather cross and don’t always like little children to touch them. As you say, the memory of a two-year-old is very short, and you can’t expect the child to be able to check her friendly impulses very easily. The only solution here is careful supervision. The idea of the big horses purring when they were stroked is a delightful phantasy. 

To teach appreciation of real danger to little children is not very easy, as they have so little effective knowledge to go upon. With regard to the traffic, the only solution again is careful watching by the grown-up. There is no way of teaching implicit obedience about traffic danger, except by frightening or punishing a child in a way that would be seriously harmful. The grown-ups have to take responsibility and safeguard the child while she is slowly learning to control her own impulse. One should, of course, take every opportunity of pointing out the risks of dashing across the road, and the need for care, but one cannot hope that quite little children will learn this lesson sufficiently to be entrusted with their own safety. 

No date or title: Ursula Wise shares her thoughts about parental separation and domestic violence.

Undated and untitled - found  typed in Susan Isaacs's archive. 

"Unlucky Nanny" writes: “I have been helped with lots of nursery problems by your advice to others, but have never seen this question asked: How can one best help a little child who often sees her parents quarrel, and even strike each other? Nine months ago I had a breakdown, and was advised not to go back to the post I was in, because the domestic upheavals were worrying me. I had charge of a little girl who I loved very dearly, and still do. Her parents were very unhappy together, and as she was two years old, she was beginning to get very worried and upset. She is living with her mother now, but when I last visited them was always asking for her Daddy. Now my present little charge has had the experience of her mother leaving her, but she is back again now, and they seem quite unhappy. How can I help the little girl if there is trouble again? She is two.”    

            This is surely the most difficult problem which a child’s nurse can have to face. She cannot alter the primary situation and cannot, in fact, do a great deal to help the child face the central emotional difficulties aroused by quarrels and division between the parents. But she can do something, and that something is quite real. If she herself is stable and loving and wise in handling the child, she can help the child to go on believing that there are stable and secure people in the world, even though the most important people in it are so frightening and unhelpful. it is not surprising that “Unlucky Nanny” herself had a breakdown, if she saw the parents of her little charge in actual physical violence, as well as quarrels. In the present case the situation does not seem so acute, and Nanny may have more opportunity of being real use to the little child. One very important service which a nurse can render to a child in such an unhappy situation is by avoiding a tendency to exploit it for her own satisfaction. it would be very natural and easy to slip into an attitude that implied, “See how bad your parents are, and see what a nice and loving person I am.” To some extent the child is bound to feel like this, since indeed it will have some objective truth, but it would be very bad for the child if the nurse was to exploit this for the sake of getting extra admiration and affection from the child. This can be so easily done in subtle ways without ever being put into words. But it would not help the child so much as a large and tolerant sympathy, that would avoid condemnation of the parents whilst yet being a stable and secure refuge for the child. I am sure this sounds as if I were asking the nurse in such a home to be a marvel of wisdom and self-control, and I appreciate how hard it must be. And yet it is true that this is a very important aspect of the problem; and if ‘Unlucky Nanny” wants to help her little charge, she should be alive to the risk of (only too naturally and unwisely slipping into the way of attaching the child too much to herself and turning her against the unhappy parents. Nevertheless, of course, she must give steady affection and real sympathy and understanding. She must show the child that she understands the latter’s fears and anxieties about the division between the parents. She can do this by a large, tolerant sympathy and a perfectly steady attitude of affection on her own part. She should avoid any mere indulgence of the child. Her handling should be firm and quiet whilst yet unshakeably loving.

Instant Obedience, 1931: Ursula Wise questions the desire for instant obedience and shares her thoughts on the giving of praise .

September 11th, 1935 in The Nursery World

Instant obedience

Instant obedience is only given by a child to a parent on the basis of trust and confidence built up by experience

“Well-meaning” writes: “Having frequently admired the wisdom of your published replies to readers I venture to ask your opinion on the question whether it is desirable, and if so by what methods, to aim at being able to secure ‘instant obedience’ before a child is old enough to understand the principle underlying its necessity. My little girl, not quite two, is as obedient as a strong-willed child who is keenly interested in what she is doing at the moment can be expected to be, but she is quite capable of assuming complete deafness, or reiterating a determined, ‘No’, or just running away if told to come here, or to put something down. Relatives tell me that she is too young to be expected to obey, and advocate the – to my mind - lazy and useless method of distracting her attention. My own view is that while obtaining her obedience by distracting her attention is a useful resource when she is tired, or when there are special reasons for avoiding a scene, it does not teach her anything, and that suitable opportunities should be frequently taken for training her to obey as a conscious act. Surely life is too dangerous for a child who will not obey a sudden order without first having some distraction provided. She might be electrocuted in the interval. I should be most interested to hear your views as to whether one should wait until a child is old enough for argument before attempting to teach it obedience. If you agree that the process can be begun as soon as the child unmistakably understands what is said to it (my child talks fluently and has a good memory), what steps do you recommend for securing obedience, in addition to the obvious one of limiting the frequency of one’s ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’? Is a mild slap on the hand that persists in touching the forbidden object a very mistaken method? Sometimes I can see no other way of preventing the child from thinking; ‘Mother goes on sayin,g “Don’t touch,” but nothing seems to happen if I do.” Is it a psychological fact that at barely two a child may forget a repeated command within a few seconds? My little girl’s persistence in picking flowers in the garden (though I always give her some for herself whenever she shows the slightest sign of wanting them) suggests that it must be so. Sometimes I wonder if it is just that the fascination is so great that she simply cannot desist, though she knows must not pick. If that is so, how can I deal with it? Picking flowers for her and allowing her to pick for herself in certain places do not meet the case. It is not that I attach such importance to the devastation of my garden, but that I feel the problem is probably typical of others that we shall have to face. In case it is relevant, I had better mention that the child has the very hopeful characteristic of being more obedient if I leave her for a moment or two rather than if I am present. She will remain glued to a chair if I tell her not to get down til I come back, though, of course, I never strain this virtue too far. Another small point: I have always been lavish with praise when it has been earned, and now K. is beginning to pat herself on the back in a way that is amusing, but might become intolerable in time. ‘Kitty’s a kind girl to bring that flower to show Mother.’ ‘Good girl not to drop that parcel.’ ‘Brave Kitty not to cry.’ Such phrases as these are sometimes reiterated in tones of indescribable smugness, but provided it passes off, don’t you think it is preferable to the sullen defensiveness of the child who imagines that people only comment on its behaviour in order to condemn? If you think I have been overdoing encouragement, I should like to be told. I shall await your views on the subject of obedience with great interest.”

Instant obedience is only given by a child to a parent on the basis of trust and confidence, built up by experience. One can, of course, enforce it by fear. That is to say, one can stir up so much fear in many children that they will obey as long as the feared grown-up is present, although this has very little bearing upon what they will do when there is no risk of being found out. That, however, is not the situation which you desire. The instant obedience which is based upon love and trust cannot be secured by our merely willing it to happen, nor is it possible for many children to give during the first two or three years. It can be given by a child of four or five, who has learnt that his parents will not demand it without good reason. Two years of age is very rarely a period when a child can obey. Occasionally a child has such a naturally docile temperament that she will obey at any age, but this is not very usual, and not necessarily the most desirable attitude of mind. Any child who is going to be independent and forceful and resourceful in later life is certain to show a phase of obstinacy and contrariness in the second and third years, and your little girl is behaving quite typically when she resists your demands if you interfere with her pursuits of the moment. We cannot hope to train tiny children to the virtues of later childhood, and we shall only waste our time and exasperate ourselves and them if we try to do so. It needs real supervision by the adult and appropriate planning of the environment to keep the child of two years, or even three or four, safe. And it is quite useless to imagine that one can ensure this safety by mechanical obedience from the child. But surely you are exaggerating the dangers? In ordinary circumstances, how is a child of two to get electrocuted?

Learning to tell the truth and what to say about death, 1931: Ursual Wise advises on dealing with continuous lies , as well as the subject of children's questions about death.

February 25^th, 1931 in The Nursery World

Learning to tell the truth

David, aged four, is very imaginative. If he has done anything naughty he tells a story of a little boy or girl who came in through the window and did these things

“D. R. H.” writes: “I read your pages in ‘The Nursery World’ with the greatest interest, and I wonder whether you would some time discuss two questions I am up against with my small charge just now. I am an infant-trained nurse, and David has just outgrown my knowledge and experience, and I am having to feel my way into tackling new problems. He is four years old, and I am staying on to look after a delicate little sister. David is a jolly, very sensible little boy, but has always been very highly strung, and is suddenly frightened of unexpected things, such as blind man’s buff at a party, or the noise of air in hot water pipes. He is at the very imaginative age now, and has just started ‘telling lies’ – chiefly entirely imaginative ones. If you ask him if ‘so-and-so’ was at a party, he will say, ‘Yes,’ and tell you a whole long story of their doings, and perhaps afterwards you find that she was not there at all. Also, if he has done anything naughty (such as removing all the buttons from pyjamas, etc.), he will come and tell me of a little girl or boy who came in through the window and did these things.

“A little while ago, if I listened and smiled, and then said at the end, ‘Now tell me what really happened; think a minute and then tell me,’ he would say, ‘David did it.’ But now he sticks to his story through thick and thin. So I never ask him if he did a thing or not. Once I found an empty bottle of sweets and asked him if he had eaten them all. He said, ‘No, I haven’t eaten one.’ So I said, “What have you done with them?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he said. I suggested, ‘Have you given them away?’ ‘Yes,” he said, ‘I gave some to mummy ,’ etc., going through everyone in the house . I left it at that, finding out that no one had been given a sweet. Later I found the sweets, which had not been eaten, stored away in a corner. So it seems to me he has no idea of ‘facts’ at all one moment. And therefore, that the only thing to do is to ‘keep off the grass’ and hope the phase will pass, as I have watched many other difficult phases pass, by being ignored. But also I am wondering how best to give him an idea of being trustworthy – something towards which he can grow as he passes through the phase. And also I would like to know whether I am right in just leaving the subject open for a bit.

“The other question I would like to ask is how to describe death to a child of four years? David always asks me what a graveyard is when we pass, and is dreadfully upset if anything gets run over and killed. He is obviously worrying about it all, and I want to give as happy as possible a reason. So far I have told him that when people get ill or very old and tired Jesus takes them away with Him and makes them better, and when we haven’t them here any longer with us, we sometimes make little gardens for them by the church, and out flowers and their names to remember them by. But this I feel is inadequate. I have never seen either of these subjects discussed in your pages, and I don’t think I can have missed them, as I always find it the most absorbing part of ‘The Nursery World.’ I shall be so glad if you can give me ideas. Following your advice to others, we came very successfully through the advent of the little baby sister, who is a pet of all the household, but most of all David’s pet. They are the most devoted little brother and sister. She is as placid as he is highly strung, and will be a great help to him, I think.”

Yes, I certainly think that the best way to deal with these imaginative lies is to leave them entirely alone. They are quite common at this age, and are pretty certain to die away if no notice is taken of them. And you are quite right in feeling that it is best to avoid the sort of questioning that leads to the lying, as the child is so much on the defensive against either real things or imaginary naughtiness, that he cannot be properly clear about what the truth is, nor dare to tell it. The best help you can give him towards learning to tell the truth is his actual experience of your own truthfulness and trustworthiness. But in addition there is no reason why you should not make some cheerful suggestion to the effect that it is best for little children always to say it is true, because then people can know best how to help them. And there is no reason why you should not enter into his stories about things, showing by your manner that you can enter into his imagination while yet being aware that is it only imagination. A tone of voice, a twinkle of the eye, an occasional use of the words “not really,’ without any preaching or pedantry are the best support to the little child’s feeble sense of reality.

The actual details you give about the behaviour of your little charge make it very clear that the whole content of his imaginative lies at the moment, as well as the dread of death, are bound up with his hidden anxiety about the birth of the little baby sister, which he had dealt with so successfully in his actual relation with her.