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.