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When I was a student at Surrey University in the mid-70s, I watched a TV series called 'Roots'. It was the story of Kunta Kinte and his family, and how they were uprooted from their homeland and transported across the Atlantic to a strange land, with strange customs, and ways of treating their fellow human being which were outside of their ken. Despite this, they hung on to the knowledge of their own being, who they were inside, and to a sense of family and belonging.
By comparison, my childhood experience was a pale shadow. All children need bases. They need to know whom they belong to and where they belong, in order to build a strong base for their future, and for their children's future. Circumstances in my early life led to my brothers and I being moved from pillar to post, and we were constantly moving schools and being given new people as our 'surrogate' parents; having to adapt to new rules and customs.
I was lucky in loving books. This passion went so far as to steal 'The Wooden Spoon' from my local library when I was five. My sister found it underneath our bed and took it back.
Words are a salvation and a curse for us all. They can make us feel wanted and make us feel hated. Most of all, words often make us feel that someone else outside in the big wide world has the same experience as us, that they've 'been there' too.
A whole lot of these people, these 'soulmates', feature on the whimsy website.