It’s funny how a little thing, a glimpse of something out of the ordinary, can recall a long buried memory. If that experience was pre lingual the recollection presents as just an odd or peculiar sensation, rather elusive and at the edge of vision but nevertheless disturbing.

Visiting Christchurch Mansion in Ipswich yesterday,,  with its many artworks, its oak lined rooms, cabinets of china, and ticking clocks, my eye was caught by a little group of toys sitting on a settee. A floppy rag doll, a pretty dolly with her painted eyes and frilly dress, a charming soft bear or rabbit and…Mr Punch…ugh! vicious Mr Punch…a dark memory comes tumbling in…




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