The Story of My Birth

Reminiscing about the labour pains I caused my mother

Me aged about four because I don’t have any baby shots with me. Photo from the author’s private collection.

Picture it — Leeds, 1974. December.

The young Mrs Scurry was baking a cake for her little sister’s birthday. All of a sudden, something in the vicinity of her stomach clenched and cramped.

Mrs Scurry thought a big poo must be on the way but, actually, ’twas I.

I was born the next day at St James Hospital in Leeds, England. Hopefully Jimmy Savile wasn’t lurking about.

I was eight pounds and bald, the first Scurry child and grandchild (on both sides).

My interests included eating, sleeping and being admired by my family. They still do.

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