Don't drop the baby!

Here's a blurry still from the cine films I've had converted.

Step inside the time machine.
Are you ready for the ride?

This day in June 1970 is the possibly the greatest event of my life so far, aoart from my birth, six years earlier. For weeks I have been going to a religious institution called The Cenacle, in Killiney, outside Dublin, to be prepared by nuns for my First Holy Communion. We have been told stories about a street boy called Raggy, who occadionally stole because he was hungry,, but found that stolen goods did not taste as sweet. The guilt gnawed away at him. We have been practising hymns to sing, though John Charles our bishop, has put his foot down at the use of the guitar in church, the day before our ceremony! So we have the church organ to accompany "Someone's cryin', my Lord, Kum ba ya".

Now the holy bit is over, but I am still resplendent in my white dress and daisy hairband that my mother made, and the blue enamel cross, hand crafted by my grandmother in Scotland. I have a new zip up missal with the hymns in Irish and English, and a marble bracelet. It's the birthday of all birthdays, and I am the centre of attention.

The laburnum tree has never looked brighter or more laden with blossom. We know we must not eat the poisonous pods, but are instructed to pose for a photo, with the gap-toothed Helena (me) holding the baby Ruaraidh (just), Kate alongside in blue, and toddler Ben in what now seems an extraordinarily Edwardian costume: a sailor suit! A year or two later, he and his brother will get their first kilts, the type with bodices attached. Rescuing Ruaraidh is our beloved mother's help, Mo, though it has to be said that initially I made her life unpleasant, as I could not forgive her for not being Larky, our earlier helper, who had died the previous year.

Our mother is behind the camera, but makes a brief appearance later, wearing a red and white dress with a large floral pattern, and a hat to match. A sort of Dublin-horse-show outfit (think Royal Ascot if you're English, and you won't be far off course for fashion).

Our father is not there, as he has commenced his wanderings, and our youngest sister is not even a twinkle in anyone's eye. Our older sister Tanya is already incarcerated in a Scottish convent, probably taking tennis lessons from the SLTA, or piano with the histrionic Miss Jackson. She has thoughtfully sent me a Holy Picture from the school shop, to mark the occasion. I have it still, in my zipped-up missal.

In a short while, we will change out of our formal attire, and climb into the Cortina, to end up in the Wicklow mountains, beside a sun-spangled stream with rocks to clamber over in our bathing suits. We will eat hardboiled eggs from melamine plates, with salt and pepper from an all-in-one pastel cruet.

We are (speaking for myself) deliriously happy. I have never felt so feted in my entire six years. Today is truly my day.