Vitamins, babies in boxes and overdue books!

Years ago, perhaps in a photography exhibition, I came across a picture of a skinny, pale bloke in swimming trunks, leaning on the corner of a building in a snowy Moscow street. The caption said he was catching what little sun there was, to boost his vitamin D levels. And indeed, the sun was shining on the corner of the building. 

For the last few days, we have been doing much the same, although without stripping down to swimwear. While the sun is shining down from a clear blue sky into the snowy field, we walk up the hill to the highest point and stand facing the sun, absorbing the warmth, like sun worshippers of old. Quite how much vitamin D you can absorb through your face is debatable but it's quite pleasant standing there with your eyes closed. So far nobody has approached us to ask what we are doing and whether we need escorting back to the asylum. 

In a radio programme, possibly Desert Island Discs or perhaps some other series where they interview well known figures, I recently heard the chosen personality being asked if it was true that he had slept as a baby in the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers. The implication was that this was an odd thing to do. Why, the commentator suggested, did his family not have a cot for the baby? Was this a sign of exceptionally humble origins? And yet I have heard quite often of babies in the first half of the twentieth century sleeping in the bottom drawer in this way. And not just in poor families either. Quite likely in working class families rather than upper class, but still respectable artisan families. The drawer was a good size for a baby, it could easily be lined with blankets to keep the baby warm and usually it was handy for the mother to pick up and feed the a baby during the night. Quite a sensible idea on the whole. 

In similar fashion, apparently, most newborn babies in Finland sleep in cardboard boxes. Good sturdy cardboard boxes. Every expectant mother receives a box from the government with all the necessary clothing for a new baby, baby suits, blankets or quilt, sheets, sleeping bag, warm outer clothing and such like. The sheets and blankets are the right size to line the box and it is usual practice for the baby to sleep in there until he grows too big for it. What a fabulous idea! From what I read, the practice started back in the 1930s and was restricted to mothers from low-income families. To qualify for the box they had to attend antenatal clinic, thus ensuring proper health checks during pregnancy. In later years, in the interests of non-discrimination, it was decided that all new mothers should receive such a box. 

 I thought back to when my sister's first child was born and she received a maternity grant, which was supposed to pay for the pram. It would need to be a big grant to pay for a pram these days. And I qualified for maternity allowance when I had my children. A friend of mine didn't, I remember, because she had not paid the full National Insurance stamp. So I went and checked what the situation is today. Both these things do still exist but, of course, there are all sorts of conditions that apply. For instance, if you are on benefits and apply for the maternity allowance, it may affect your other benefits. There you go: they give with one hand and take away with another. If you are expecting triplets you may qualify for a grant of just over £1000. But how far would that go? How much nicer to receive a box of stuff without having to prove that you are entitled to it, apart from being in the family way. And nobody could be accused of spending their allowance on non-baby stuff! 

And now, here's a story of over-the-top honesty. Sir Jay Tidmarsh, a businessman who was Lord lieutenant of Bristol 1996 to 2007 returned to his old school with a library book overdue since at least 1949 when he left the school. Sorting books at home he discovered it and declared himself horrified at his own negligence. So he arranged a visit to the school and took the book back. He donated £1,500 to the school library - overdue fees, he said. 

Goodness me, I hope my old school doesn't come chasing the poetry book I walked off with in 1966.