I’ve never wanted a sister. I’ve heard many of my friends say how much they’d have loved to have had a sister, but the idea couldn’t be less appealing to me. I have three brothers, and between you and me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m an RAF baby..or “Pad Brat” as my squaddie friend likes to refer to us (I think RAF baby makes me sound far cuter though). My parents were both in the forces and I lived on RAF bases across the country for the first eleven years of my life. Like many kids whose parents are in the armed forces, I went to boarding school. Contrary to popular belief I didn’t find this to be anything Like Malory Towers, and in fact I never really settled into life as a boarder.
At my school, you had two types of boarder, “Weekly” which meant you boarded from Sunday night to Friday afternoon, and “Full” which meant you had one weekend home per half term, and then your standard school holidays. I was in the latter boarding category. I’ll always remember my parents discussing the school options with me. My mum was keen for me to attend some Ladies College, probably because it sounded like it would somehow mould her tomboy second born child into something with a little more grace and decorum. At the tender age of eight though, this idea terrified me.
I couldn’t go to an all girls school! I only knew about boys! In fact, at this rather influential stage in my life my only female role model was herself going through the process of starting her career in the RAF. She was rarely out of her green kit, and during non school hours, as I rode my bike around base I would regularly see her on guard duty with a semi automatic weapon at her side. Whilst this was always pretty cool to see, (if not a little scary as she bellowed at me and my brothers to “get back home or you won’t know what’s hit you!”...erm well actually mum it looks like it’s going to be a barrel of an SA80 assault rifle) it wasn’t exactly steering me towards the assumption that girls should naturally like skirts, pastels and florals.
What the hell did I know about girly girls, and Barbie dolls? I could challenge a boy to a woodlouse eating competition, or disable an obnoxious male with some pretty nifty WWF Smackdown wrestling manoeuvres and a blinding wedgie, but a teddy bears picnic and skipping in the playground?? I didn’t have a clue! So, despite not being the girly type, I did the most female thing I knew how to do, and threw an almighty titty-la-la. Toys weren’t just ejected from the pram...Oh no. NASA would have been proud of my launch capabilities. Luckily, my parents were responsive to my tantrum, so me and my two younger brothers were sent to the same school, in a small village called Cricklade, whilst my older brother due to his age, attended the sister college in Bath.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am that it worked out that way, because as a result the bond between me and my brothers, to this day remains unbreakable. I often think that had I been separated from them at that age, we would have become such different people, and whilst I know many people will say they’re close to their brothers and sisters, unless you’ve had to spend extended periods of time away from the family home, and away from your parents, you’ve never really had to work together as siblings.
We look after each other...sure, we annoy the crap out of each other, and we’ve all fallen out at one stage or another, but ultimately I know that my brothers are always looking out for me. They can be relied on to provide well timed comical insults, inflict Chinese burns, and generally ridicule me for every stupid thing I do. When the chips are down, I don’t need sisterly support, or a sympathetic female ear to bend...I need my brothers to laugh in my face at how much of a girl I'm being, and then give me a dead leg for being such a wuss. Only then, can everything be right in the world again.
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