Recently, I found a photo, from the Western Daily Press in Bristol, in April, 1975.  It is, as you can plainly see, one of myself as a tiger in a children's theatre company show, and Oliver (aged 4), sitting on my leg.

The story of Oliver is a sad one, or at least was when we met him after one of our morning shows.  His mother, Anne Gubbay, was in tears as she explained to us how Oliver had never smiled or laughed in his life.  She had dressed him in a cowboy outfit and brought him to our show, in the hope that he would find something to chuckle at.

But alas, Oliver kept his stern face throughout.
We showed him the impressive puppets and clowned around as actors, but to no avail.  When he sat on my leg, I talked 'tiger-talk', which was no more than nonsense about cowboys and tigers.  Still, not a flicker.

Looking back on it now, I am sure that Oliver was on the autistic spectrum, especially since he hardly spoke to us.  It was beyond shyness.  But I sincerely hope that Oliver, who would now be about 36, has matured with a sense of humour.  I would love to know.

Of course, I felt a failure that day, but I don't know what else I could have done, or any of the theatre troupe.  It was the mum's distress which was so upsetting.


I apologise to my readers about this post two days ago. I had difficulty transferring the photo to the post and so I ended it abruptly and without the photo.
I'll come better prepared next Sunday.