SCENE OF THE 'ALMOST' CRIME: MRS KELLY

Having realised I may have judged my father quite harshly and erroneously I have been assessing what else I might discover about myself by asking for other people's versions of family 'myths'. A fragment of a story about an incident in my early childhood resurfaced so I asked my Mother about it today, only to discover a very fundamental piece of my own psychological jigsaw puzzle and personal mythology. It is no less a mystery how someone so seemingly insignificant can have such an impact on a life.

Mrs Kelly was a poor 'crazy' woman who lived opposite me in the early 60s in York when I was 4 years old. She had come from a very talented but seemingly 'unhinged' family - her brother had committed suicide and she herself was carted off regularly to Graylands Psychiatric Hospital for E.C.T (electro-convulsive treatment or 'shock therapy'). As was befitting of her status as a 'good' Catholic of the time she had 6 children, one of whom was about my age.

My Mother says I was absolutely fascinated with this family, I was the only one who wanted to play with Royce. I would climb the fence to get there. Mrs Kelly was a virtuoso on the piano and my Mother thought that perhaps that was the source of my interest. The whole neighbourhood could hear her play - when the music was soft and controlled, Mrs Kelly's mental state was stable, but when she played like a demon, she was truly possessed.

Close to our home there was a suspension bridge that straddled the Avon River. It flooded in winter and on one of these occasions Mrs Kelly had taken me there. Apparently she was trying to get me to cross the flooded bridge, which was underwater at its central point. She had urged and threatened me and I had obeyed. I don't know who rescued me, but my Mother says that if I hadn't been such a well co-ordinated and athletic child she thinks I would have been swept away and drowned by the river. She says I was absolutely drenched when she found me.

Life is myth and my personal life-myth has been dogged by dreams of drowning in various visual configurations - dream, after dream and mental images that have made surfing and sailing quite challenging activities. It is easy to see where these images may have originated.

But in psychological terms there is a greater, deeper myth-meaning - an attraction to the 'dark side' of human nature and Nature herself, the fear of being swept away by the Unconscious (my wariness of 'rips' when surfing), an innate fascination for the Terrible Mother archetype that is symbolised by bodies of water, the sea and the Unconscious. Although it didn't need to, this confirms my life's mission and vindicates the choices I have made, often against my own will, in following an image.

I can't express what a revelation this is. It completes a circle.