In the years when we have learned so much more about paedophilia I get a little wary of talking about childhood innocence. In much the same way as I would never immediately go to a child’s side if they were crying in the street or appeared lost because of how it may be construed, I have come to see many things we thought were adults being natural are anything but and talking about the innocence or children has become a shorthand for vulnerable and attractive.
But when I look back at my own childhood it isn’t innocence that springs to mind but freedom. My days were my own and even school didn’t seem too much until I reached about eleven. Until then the world was a place of endless simplicity, cosseted by my mother and my wider family, rarely bullied there were no worries but for those I shared of my mother’s.
A friend of mine at school told me once the reason we all think they are the best years of our lives is because in time we forget all the awful things that went on. I agreed with him and have never forgotten how appalling school was after fourteen, but even there the worries are insignificant compared to the adult world.
The adult world drives us to sanctuaries. We have gotten things the wrong way round.