PERSPECTIVE UKNORTH

 

People and their profiles: dukes, archbishops, actors, writers, monks, oddbods, the garish, the gregarious - here they are in single file, chosen by chance, by inclination, or by necessity ... and all reflecting, one hopes, the essential, but indefinable, spark that makes one human being interesting to many. Geoffrey Mather

Back to Page One

 

Children off the hill

Michael Deakin, of Yorkshire Television, wrote a book called The Children on the Hill in which he described an extraordinary family.

They had been the subject of his TV documentary and the children were: Christian, 12, with A-levels in science and mathematics; Adam, 9, who had won a national piano-playing contest open to children up to the age of 18; Ruth, 7, who painted "dazzling" pictures; and Paul, 5, who wrote out his sums in computer language (Foltran).

The parents had met at Rome University.

I had seen the documentary, in 1972, and, some years later, decided to track down the family. With four geniuses around, the task did not, at first, seem difficult.

I began by phoning the author and got little help. This did not surprise me. The book had stated at the outset: "Publisher and author agree that it would be unforgivable to publish this story if, as a result, the family's privacy was invaded and Maria, Martin and the children were disturbed in any way. Names have, therefore, been changed, and they have undertaken not to betray the
family's identity or whereabouts to anyone."

Towards the end of the book there was a further discouraging note:

"Professional interest took an exceptional time to die down. Even now the occasional journalist rings up to ask rather wistfully to be allowed to do a follow-up or simply for Maria's address. They have been put off as tactfully as possible..."

However, using whatever clues the book offered I began the search. I phoned schools, universities, people knowledgeable in the children's specialist subjects. And after a time I had the phone number which brought the mother to the phone. She. was living on the outskirts of a large city.

I had not anticipated the terror the call induced.

She was practically incoherent. I must not publish a word. I must not see the children. Their lives had been affected by the previous publicity. She would do anything to avoid a recurrence. She wished to speak to the editor immediately. She would plead with him in person. I was in a dilemma. I had searched without informing anyone else. It was plain from her attitude that no-one had interviewed her or her family since the original book. I had a remarkable exclusive.

Her anguish was so marked that I could not possibly have added to it. I made my decision in seconds."Don't worry," I said. I will not come near you. Nothing will be published." "You are sure?" she said. "Can I believe you?"

She could. She did. I put away the file.

Possibly what 1 did was bad journalistic practice, but it was probably good human practice. And in the long run of time, it matters not a jot.

 

 

 

Geoffrey Mather © 2004

4 March, 2007