I’m going to say this, because frankly, I’m fed up with the romantic notion that growing up in the 1970s was some magical, perfect even, experience of childhood. Highlighted by the regular social media posts (primarily Facebook as the demographic means more of us oldies favour it) telling us so.

What I am not saying is that growing up back then was all bad, it definitely wasn’t, but it’s too easy to see the best bits through rose tinted specs, and overlook the reality of childhood tinged for many of us by ongoing political unrest, food and fuel shortages, power cuts, poverty, neglect, abuse even. Set against a background of toxic parenting, keeping up appearances, brushing stuff under the carpet and hiding devastating truths.

I understand that childhood nowadays is very different. And whether children’s exposure to infinite technology is healthy is debatable. My vivid imagination can be attributed to long hours as a child trying to amuse myself. Rarely did I ever play with others, my parents were way too busy or tired. My brother had no interest in babyish girl’s play and I wasn’t socialised with other children before going to school. As I got older I relied on that imagination to write poems, and stories. My ticket to a world where I could be whatever I wanted. And wasn’t sad.

I was, without doubt, suffering from depression as a child, but such things just weren’t recognised then. I had excruciating separation anxiety and school phobia when it came time to start school. Resulting in vomiting, nosebleeds and ultimately an episode of selective mutism. I believe I also experienced generalised anxiety and that there is every likelihood that I’m on the autistic spectrum, but I just struggled on, because autism, along with ADHD, dyslexia and all manner of developmental, behavioural and learning issues “didn’t exist in my day”! I’ve heard people say it so many times. Usually quoting their own toxic parents or teachers that, “a clip round the ear would’ve sorted them out!” Well, surprise, surprise, those conditions absolutely did exist, and many of those children were labelled as disruptive, and dumped in a remedial class. But, oh my goodness, wasn’t growing up in the 70s a joy?!

You could actually get an appointment with your doctor in the 1970s. Face to face and everything. However you first needed to convince your parents that you were actually ill. An orange flavoured Disprin or a glass of radioactive Lucozade fixed most ailments. As a teen I had a perforated ear drum that bled for two hours, while I was in agony, until I fainted. I believe I was begrudgingly booked for a routine appointment the following day. Also as a teenager I burned my leg on the exhaust pipe of my brother’s motorcycle. Only when it was blistered and festering with impetigo five days later, and my tutor at school forbid me to return until I’d seen a doctor did my mother concede and make an appointment. Heaven forbid we should waste the doctor’s time! I think my late husband’s experience with a broken ankle and being denied a trip to A&E for 24 hours probably epitomises our generation of parents and their attitude to medical care for their offspring. Probably that example is made radically worse by the fact his parents were social workers in childcare.

There were so many examples of unequivocal neglect, and harsh physical punishment. You can argue that our parents knew no better. Or were the product of their own toxic parents, but it doesn’t alter the fact that many of my age have had to undo what was drilled into us as children. I’m of the generation where if I don’t have something sweet to finish my evening meal I feel like I’m being punished. Pudding was for good children who ate all their mains. Unsurprisingly I struggle with my weight! If you didn’t eat your main, you went hungry. And if you were particularly unlucky, the meal you didn’t eat would be offered to you on subsequent days. Standing over children, forcing them to eat wasn’t unheard of. And no one ever suggested that might be wrong. Might be abusive. It’s just how it was.

I feel like our goal in the 70s was to not to make a fuss. Keep your head down. Succeed educationally despite the one-size-fits-all approach of schools. Don’t be different. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Unfortunately many of us felt like we didn’t have a voice. We grew up in a world of comparisons and measuring up, where we learned the painful lesson that we weren’t good enough, and despite our best efforts, we never would be.

And I am going to push my point further about the 70s not being all it was cracked up to be. Let’s not forget our role models were the likes of Jimmy Savile, Rolf Harris and Gary Glitter. They were able to prey on children because they were famous and lived to an extent in a protective bubble. Those who sexually abused the rest of us kids got away with it because they were family, friends, or trusted adults in authority. We, as child victims were silenced. We were told, “I can’t believe that!” “You shouldn’t say such wicked things about X” “I told you not to play round there” and my particular favourite, “That’s how girls get to learn about growing up and sex!” Dirty little secrets of abuse were buried for decades. I’m not necessarily saying more children were abused when I was young, but it certainly wasn’t talked about. Everything was brushed under the carpet. Played down. Children were not helped or protected then. I remember disclosing to a teacher at school to be told she had called me in to discuss my erratic grades, not those kinds of things. I believed she had an obligation to flag it up. Silly me.

Yet all that bike riding, playing in the woods and games of bulldog clearly compensated for the damaged childhood I experienced. Many experienced. It would be unfair to say I don’t have happy memories of childhood, I do. But let’s not weave a pretence of a magical age where children had freedoms not extended to youngsters nowadays. I remember Esther Rantzen launching Childline in the 80s. Because prior to that adults could hurt, neglect and abuse children without consequence because kids had no voice. Give me a society that values children as individuals and protects their rights any day. The verdict’s still out on excessive screen time.