The Times Magazine 9Spinal column Melanie Reid
‘When my world imploded, my siblings
saved me. How I wish I could see them now’
have a black and white
picture of my brother and
sister and me, very early
Sixties. The family had
stopped by the roadside
for a picnic, which is
basically how the Reids
spent every weekend.
Andrew and Lindsay are sitting
on a hay bale and I’m on
Andrew’s knee, with his
protective arm around me.
They’re 17 and 15; I’m 4. They
look fabulously cool and stylish.
He’s in trousers and a shirt; she’s
all blonde hair and legs, the wind
catching her frock. We’re looking
a bit wistful, like a still from a
Tom Ford movie.
That picture was special to
me. I squirrelled it away and
long after Andrew and
Lindsay had left home
I used to show it to my
friends, who’d never met
them. “That’s my big brother
and sister.” As if they were
mythical.
That’s the peril of being
the baby of the family. Your
siblings go away to university
(both of them were gone by the
time I was five) and leave you as
an only child. I missed so much;
what memories I had of us
together in the beginning took
on a precious weight. I grew up
hero-worshipping my brother
and sister, yearning for them to
return, but it didn’t happen too
often. My father was very hard on
them, and soon they moved
abroad permanently.
They were unquestionably
my biggest influencers: benign,
generous gods descending at
Christmas, unfailingly kind to
their little sister. I never felt
warmer, happier or safer than
when they were at home. I copied
their hobbies, devoured theirbooks, wore the clothes they left
behind, played their records, took
their advice on Big Things like
contraception (do) and drugs
(don’t), and devoted at least ten
years to unsuccessfully trying to
turn myself into a clone of
Lindsay, by then in Paris and
model-girl gorgeous.
Maybe family bonds become
extra special if oceans separate
you. As soon as I could, I went to
see them. Most of my holidays,
for most of my life, from student
days onwards, have been with
them in either America or France,
making up for lost time. (What
a freeloader I must have been...)
We reached the stage where
we sent our children on exchangevisits. I cared for our parents when
they failed, and then Andrew and
Lindsay came to stay with me,
coordinating so the three of us
were together. After the old
folks died, this annual reunion
continued, the highlight of my
year, and I got a chance to start
repaying decades of hospitality.
Those were wonderful, fleeting
weeks, a time to be captured on
camera together again.
My last holiday abroad,
18 months before my accident,
was when Dave, Dougie and
I spent a month with Andrew
and his family in the Pacific
Northwest, finally to see their
island home. How glad I am that
MURDO MACLEOD I made that trip, because after a
I
disaster the list of the things you
should have seen and done weighs
on you for the rest of your life.
When my world imploded,
my siblings were devastated.
They came as fast as they could.
Lindsay arrived at the hospital
within 36 hours, although, heavily
doped, I was unaware she was
there. She sat with me for days,
talking to me, holding my hand.
Later, on frequent visits, as she
massaged my legs, her relentless
positivity about my injuries was
a big factor in my recovery.
Brutally, Andrew was delayed
a month by the Icelandic volcano
which grounded transatlantic
flights. When he arrived, he too
was immense, supporting Dave,
busying himself in practical
support. I was indescribably
comforted: my big brother and
sister, giants in my life, were
there to protect me again. That’s
when family love, unspoken, is
so powerful. How lucky I felt
to have them unconditionally
in my corner.
In the time since my accident,
annual reunions here in my wild
little patch of Scotland have
continued. Andrew comes for
weeks and builds and fixes things.
Lindsay flits in and out, fixing
heads. Sometimes nieces and
nephews come too. The visits are
the highlight of my year (until this
one, sadly; roll on, autumn 2021).
And always, when the three of
us are together, we make a special
pilgrimage to celebrate the spirit
of those long-ago family holidays,
those roadside picnics. We drive
to the seaside, buy fish and chips,
and sit watching the waves. n@Mel_ReidTimes
Melanie Reid is tetraplegic after
breaking her neck and back in
a riding accident in April 2010Below: Melanie, left,
with her brother,
Andrew, and sister,
Lindsay, in 1961