Alopecia: two stories

THE WATERHOUSE GIRL was the first story I wrote with a view to publication about ten years ago. I sent it to Michael Morpurgo, who rang me to tell me that it had moved him and that it was “beautifully written.” He placed it into the hands of his editor at Harper Collins, strongly recommending it, but although she agreed with his verdict she turned it down. A big, bright bubble burst! And that’s when I gave up, for a while, on being an author.

But the story didn’t end there, and if publication in 2009 is an end to the story it’s a very different one from anything I could have imagined then - because if THE WATERHOUSE GIRL had been accepted at that time in my life, it would have been published under a pseudonym. I would have been desperate to preserve my secret! Daisy Waterhouse is a girl with alopecia – total hair loss – and she’s brave, generous and funny even though her life becomes very difficult, especially at school. I based it on my own experience of losing all my hair 28 years ago, and when I wrote it I was hiding fearfully under a wig. I lacked Daisy’s courage. And once I realised it was never going to grow back, I expected to continue hiding fearfully for the rest of my life.

Alopecia is not an illness and sufferers are often acutely aware that they are not cancer patients enduring chemotherapy. But it’s a hard thing to live with, because ours is an image-conscious society which judges people by appearance. Hair is big business but for most women it’s also a big deal, emotionally and psychologically. I used to look in the mirror and see myself as alien, a freak, a baby, unattractive and unfeminine. And the other me, the one in the good wig, felt like an impostor, and almost equally vulnerable – because any day, any time, my fraud could be exposed.

The novel is broader and deeper now, with more humour, eco-activism, an older boy for Daisy to adore, and a whale! But it carries the words, “BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN” Michael Morpurgo on the front cover, and two photos on the back, of the author with and without a wig. I’m a little braver these days, and prepared to talk openly in schools and bookshops about my baldness. Walking through Berkhamsted bareheaded during the summer felt liberating after all the tears, anxiety (about wind, rain and discovery) and the years of damaged self-esteem. I won’t pretend the first time was easy, or the second or third either, but it’s a step I was ready and determined to take and I’m glad I did. After all, I should be old enough now not to care what people might think, and to find the strength, with the support of those who love me, to be myself. Since all my stories are about courage and our right as individuals to be different (often a hard thing for young people to be) it’s about time I walked the walk.

Sue Hampton:suehampton@btinternet.com