She had given birth to a water baby who really had no idea why she sank in water and ducks didn't.
Honest! It lasted years, and got me into all sorts of trouble, well, deep waters actually.
My mother had to employ reins on me because of this habitual addiction to the water.
She had spare sets of clothes with her at all times and the parks where there was a duck pond necessitated a spare coat and full change of clothing to be stashed with the park keeper.
It was simple, I saw water, I aimed for water, I entered water, I swam away. Yes, I swam from a time way before I could walk, a real headache for any mother.
Reins were essential, they curbed the automatic responses of her errant daughter, but not on the beach.
So, let me tell you of her fun with me, the sea and her swimwear.
My mother's aunts and uncles lived in Barry, South Wales. During the war, this is where my mother was evacuated and Aunt Em became her real mum. So it was little surprise that my holidays were spent with Aunt Em too.
The beach there is both beautiful white sand and the highest tides with tide races to match. To me, that meant nothing, to my mother, it was a big worry.
Three small images exist which tickle me when I recall them. Let me describe them and I will fill in the details a photo could never portray. No doubt you'll be horrified as were most mother's on the beach but this was me, honest.
The first image is of a baby, wearing daffodil yellow swimming bottoms in crawling position, lifting one arm forward and looking in that direction. She has curly, blonde hair and a tanned body. She isn't plump like most modern babies, this one is lean and, it appears, developing good muscles.
Image two is of this baby now high speed crawling as she scoots her way toward the sea with an ever watchful mother attempting to get into her swimwear. There is an air of speed around mother too as she is fighting the top half of herself into the cossie whilst watching and shouting to her daughter. I know what she's shouting,
"JOSEPHINE! Wait for me!"
This, I suspect would have fallen on deaf ears.
The third a final image is of my mother running into the surf and reaching down to grab the back of the daffodil yellow trunks as her daughter is engulfed by the waves.
A mother's nightmare and greatest fear, the thought of her daughter drowning.
My mother didn't exactly fear for my safety, she knew she'd grab me even if her top half was still overflowing the cossie. What her real worry was, she knew this only excited me more and my desire to tumble in the surf was growing stronger as I grew older.
She told me afterwards how other mothers would tut and shake their heads; that child should be kept safe in a pram, they'd say at my mother......I'd already worked out how to tip that up and crawl off, so no hope there.
My mother was considered a dreadful woman and an even worse mother. What they didn't understand was, I was a difficult child in so much as when I made up my mind to get into the water, it happened one way or another, and where water was concerned, it was easier just to go with it.
It seems she would stay in the water with me and let me be rolled around by the waves as they broke on shore watching me all the time. Somewhere I remember seeing a picture of my mother standing over me as I rolled around is the sea.
If it looked as though I wasn't able to come up to breathe, she'd pull me up, and I would be giggling and kicking, itching to do it again.
Even at that age, I held my breath very well it appears.
My obsession with water grew and by eight I was competing for my school and a swimming club I'd joined.
By ten, I was winning big races and being picked for county level.
My love and fascination for the water has never died, and even now I can't think of anything more exciting than being tossed around like a rag doll in the surf.
My sense of self preservation has developed however, and I know my mother's arm will no longer lift me out when the going gets tough.
These days I prefer what's under the waves, snorkel and flippers adorn me now.
Funnily enough, I still wear a brilliant daffodil yellow T-shirt over my cossie if I snorkel; it means my position will be seen by surfers and pedillos which might be around.