Arthur Benoni Hubbard

My younger brother, Ben, was born about six weeks after my second birthday. I distinctly remember the indignation in my little mind when I had to give up my accustomed seat at the hood end of the pram to him, and be moved to sit at the handle end

 

Ben was two years younger than I. It was one of those sad cases of Mongolism which occur so inexplicably, and so often, in families where the other children are gifted above the average. His was not a very severe case, and he eventually learned to read and write quite respectably, but he was always very small and backward for his age, and was still scarcely more than a toddler by the time I was nine or ten. He was a happy, loveable little soul, though subject to appalling fits of obstinacy, during which no one could do anything with him except me. Most of my childhood seems to have been concerned with looking after him, and for many years I was the only one who could understand his stumbling speech. Later on, when I went to school, Mother found the sole care of him more than she could manage, and he was sent to be cared for and educated by some friends of the family, for despite all the pressure brought to bear upon them by the remainder of their families, my parents would never consider putting him into a home. Mother would never thereafter have him at home except during my school holidays.

 

And from further notes ….

Ben was a Mongol, but a very “High-grade” one. I spent a great deal of my childhood in looking after him and eventually taught him to read and write. When I eventually went to boarding school at the age of 13, Mother could no longer cope with him, and they flatly refused to send him into an Institution. He was sent to live with the widow of a clergyman, and Mother would only have him home during my school holidays, so that I could look after him. He died at the age of 44.

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