Postcards from the edge

I received a small parcel in the post today. It contained 48 postcards of a pen and ink portrait of a girl with a lopsided smile and coin-like nostrils. She is wearing a stripy dress adorned with what look like rosettes and stars. The artist is my eight-year-old daughter Laila and the card has been printed by the charity, Cancer Research.

About six months ago, the charity approached a number of schools in London to participate in an art competition. The children were asked to submit pictures entitled, "I wish. . ." Of the 60,000 submissions just under 600 were selected for display at the Royal College of Art. Laila was one of the lucky entrants whose work was exhibited.

So on the day my husband, son and I marched proudly off to the RCA. The quality of work on view was astounding. Grouped in three sections according to age, the entries displayed not only imagination and wit but an amazing grasp of composition, colour, line and perspective. They also showed a high level of awareness. "I wish the world wasn't getting warmer," read one entry by a 5-7 year-old. Underneath was a picture of a very sweaty boy standing under a blazing sun. Another had wished for an end to the war in Iraq. His picture showed an exploding bomb and bodies flying through the air. But the ones that really caught my eye were the quirkier ones. There was a picture of a girl surrounded by golden trophies who had wished that she was "good at something". Anything! And then there was a forlorn looking girl sitting by herself on a grey wall. Behind her reared up another grey wall, dwarfing her completely. In tiny spidery handwriting she had written at the top of her picture, "I wish I had a friend."

And as for my own darling child who had drawn the smiling girl in a stripy dress -- she'd wished for a sister. Or so I thought, until my husband drew my attention to the caption again. When I re-read it I realised it said something entirely different: "I wish to have a sister."

On the way home, I informed her very gently that as far as my reproductive days were concerned, her younger brother was not a comma but a full stop. "Oh well," she replied unwrapping a chocolate bar, "it was worth a try!"