I attended the same senior school as Marion Ecob-Prince. She and her brother were born in the same week as me, in the same nursing home and we were all involved in a baby mix-up.
At feeding time my mother was presented with a handsome, lusty baby – who turned out to be Marion. Marion’s mother, Anne, was tending to her twin brother, so was unaware that she had been given a rather less prepossessing specimen. Maternal instincts overrode my mother’s admiration for Marion, and she handed her to the nearest nurse and rushed to see to whom I had been given.
The matron was eventually able to soothe my distraught mother, but my siblings sometimes commented that school reports might have been rather more glowing had she hung on to Marion.
