"Mummy, I don't want to die": how the British middle-class deals with children's fears

Dora had her sixth birthday last week. Even if I say so myself, we gave her a jolly day - pink as far as the eye could see, a pair of ruby slippers like Dorothy's, a cake covered in Fruit Pastilles, and no bedtime teeth-cleaning, to boot. That night, when I put her to bed, I was fairly confident of a cheerful smile and a "Thanks for all the sucrose, Ma."

Instead, I got: "Mummy." Pause. "I don't want to die." Read more