Firstly, I must say that I really like babies and children in general. I love their innocence and the candid way they look at you, and suss you out, before they react. What joy when they like you and how disappointing when they don’t (and you mustn’t expect or press too hard for a good response). But however much I may love babies I certainly can’t stick their screaming in supermarkets – the shrill notes go right through me – and not just me and other shoppers; they must be the bane of many a shop-assistant’s life.

Recently I read on Facebook of a grandmother’s experience when her grandchild played up at the checkout while she, herself, was dealing with the cashier. Evidently, the guardian granny was extremely angry when the lady behind her tried to cajole the child and she even swore at the woman for touching the tot. Well, reading this I wondered what I would have done had I been in the same position as the lady behind the screaming baby. It’s quite likely that I, too, would have beseeched the screamer to stop. I might even have squeezed a toe to distract the child from her antics… or perhaps not, I can’t be sure but I could imagine doing so. I have definitely touched the arm or hand of a charming unknown child before now.

Last Saturday, whilst shopping at Trago Mills (one of my favourites stores) I found myself in a not dissimilar situation. One moment I was happily, and peacefully, looking at head-bands for baby girls… and then… suddenly, my ears were assailed by a terrible high-pitched screaming. With a finger in each ear I looked down into a pram at the young perpetrator – he was a blond, curly haired little angel with pink cheeks and red lips. I was about to complain about the terrible noise when the pretty mother got in first… 

“Sorry about Phillip, he’s normally a good boy,” she said holding her own ears. 

Phillip continued to scream.

“Calm down now and stop screaming,” she said firmly.

He howled.

“Oh what a gorgeous boy you are!” I said, turning from the mother to the vexed baby.

Young Phillip stopped screaming immediately and looked at me transfixed.

“He likes you!” she enthused.

“And what beautiful hair you have! Like an angel!” I continued with the compliments because he was really was that beautiful and also because he seemed to love them so much. It was calming.

“He had open-heart surgery not long ago and he’s still getting over it,” added his mum.

I was so glad that I’d taken the soft approach on this occasion.

There was another occasion a few years ago when I was in Tesco’s… I heard him long before I saw him. He was a dark-haired “Dennis the Menace” aged about three or four, too big for the trolley seat and therefore stood in the back of the shopping trolley, screaming his head off. Indeed, so awful and embarrassing was he that his mother or father had disowned him and gone off to shop in some other aisle (or store perhaps). 

“Good,” I thought as I rounded the corner and saw Dennis alone, screaming at the top of his voice. I walked up to him calmly, bent my head close to his ear and gave him my best theatrical whisper:

“Shut up!”

Dennis stopped and looked nonplussed. Obviously no-one had ever told him to shut up until then. And while his mouth was still open with surprise a little old lady came zooming up the aisle from the opposite end and bent her head close to his other ear:

“Yeah, shut up!”

A double whammy. We ladies did a “thumbs up” and continued our shopping in peace.