Childhood reminiscences: the case of a 20th century writer and The first narrative narrative of Medardo Fraile, one of the masters of the golden age of contemporary Spanish history, emerged at the age of five. The early age of his writing leads us to investigate the events that accompanied his childhood and which could reawaken in him the need to create. Reading his narrative work, linked to his biography, as well as some of his numerous articles, confirms the effect that the absence of his mother, who died months before the appearance of that first story, had on Medardo Fraile as a child. In the article “Chronicle of me and my environment” the writer says: “Until the age of five, my life was conditioned by the illness of my mother, who died at thirty-three from rheumatic heart disease when I was five” ( 70).In his novel Autobiography we find this same fact transformed into fiction: when he reached the portal he let go and jumped up the stairs. The door was ajar. He pushed her and ran into the bedroom to kiss his mother. He opened the door and saw the empty room and the wide open balcony and, in a corner, a pile of wool. Someone took him into the dining room, while the kiss he was in a hurry to give, after having saved so many days, knotted in disbelief in his body , in the void, in the air. (236-37) The feelings of absence and loneliness produced in the very young Medardo Fraile by the death of his mother decisively influence the development of his profession, first in Spain, and then, starting from 1964, in the United Kingdom, where he lives the present. In “The Interest of Psychoanalysis in Aesthetics” (1913) Freud reminds us that there is a connection between childhood impressions and the fate of the artist and his works, as reactions to such impulses. The death of Medardo Fraile's mother constitutes a crucial, albeit still early, moment in the development of his writing, in the awakening of his creative mind. In “More than a hundred stories in search of the author” the writer describes that initial moment of narrative fiction: The first story I remember – and if I remember it it will be for a reason – I put it together in Madrid, orally. , at the age of five, in a bank on Princess Street. My mother had died months earlier and I lived in our house with my mostly absent father and my godmother. That day I left school needing a handkerchief, I don't know why..