Recollections of My Life

My very first memory was the birth of my baby sister. We waited in the street, and were given drinks from the neighbour. It seemed like hours and hours later, someone came and said "you can go indoors now. Your baby sister is here and, if you are very quiet, you may see her and your Mum."

I was very surprised, and wondered why Mum was in bed (I was a very innocent child and I hadn’t even known we were going to have another baby). Her name was Patricia, unfortunately she died when she was 10 months old. Her disappearance was as shrouded in mystery as her birth. When I was much older I was told that she had died of pneumonia. Of course, childbirth and death were forbidden subjects for children. I and my younger brother and sister were not allowed to go to the funeral; in fact we knew nothing about it as we were sent to a neighbour for the day, and it was never discussed at all. As far as I knew she had just gone.

My second clear memory happened a little later (we were still living in Edmonton). I was always very interested in sewing and the local dressmaker, her name was Ivy, took me under her wing; and each Saturday she would take me to her place of work. I remember it as being a room in a house in which she had a sewing machine (a treadle), ironing board and a dressmaker’s dummy. She taught me how to sew on buttons, make buttonholes (quite an art), oversew the edges of seams. Occasionally I would be allowed to press the seams open, flattening them. I was over the moon when I received my wages, usually in the region of threepence or sixpence, old money of course. Nowadays the equivalent of I suppose 1p and 3p.

Ivy made my eldest sister’s wedding gown, and my young sister and I were bridesmaids. We were so excited as we also had new shoes (white bar shoes) and hand-crochet socks. Our dresses were a very pretty blue with flowers on. Needless to say they became our very best clothes for as long as they lasted. I don’t remember very much about the party afterwards, only that our front room had lots of people in it. We children were delegated to the garden after, of course, changing our clothes.

I have a very happy memory of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth and King George VI (our present Queen Mother). I thought she was very beautiful. I remember it was a sunshiny day and we had a street party. My Mum made myself and young sister red, white and blue dresses out of crepe paper, we felt like princesses ourselves. Our little brother was dressed up, also. It was a very happy day. I suppose we had a spread (food) but that part has faded from my memory, my recollections are all of people laughing, dancing and playing silly games. It was a wonderful day.

I remember my elder brother joining the Territorials and the terrific row when my Dad found out. (His memory of the Great War was always with him.) My Dad was captured by the Poles and ended up in a camp where he was beaten with rifle butts repeatedly. Consequently, he suffered for the rest of his life with terrific headaches and became a severe alcoholic. He had a very quick temper, but he was never feared by us or my Mother. He was in fact a very nice man, humorous and charming, also excellent company in or out of drink. All the grandchildren who knew him have very good memories of him.

My mother was also a wonderful person, I loved her very much. She was always very supportive towards my Father, and she had a great deal to contend with. For example, my Father often spent nearly all his wages on drink, but there was always a little left. My Mother augmented the family income by taking in other people’s washing and ironing. I remember coming home from school and turning the handle of, what seemed to me then, an extremely large wringer with huge wooden rollers. I used to think that if I wasn’t careful it would eat my hands and arms.

In the war I remember my Mum would cook the most wonderful stews, always different in taste because they were always made with whatever was available at the time. She also made delicious shepherd’s pie, which we always had with baked beans. And the times she baked an apple tart I would think I was in heaven, she made excellent pastry. We were very fortunate kids in having caring parents.

Back to the war years. After the doodlebugs, which we called V1s, came V2s. These were airborne missiles which were silent in their approach, one would be suddenly deafened by an unbelievably loud explosion. The blasts which followed were devastating to the participants and the fear and horror felt by all lived with us day and night. My Father became an Air Raid Warden. These were very brave men. They helped people to the shelters in the dark, as everything was in complete darkness (known as the Blackout). The Wardens’ helmets were sort of pie-shaped with very wide brims which could prove to be quite lethal if one happened to bump into a person wearing one. The wide brims could inflict nasty injuries, especially to the face. My Father came home one morning, after a bad night, with a very nasty injury on his forehead where someone had accidentally run into him.

After the First World War, when my Father returned home he finally managed to get a job as a conductor on the horse buses. He really loved this work as it was outdoors and he met many people. They often took their customers from door to door; and sometimes, when the fogs were so thick, the horses would lose their way so that he would be stuck out all night. He worked at Chalk Farm garage, he did the job for 40-odd years and was at that time the longest-serving conductor. When we moved to Edmonton he would walk to Chalk Farm and then walk home again. I remember his hands, in the cold weather they would become extremely cracked and sore; handling the copper coins certainly didn’t help matters, and the cracks would often go septic. Also, he suffered a lot of boils. He couldn’t wear gloves, consequently we used to knit him mittens with very short fingerholes. Even very young children were taught to knit, which is probably why I dislike knitting now. The mittens were difficult to knit as they were knitted in the round: one used 4 knitting needles, 3 with stitches on, and one needle to knit with.

Growing up was exciting, and in many ways fun. The boys learned to smoke and drink, the girls learned to dance, the Jitterbug being one of the favourites. Ballroom dancing gave us all terrific satisfaction, such dances as the Waltz, Foxtrot, Quickstep and, my own favourite, the Tango. We were very proud of our prowess at the various dances.

The Yanks were good fun to be with and appeared to us to be well off fellows (I guess they were better paid than our own forces). But my fella was in the English Navy, so the Yanks, to me, were young men good for an evening’s dancing (they were so very good at the Jitterbug).

In due time my Sailor came home. He served on the Ark Royal and sailed right round the World. We got engaged and saved hard for our marriage. We were introduced in our prams so we had grown up in the same street. He later moved around the corner. We didn’t attend the same schools as he was a Roman Catholic and we were Church of England. Religion was our first hurdle: there was as much prejudice then between religions as there exists today over colour and Jewish and other factions.

I guess I was a very difficult child for my parents to understand as I was more than once accused of having religious mania. I suppose I was a bit prissy, but even as a little girl I remember saying prayers to all sorts of holy people (or people I thought of as holy). I tried lots of different faiths as I grew older, I even went to a couple of spiritualist meetings; so even before we got engaged I became close to God in the Catholic religion, but I didn’t start going to mass until after I met Peter’s sister and started to see Peter on a regular basis. So in the end we were in agreement about religion. My Parents expressed their disapproval and my brothers and sisters were at times quite vociferous, but they had grown up with Holy Jean so, in the end, it was all accepted. Mind you, no one in my Family came to my Reception service. This was conducted in the big Catholic cathedral in Westminster. The great feelings of peace, love and the quietness; also the acceptance that at last I had found the reason for my life is something that I shall never forget, and I daily thank God for his goodness for giving me such a wonderful life.

Now I could plan my wedding. My savings were now sufficient that I was able to modestly furnish a flat we found in a place very near our homes. It was called Camden Square: big town houses originally, now the different floors were let to individual tenants. The toilets were shared, usually by two families, as there were 2 toilets and 4 floors, a family on each floor. The basement was also let out as a flat, their loo was in the garden. We paid 10 shillings and sixpence (53 pence today) weekly rent. Our first child was born there, a girl weighing 5½lb. We named her Nicola.

Our wedding was what was classed in those days as quite an elaborate affair (although now it would be considered to be very modest). It was, of course, a "white wedding". We had about 70 guests, mainly family, and a few friends. The wedding day started very dull and wet and we arrived at the church for a 10 o’clock ceremony. The Parish Priest was an awkward person and refused to marry us unless we were prepared to be wed at 8 o’clock in the morning. My family, not being Catholics or involved in the faith in any way, would have been horrified. So we did take things into our own hands and immediately went to the priory at Highgate, and a priest there very kindly said he would come and perform the ceremony for us at 10 o’clock (that news was hard enough for my parents to accept).

We had a nuptial mass and afterwards we had a civil ceremony conducted by the Registrar (it was the law in those days). Finally we were pronounced Man and Wife and, after church photographs, we went to the local posh restaurant called Beale’s Restaurant, Holloway Road, at 11:30am to 4pm. I took my flowers to the local convent where the nuns were very touched and put them on the altar.

We had a week’s honeymoon in a place called Ilfracombe. Then we returned to our flat and started our new lives together in earnest, with the great intention of living our lives together for always; and here we are still together 50 years later. Our faith has helped keep our love and respect for each other. Of course, we had our bad patches and unpleasant experiences, but we always managed to live and let live (faith again).

We had 5 natural children, 3 girls and 2 boys. We also adopted a baby boy, and he has proved to be a real joy. We also fostered several children, older ones and younger ones. Also a foster child who was partially sighted and disfigured by having a hair lip and a cleft palate. She was also very backward and awkward in her movements. But with hard work she has developed into a very acceptable person. She went to work and eventually she married a blind man and they appear to be very compatible.

We now have 12 grandchildren and one great grandchild. We have run the gamut of emotions (you name it and we have experienced it). We are blessed with the most wonderful children and grandchildren, they are all individuals, but all are marvellous people. We have never been the recipients of great wealth as far as money goes, but the love, affection and caring of our children towards us is, in this modern world, almost unbelievable. We have indeed been blessed and I thank God every day for my life.

Life as we have known and lived for the past 74 years is now taking another turn, the final chapter. Our time together has been lived to the very fullest. Now my husband, always a rock of strength and strong character, has become extremely ill. Over the past few weeks I have seen him fading before my eyes, he is becoming completely dependent on others. Once again our children are all here supporting me and showing much love and helpfulness.

I expect the reader will by now have deduced his illness is cancer of the lung. He smoked heavily when he was a young man, until there came a time in our married life when money was at a premium, and he said "right, I’ll give it up"; and true to his vow he never smoked again. That was at least 20 years ago, a most heroic effort on his part.

The prognosis is very bad. We have had some wonderful cards and messages from friends, which are a great comfort; and my sister, who’s husband died a few years ago of cancer, has given me great encouragement (she phones me very often).

I will stop writing now. I know I have to be strong and caring for my children, especially when it is time for the final goodbye on this Earth.