HOME ON LEAVE, 1954
It was late in the evening by the time we got home to Romsey. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about the children’s first night in the UK. Granny L. had found a cot for Christopher and had made up a camp bed in my room for Patricia. I expect I bathed the children and tried to keep to their routine. According to a letter John received from Granny, Trish was not at her best. All things considered, I am not in the least surprised. The flight left a lot to be desired.
As the great grandmothers, who both lived in Bournemouth, were clamouring to see the children, we all moved to 27 Alyth Road, the home of Frances L Dickson, or GG, as we all called Great Granny Dickson. The house was a mother’s nightmare. There were glass-fronted cabinets full of antique china against every wall in every room. The polished parquet floors had beautiful antique rugs scattered about. Patricia, like all children, always ran and never walked, which made me very nervous. Christopher had not yet learned to crawl, so he was not a problem.
GG was a well-known antique ceramics and glass collector and was honorary curator of the Ceramic Department of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, where the Glaisher Collection was her main interest. Dr James Glaisher had been a Don at Cambridge University, the son of James Glaisher, a scientist whose record balloon ascent of 25,400 ft. in 1862 was not surpassed until 1894 and is mentioned in the Guinness Book of Records. Dr Glaisher was somewhat eccentric in that he had had rooms in the town, as well as his rooms in the college, full of his vast collection of ceramics of every variety. When he died in 1928 he left all his treasures to the Fitzwilliam Museum with the proviso that Mrs Dickson could have anything she wanted. They had been very good friends over the years and shared a great interest in all things antique. At the entrance to the Glaisher Gallery today, an enormous Martinware owl sleepily stands guard. He was made to the order of some businessmen in San Francisco, but was rejected as imperfect. A replacement was made and shipped out to the East Coast of America, only to be destroyed in the big earthquake.
GG was a great character, born in Kinsale, Southern Ireland, on August 4th. No one knows exactly what year as she could not, or would not remember. Birth records of the approximate time were destroyed in the “troubles” in Eire. She died in Bournemouth in 1967. She had two daughters, the elder of whom became Granny Lindesay.
GG was well known for, among other things, always wearing a red hat: a felt one in winter and a straw one in summer, which she repainted herself every spring. She put one on when she got up in the morning and wore it until she went to bed at night. GG lived with a housekeeper and her dachshund Puck, who was incredibly spoilt and very much adored by his owner. She drove a huge Daimler car, slowly, down the middle of the road, much to the consternation of other road users and the embarrassment of her passengers. It seems GG was under the impression that to drive in the middle of the road was better for the springs of the car! Actually, she was so small that she could not be seen through the rear window by anyone driving behind, which gave the impression that the driver’s seat was empty. On one occasion, much to the horror of her garage mechanic, she tried to stop a leak in the water system by pouring porridge oats into the radiator.
“Porridge in the radiator of a Daimler!” wept the garage man, who was appalled at the idea of clearing out the fine tubes that made up the Daimler cooling system.
Going to the cinema with GG was another embarrassment. She hated to climb stairs and always insisted on sitting downstairs, in the back row of the one and nines, where the lovers preferred to sit. She usually fell asleep and, on waking up, would demand, in a loud Irish voice, an explanation of the film so far, because she couldn’t understand it.
On other occasions I can remember being told to stand outside the gents and “keep them out” while she went in, because the ladies was upstairs. None of the family really minded her idiosyncrasies and loved her dearly. She was generous to a fault and so one hesitated to mention the need of anything. When I introduced Patricia and Christopher to her, the first thing she did was to take us down to Edwin Jones, her favourite shop, and kit them out with warmer clothes which were better suited to an English summer than those they wore in Aleppo.
I took them to see Great Grandmother Hill, who lived in Boscombe with their Great Aunt Joy. They too were thrilled to meet the first of the next generation of the family. Granny Hill lived in a flat above a railway line, which was a great fascination for the children, who were not at all familiar with steam trains.
My brother, Stephen, who was stationed at Larkhill, came to Abbotswood to meet his nephew and niece in his 1929 Morris Cowley Tourer, which he had purchased for four pounds ten shillings. Patricia called it his “broker car” because it had no roof. One morning he took Patricia downtown and bought her an ice-cream in a cone. She had not had ice cream before and complained bitterly that it was too cold. Uncle Stephen was a bit nonplussed by this, but offered to warm it up beside the engine of his car. She loved to ride in the “broker car,” especially in the back where she could see the road rushing by through the hole in the floor.
Naturally Granjo and Gramps were eagerly waiting their turn to meet Patricia and Christopher, so we decided that I would take them up to Scotland by train. I was a little nervous embarking on any journey alone after the experience of the flight home from Beirut, so it was decided that I would travel by night and have a sleeper. The children were very excited at the prospect of going in a train, at least Patricia was, and Christopher was excited at anything we did.
Granny L escorted me to London and helped me on to the train. I remember we were able to get on at least half an hour early, so I was able to put the children to bed, toe to toe at each end on the bottom bunk. We arrived in Dumfries very early in the morning and there was Gramps to meet us. I think the grandchildren and grandparents became friends at once. Gramps had a wonderful way with the young and was easily able to capture their interest. Granjo was happy to meet Patricia again and to have a good look at Christopher, as she had to leave Aleppo so soon after his arrival.
Glencaple was paradise for Patricia. The shore of the River Nith was a wonderful place to run and my father, known as Gampy, was always prepared to take her for a walk with Christopher in his pram. Glen, Stephen’s collie/Labrador cross, ran alongside playing his interminable game of dropping stones, to be kicked along the road for him to fetch and drop to be kicked again.
Old Glen took his duties of guarding the children very seriously. If Christopher was asleep in his pram out in the front of the house, no one was permitted to even peer at him. Even people he knew were warned off. It was wonderful the way he allowed the children to maul him about, considering he was not really used to children about the house.
Granjo had gone to a lot of trouble preparing a toy box for the children. It had once been full of baby bathing equipment that was used for my brother Stephen and me, when we were infants. Now it was filled with all sorts of interesting playthings. The box itself was on casters and could be pushed along making a lovely rattling noise, so it became nicknamed “Noisy.” Not long after we arrived in Glencaple, Patricia ran one of her temperatures. I thought that she was having another attack of tonsillitis, but Granjo wanted the doctor to see her. He diagnosed scarlatina and advised isolation and bed rest. This was a bit sad, as we had invited one or two friends, to celebrate Christopher’s first birthday, including Amanda Dobie, who had beat him into this world by three days. Patricia’s quarantine forced us to delay the celebrations.
The doctor arranged for Patricia to see an ENT specialist about her frequent attacks of tonsillitis. It was decided that, even though she was only two and three quarters, her tonsils were so enlarged and unhealthy that they were obviously holding her back and she would be better if they were taken out. I took her to Dumfries Infirmary, where I had to leave her. In the Middle East mothers were expected to be with their children while they were in hospital, so I felt awful leaving my little girl alone in such a place.
The operation went well and I collected her the next day. I swear she ate more for her first meal on her return home to Glencaple than she had eaten in a week before she had her tonsils out. She ate and grew so much it was a real relief to see her thriving so well. The doctors were absolutely right to risk operating, although she was so young.
It was time for John to come home at last. The children and I caught a sleeper to London and I managed to get them and the luggage to Winchester, where Granny L met us and took us back to Abbotswood. The next day we all drove up to London Airport to meet John. The children were so pleased to see Daddy and I suspect, judging by the enthusiastic greetings, that he was pleased to see them too.
At this time we decided that something had to be done about the sixth toe on Christopher’s left foot. We thought about the extra pocket money he could perhaps earn, letting other children see it. Then we remembered the problems we would encounter providing odd shoes all his life. The problems prevailed, and we took him up to Great Ormond Street Hospital and sat in a waiting room while they snipped the outside toe off. I think it would have been a neater job if the inside one had been removed, regardless of the metatarsal which showed up on the X-ray. However we were glad to have had it done before he learned to walk. Now we were able to buy his first shoes.
Granjo and Gramps had managed to borrow a holiday cottage in the village for us to live in on our own, which was clever of them. However much I loved my family and they loved us, it was a strain on all concerned when we stayed in other people’s homes. We went up to Scotland again and moved into Cot House. All went well for the first week and then I fell ill and the doctor diagnosed viral pneumonia. Granjo and Gramps were very busy, as the wildfowling season had begun. They had so many wildfowling guests staying that they were unable to help John look after the children.
John managed on his own for the first week, but we then learned that I could be ill for some time. A week later Granny L came up to help. Mrs O’Reilly, a friend of long standing, took me into her cottage, as it was difficult to keep the children away from me in Cot House and we did not want the children to catch the virus. The doctor visited me every day and once a week I was taken by ambulance to the infirmary for an X-ray. During this period Christopher took his first steps and he was quite good at it by the time I saw him again. It was difficult to stay out of their sight and John and the grandmothers did well to cope so well for so long. What a sad waste of our first leave.
Finally after eight weeks I recovered and was considered fit enough to travel south by train, which I did with the children. We had arranged for a Universal Aunt to meet me and to assist me transfer to Waterloo to catch the train for Winchester. Unfortunately she was an elderly lady and not up to carrying the cases and doing the things we had hoped she would. However, I managed and we caught the train and moved back to Romsey.
John drove our car, Penny, down south and we started to prepare for Christmas and for our departure for the Middle East again in late January.
On Dec 23rd Granjo and Gramps arrived to stay with us all for Christmas in Romsey. The children were getting very excited as the shops were much more Christmassy than in the Middle East. We all went to Alyth Road in Bournemouth for a wonderful Christmas dinner and lots of lovely presents. We returned to Romsey in the evening. On Boxing Day Reverend Sam Boothman christened Christopher at Braishfield Church. It was a real family affair and a great many of the family came to the service. A family tea party was held in the afternoon and Christopher and Patricia were introduced to a great many of the family.
After Christmas Granjo and Gramps went back to Scotland. John’s sister Mary and Aunt Joy, my mother’s sister, accompanied us on a visit to the Isle of Wight. The children enjoyed the trip on the ferry and clambering over the grounds of Carisbrook Castle.
Then the time came for us to pack our bags and take leave of the family and board a plane for Beirut again, for our next three year tour. We were on our way to Jeddah in Saudi Arabia.