Chapter One

 

IT WAS IN DECEMBER 1946, just a week before Christmas and I was travelling on the 10.50 am from Paddington, hoping to arrive at Stella’s for lunch. My mother had just passed away after a long and serious illness and I felt a sense of relief, if somewhat tinged with guilt as I sat there, listening to the rhythm of the train wheels as they chugged onwards, without a care. I wished then that six months or a year would pass, so that I could say, as indeed so many have said before me ...’This is an experience you have to go through … Everyone has. Death is not an easy thing to accept when you have loved the deceased. Everyone has to go through this knife searing pain of loss and of emptiness’

I was ashamed ...for I did not have that intense feeling of loss that I felt I should. I could not cry for my mother. I had cried so much when she was alive that I felt my entire emotions were drained and there was nothing in my feelings but emptiness. I wasn’t sorrowing and I certainly wasn’t grieving. Mother had suffered from trypanosomiasis, a type of sleeping sickness; a form of senile dementia and had been ill for the past thirty years, but not much was known of this debilitating disease at that time and even now, we have so much to learn.

My thoughts were distracted as a gust of wind swept through the small window of the carriage, just above my head and I jumped to catch my hat before it blew away. There was no-one in the carriage but myself, so I took my hat off and put it on the seat beside me, where I noticed that someone had left yesterday’s Telegraph and it had blown open at a page where there was an article about the impending unrest in the Trade Unions which was stirring up trouble for the Government, but strangely enough it was not that article that attracted my attention, but a small advert at the bottom of page six which caught my eye.

 

‘Nanny required for German family. Two little boys and another child expected’

 

I turned away for a moment and stared out of the window as the newspaper blew about again in the wind and kept repeatedly flapping against my skirt. I looked again and placed it neatly back on the seat beside me.

‘Nanny required.’

I was tired of nursing and had already given up my work as a Ward Sister at the hospital to look after mother and I was fed up with the stench of sickness and sour urine ...of turning fifteen stone of flesh in bed whilst I washed and cleaned ...and perfumed her ...for the sake of the visitors who would come in their stream to see her, as they did at first ...but none stayed. No-one wanted to be involved with a grumbling old woman who found fault at every turn and I couldn’t blame them ...She was my mother and I had to care, but why should they? Yes, they were her sisters and her brothers, but they couldn’t be expected to do much for her. They were all married with their own families and I am sure, with troubles enough of their own and I could see the sense of relief in their eyes as they left the sick room, leaving their flowers and chocolates. . to breathe the fresh pure air outside. I used to feel shame when they first came to visit us, but all that went after a while. I could have done with an afternoon off occasionally ...or even a few hours would have helped but as I have said, they all had their own problems ... and then the visits gradually dropped to once a fortnight. . then once a month ...and then they never came at all. Stella was the only one who regularly kept in touch, but even she had a large family, so she had her hands full ...but she was always kind, even if it was just a telephone call to enquire how I was getting on ...and always inviting me down to her place ...if I could ever find the time. All the others sent us a card at Christmas wishing us well and with their sincere prayers, hoping that I was coping O.K. and I wonder what would have been the response if I had written back saying that I couldn’t and that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown ...which was long due to me?

I was an only child and this was my lot. I could like it or lump it, but someone had to do the necessary and mother never stopped telling me how much had to be done and how and when and where, after she had reminded me of everything she had given up for me when I was young. It is strange to love someone and to despise them at the same time I think, but I did love mother more than I could ever say and words would fail to describe my feelings towards her. She was my own flesh and blood ...the woman who had given me birth and life and all that I had ...but I was tired. ... I was thirty-six and I felt like sixty-six. The last ten years of her illness were the worst by far and I was sixteen when she really began to know what her illness was doing to her. Daddy had been wonderful when he was alive, but he died just two years after I took my S.R.N. and I stayed at home from then on to do what I could. I was always glad I had trained as a nurse as it stood me in great stead when I had to cope with mother, but sometimes I regretted even having thought of taking up nursing. I would wish that I had felt the call for some other vocational task, like teaching or the prison service ...or even a Convent at times, when I was very low.

‘German family…Two little boys’

The Telegraph flapped in the wind again.

 

***

 

I buried mother with the respect and dignity that she would have wanted, with an abundance of flowers and wreaths and the most superior coffin I could find. I remember it was called The Duchess and it was made in fine teak and I knew that would have pleased her. Her grave was a mass of colour and all the relatives attended in full mourning. I watched their faces ...Some were crying and some in deep repose, meditating on the effect of their loss or whatever, as mother was a woman of considerable means.

‘Dearest sister … .darling auntie ….In fondest memories of a heroic soul who suffered her illness bravely ...’ I cried at that, but it wasn’t grief ... and I came away from the cemetery thinking that at last she was happy and that I had done all I could for her, but I felt guilty then ...and I still do now. I think I always will but she was at last free from pain and suffering and I thanked God. I also thanked Him for taking me away from the mood swings and the anger and the wrath. I knew all this was because of her illness, but I still felt it and there were times when I could have gladly strangled her ...and yet, I too put flowers on her grave and stood in mourning with the rest of the family for the brave and tolerant lady she was. Was I a hypocrite? I ask myself time and time again and I console myself that she will understand now that she is with God.

‘German family ... German family ...One expected.’

My eyes caught the advert again and I straightened the paper and took it once more on my knee.

I remember thinking how of all the patients I had nursed in my hospital career in the various London hospitals, both in medical and surgical wards, I had never ever known a patient as impatient and as self willed and obnoxious as my own mother. I could never remember the time when she was a young happy woman and I would wonder what Daddy saw in her to have wanted to marry her. She must have been beautiful and attractive and alluring, I suppose …to him, but she could fight me all day with her mind, if her body would not allow her to move ...and even into the night, I knew she was there. She slept little and was more alert at night than she was during the day. I would try to sleep on the small put-you-up bed in our room with the windows closed tight as she could not stand the air at her body and the place would smell like a barnyard of pigs. I sometimes took a damp cloth to bed with me so that I could hold it against my mouth to help me to breathe easier and a handkerchief soaked in eau-d-Cologne was a great help too. She didn’t mind the latter. It was feminine and delicate, she thought and she liked anything that was feminine and delicate. Her eyes would give me her instructions when I knew she couldn’t move her body and I would obey. It was the only way ...there was no other, or she would cry and I couldn’t stand that. Daddy was twenty when he married mother in 1910 and she was two years older than he. Her illness was blamed on my birth in the same year as they had to get married and Daddy took care of her for the first years of her illness until he was taken himself with consumption when he was thirty two.

‘Nanny required ... German family in Scotland.’

The advert loomed larger in my eyes the more I stared at it but somehow I was transfixed and couldn’t look away. I screwed up the paper and threw it to the other end of the compartment.

There was an article on Alzheimer’s disease in yesterday’s Times ...that sounds German. I read recently that someone had written a thesis on this disease and I wondered if mother had something like that, but it didn’t matter now ...and if it was something that resembled her illness, they would find a cure for it in the near future no doubt ...and that wouldn’t help her now that she had gone past caring about a cure or not ...My thoughts flicked about in my brain, but didn’t last long. Someone was working on some sort of disease ... I wonder what happened to Archie Williamson? He was nice. I fancied him like mad but I couldn’t get out in the evenings and I think he must have concluded that I wasn’t interested. Mother saw to that too. Wonder if he’s married now ...with children? I’d have loved to have had a family. Lovely bouncing healthy cherubs around my feet all day ...What a joy!

‘Nanny wanted for German family ...German family ...Lots of children.’

I moved from where I was sitting to the corner of the carriage where I had thrown the

Telegraph, all crumpled up in a ball and I tried to straighten it out again, but without success so I tore out the bit where the advert appeared at the bottom of page six and stuffed it into my handbag.

 

***

 

It was nearly one o’clock when I arrived at Taunton and changed trains for Little Netherington. The journey had been slower than I thought it would be but my thoughts were so intense, that I never found the travel at all boring. Maybe I was relieved ...Yes! I think that is what it was. Just being able to travel on my own again, without that worry that I would have to be back in a few hours’ time to get a meal ready or change a night-dress ...or even worse. . . .much worse sometimes, but I was FREE now and the train was taking me to Paradise ...well, to Stella’s place and her five children. Little Netherington seemed hundreds of miles away from London and I could understand why Stella could only make the journey to see mother on such few occasions and I even marvelled that she took the time to use the phone.

True to her word when she had invited me to stay with her for a couple of weeks, she was at the station to meet me in her old jeep. Moira and Alastair were with her and my! ...how they had grown. Alastair was only two when I last saw him and now he appeared before me as a very shy young man already embarked on his teenage years. Moira was a little younger, but quite a little madam nevertheless. She turned out to be twelve.

Where had I been all my life when I was missing this world where people grew up and simply carried on living without effort? It seemed that I had suddenly stopped being anybody or anything when I gave up hospital nursing. I am ashamed now as I was then when I even thought to complain or make comparison with anyone else’s life, but mother had that irritating knack of being able to reduce you to tears, even in the midst of the simplest joy. I just wish I could forget, but when I try to do that, I feel even more guilt as I know that you should never forget your own mother. It’s just that I wanted to remember the heroic lady that I buried only a short time ago and forget all the trimmings that caused me so much unhappiness when she was alive. Would I ever be able to throw out the bath water and save the baby? I knew I was obliged to forgive and forget, but I found it so hard.

“Wonderful to see you Amy ...and I’m sorry about Aunt Estelle. I couldn’t get to the funeral, but I don’t want to give you a load of feeble excuses why I couldn’t. Is that the only bag you’ve got with you?”

Stella was most welcoming and honest and I could see two good reasons why she couldn’t have come to the funeral in the back of her jeep, each looking at me with wide eyes. . no doubt wondering what their spinster auntie looked like and I felt as if I had a broomstick hidden under my coat. I tried to smile and threw my head back as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

“Thank you Stella. It is kind of you to invite me to stay with you and your family and I am most grateful. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise and I was glad to get away ... just for the break, you know.”

She grabbed my bag and handed it to Alastair and I thought it best to say as little as possible about mother’s illness and death in front of the children. ...or indeed in front of Stella for that matter, . or anyone. I was fed up with my own thoughts and wanted to try and have a fortnight where I could just be ‘me’ and try to get some of my ‘pre-mother’ life back again if I could remember that far back. The children smiled. Perhaps I had broken the ice by just talking.

“What would you two like for Christmas?” I asked, hoping I might get more intimate. They were my own flesh and blood after all, for Stella’s father and mine were brothers and I know from the way Daddy spoke about Uncle Ernest, that he was very special to him ...even if he did like the ladies ...Stella was just as I had imagined she would be although I hadn’t met her for over twenty years. She had come to visit us shortly after she got engaged and I gathered then that she didn’t get on very well with the rest of the relations. She referred to them as ‘a bloody lot of crows,’ or as ‘Toffee-nosed gits!’ and I remembered thinking when I first met her how her language was anything but choice, but I liked her from the start.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the house, an old farm house with whitewashed walls and high chimneys. I loved it. The simplicity made me want to cry and I was beginning to appreciate even more fully, her honesty and genuine concern for me, when after the first few hours in her house, she insisted that I do what I liked in her humble abode and if there was anything I needed that wasn’t there, I was just to ‘holler’ …

“The kids are always wanting and in need of something, Amy so please feel at home. I may not be able to spend the time with you I’d like, with my tribe, as you can see,” she added, waving her hand around the front room, “But I always insist that I have an hour or two to myself after dinner in the evenings, so we can have a good old chin-wag then, if you like. It’s really the only time George and I have for a little time together. He’s working shifts now, you know, but it’s the best way to make the money.”

Stella had lunch ready by the time we arrived at the house and we all sat round the table together. This was remarkable for me ...to see so many people, altogether and enjoying the chatter that constitutes family life. I felt lonely ...and not without envy. Eddy was Stella’s eldest boy and he was eighteen, where Frances came after that … a very lovely young lady just turned seventeen with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen on anybody in all my life. They were lilac and her thick dark eyelashes accentuated the pale beauty of her skin to the best advantage. She’s gonna break some young fella’s heart, I thought immediately I saw her and then I turned again to Eddy. He was dark too, just as Frances was, but he had brown eyes and although he was handsome, he could have been most boys that I would pass in the street. Robbie was fifteen and as blonde as the other two were dark, with large innocent blue eyes and freckles all over the bridge of his pert little nose. Alastair, the one who met me at the station with his sister Moira looked a little like the lovely Frances. He had her eyes and gave a twisted sort of smile when he spoke, that made him look rather sexy, I thought. Moira was the only redhead of the family. She was pretty if a little on the plump side and had her father’s colouring, but Stella was as grey as a badger and she was only forty-one, but I could see where all her children had acquired their good looks. She was not so much beautiful as handsome, but her features were clear and pronounced ...more like a youthful man, rather than a woman and somehow being with them all, redeemed something of the lack of faith I had felt for my other relatives. Stella made up for all the glib and fickle qualities of all the rest. She was a strong woman and capable ...and most of all, I admired her for the wonderful mother I knew her to be. This latter quality appealed to me greatly and I envied her in my heart. I envied her children, her husband, her humble abode and everything else about her and I concluded I would never meet anyone now with whom I could settle down and have a family. Mother had seen to all that ...for who wants a woman of thirty-six ...going on sixty-six?

“I don’t need anything for Christmas Auntie Amy, but thank you for asking.”

It was young Moira who spoke and she was really telling me that if I wanted to ask her again, she would give me a list as long as her arm. I smiled. Even this innocent duplicity brought out the tenderness in me.

“Oh! Yes you do ...and you and I are going shopping tomorrow,” I said, accepting the veiled decline. “Every young girl wants something and I want to get you something really nice.”

She blushed and looked guiltily at her mother.

“Would you rather they dropped the ‘Auntie’ bit Amy, or would you rather have it that way?” Stella asked on her last spoonful of sponge pudding with her eyebrows arched and searching, hoping she hadn’t said something out of place, but I was delighted for the opportunity she gave me. It would have sounded trite if I had made this suggestion on my own as I thought the family might think I was trying to dodge my age ...but I did prefer them to address me simply by my Christian name and when I said that was what I would prefer, they all gave a sort of sigh as if in relief from the formality of the visiting auntie who was also a maiden lady.

Stella then raised her eyebrows again and plonked some meat on Robbie’s plate and I wondered why she would do that for him and not for any of the others. After all he was fifteen. He wasn’t a baby.

“You’re so young looking to be called Auntie,” Stella went on. “You’re only a girl as yet ...I wish I had your looks and your lovely hair. Goodness knows what I would do Darling. I might run off with a soldier,”

We all laughed but I was stunned as well as grateful for the compliment. Nobody had said anything like that to me in years ...and even if she was being pleasant and polite, it was nice and very soon the family were all chatting amongst themselves again and accepting me as one of the Tribe, which gave me great pleasure. It was wonderful to be one of a crowd again and not to be so alone with so many responsibilities that I couldn’t share and I knew by the end of the evening I would dread going up to bed ...to be on my own again, where I could think ...

Eddy spoke of his ‘new car’ which turned out to be an old Ford Anglia that needed everything except the basic engine. It could be driven but only after much persuasion ... It was then I saw Frances helping Robbie to the salad ...even it was threatening snow outside. I wondered again, but held my silence. Perhaps it was the old financial problem again, I thought as I knew Stella wasn’t a wealthy woman ...but why Robbie and not the others? Didn’t she say that George did shift work in order to get more money and I began to have guilt feelings again, wondering what I could do to ease their burden a little, but then as an afterthought, I decided not to say anything on that matter, but to watch carefully and see if there was some way in which I could help, without it being noticed. There were ways of helping here, without putting a sign out to tell them what I was doing. I was sure of that ...but how? and I resolved from that moment on to assist in any way I could around the house, or with the children and to see if I could help financially, discreetly and without fuss. Everybody did something around the house, so it was difficult to pick up some chore that wasn’t already being done. Yes, everyone did something, except Robbie ...handsome, blond Robbie with the gorgeous deep blue eyes and the freckled nose did absolutely nothing ... but smile.

 

***

 

That same evening when the family had settled into their own way of living and after the excitement of the visit from the maiden aunt from London had died down, I sat alone with Stella. We had done the washing up together and everything was settled for the evening, not forgetting George’s hot dinner of chicken and roast potatoes ...without vegetables for when he would arrive home about eight o’clock. He had some over time and he was delighted with it I watched Stella sniff complacently as she took out a large canvas khaki bag that looked like something from an Army Surplus Requirements Store and I giggled.

“Don’t think I’ve run off with that soldier, will you Amy? This is just my knitting bag. I keep everything in here, Look!”

She produced all the items you would expect to find in a knitting bag and a lot more besides. There were the obvious threads of varying colours and similar wool rolled into tight balls to save space, needles, crimping scissors and a tattered tape measure that I doubt would have served the purpose for which it had been made, but the object that attracted my attention was a tiny picture in a faded silver frame. It was a baby, about one year old, I would have thought and Stella saw me looking at it.

“My Robbie,” she announced proudly and her mouth tightened into a proud smile, “I suppose you’re wondering why we all make such a fuss of him Amy, eh?”

I certainly was inquisitive but I didn’t want Stella to think I was being nosy.

“Why no,” I said “I don’t think I’ve noticed anything. They are all such lovely children and so helpful to each other.” Stella bit her lip and cut a small piece of red wool with her scissors.

“He’s ...He’s a little ...sub-normal, you know. The way he looks like,” she said slowly and stared at me sadly as if she wanted so much that I should understand and I wanted to reassure her that I did, even if this news came as a surprise to me.

“I think he looks perfectly normal, Stella ...and so handsome.”

Stella looked through a little tin box for some buttons, before she reached into her apron pocket and put on a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses.

“Can’t see a bloody thing without these,” she said, “an’ I’m so bloody vain. Would you believe it? Hate wearing them.”

I looked tenderly at the woman who sat beside me and I felt ashamed. She had nothing to apologise to me for. She was beautiful and her family were a credit to her. I reached forward and touched her hand as she went on talking.

“He’s not ...he’s not a silly boy, you understand Amy,” she said without looking at me. “It’s just that he is slower than others and he finds it difficult to read an’ write an’ ... Amy, he’s only got a short life span, according to the doctors. I don’t know how long exactly, but they are sure he won’t make old bones.”

I wanted to cry, but I knew that wasn’t the thing to do, even if my nose felt all choked up and my eyes ached, but I couldn’t help thinking … Why was it allowed that this beautiful child was so afflicted, I thought ...but I couldn’t find an answer and I was sure his dear mother couldn’t either.

“How does George feel about him,” was all I could think to say, but Stella’s face lit up when I said that.

“Oh! He adores him. The apple of his daddy’s eyes is that one, I can tell you and the little bugger plays on it too …Oh! Sorry Amy, I didn’t mean that literally ...but you know what I mean, don’t you? I love him to bits myself, I do, but George coming as he does from the North ...well they use that word as a term of endearment.”

I squeezed Stella’s hand again to reassure her that I understood perfectly. If only I could tell her of the number of times I had used that word ... and worse, when mother was alive ...and it was no term of endearment in that time. If only I could have given vent to my feelings and my vocabulary more than I did, perhaps I wouldn’t be so bloody neurotic now, I thought and then I laughed ...Yes, I laughed aloud.

“What’s wrong Amy? Why are you laughing? Have I said something funny,” Stella asked, but I pushed back my hair from my face where it had fallen over my forehead and grinned.

“No nothing like that Stella. Just a thought I had, that’s all,” I answered and paused to recollect my thoughts.

“Is there anything ...I mean, anything medical that can be done to help Robbie,” I asked thinking of the time I had spent nursing and trying to recollect if I had seen a similar case ...but I hadn’t. “Is he under any treatment?”

Stella selected some small grey coloured buttons from her khaki bag for the cardigan she was working on.

“You know, I collect these damn things from old jumpers and coats an’ things. I even take buttons from the boys’ old shirts and fly buttons from their trousers. Stupid isn’t it, but it does save money.”

I looked solemnly at her, about to ask my question again, but she shook her head.

“He used to have electric shock treatment at St. Mark’s down in Rowthorne a few years back, but it made him so sick and he was weak for days after it and George decided, when we had to carry Robbie from the jeep when they came home and he was half unconscious, that we should have it stopped. We even thought at that time that he might have been epileptic as he used to have violent fits, but all that’s stopped since we stopped the electric shock treatment. I agreed with George, Amy. . If you’d seen Robbie at that time, you’d agree too, I’m sure. The treatment was worse than the complaint, we thought. He’s not getting any better, but then neither is he getting any worse and he doesn’t have those fits any more. The other kids help a lot too. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee or something Amy?”

I jumped at the opportunity to make myself useful when Stella asked me that and offered to make the drinks.

“I’ll do it Stella. You’ve been rushed off your feet all day and I know where everything is in the kitchen. You carry on with your knitting. It’s looking very nice, by the way. Who are you knitting for … George?”

Stella smiled her appreciation.

“Oh! No ...I know it looks big ...It really does, doesn’t it? It’s for Eddy. He’s getting broader than his dad.”

I went into the kitchen and made the tea and I found some digestive biscuits in the biscuit barrel. I also tried to assess what I might be able to do the next day to help with the kitchen stock as I cast my eye about without taking too long.

“Thanks Amy,” I could hear Stella call from the living room, “I’m not used to being waited on and you shouldn’t be doing this. You’re a guest here, you know.”

“And I’m not used to being a guest either. Besides, I’m really pleased to be able to do something. I’d love to do more. I’m not used to be waited on either.”

Stella’s face softened and she put her knitting aside.

“Oh! I’m sorry Amy. I should have spoken sooner about your dear mother, but I feel so embarrassed talking about ...well, people who have gone on ahead. It can be a very sore spot for those who are left behind.”

“Dead, you mean,” I said and Stella’s brow wrinkled.

“Well, I don’t know. Some people don’t like that word, do they?”

“Whatever you call it, it means the same Stella and I’m not worried how it’s described. Mother has gone now, dead, departed, gone on ahead ...doesn’t matter. She won’t come back.”

“Did she have a peaceful going? I mean, death, Amy?”

“Her death was peaceful enough. It was her life that was complicated,” I said and Stella bit her lower lip.

“You must have had a bloody hard time Amy. Want to talk about it?”

I sipped my tea and dunked my digestive biscuit. It broke up in my cup and floated over the top of my tea, but I pretended not to notice as I didn’t want to make a fuss.

“No, I don’t think so Stella. It was part of my life that had to be ...and I tried to do the best I could. I’d like to try and forget it now, if I can.”

Just then there was a joyous sound in the hall and George came storming into the room with Robbie sprawled across his shoulders; his legs dangling everywhere and the two giggling uncontrollably. George put the boy down when he saw me.

“Oh! Hello Amy …nice to see you again. Did you have a nice journey? Hope you’re well. Sorry to hear about your mother.” It all spilled out as if he was too embarrassed to think of any one thing to say to me, but I understood and he shook my hand with a grip of iron ...however, the look he gave me was one of gentle kindness and concern.

“Thanks George. It’s very nice of you and Stella to invite me down here and I think your family are wonderful. They have all been so kind to me and made me feel so very welcome. I’m very well and I had a very pleasant journey, thanks.”

George dug Robbie in the ribs and laughed again. I could see the adoration in the boy’s eyes as he struggled and tried to fight back, but George restrained him affectionately.

“No more than they should, Amy. We’re all glad you could come to visit us. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just pop upstairs and wash before I come down to dinner.”

He felt about in the pocket of his jacket before he left the room and handed Robbie a bar of chocolate ...then he flew up the stairs, two at a time.