Faded Rainbow - Our married years

When one has just attained marriage status each should be extremely happy, so why was I, after only one week, feeling depressed?

I was in a three-roomed bungalow, with all I needed for use. A kitchen range to cook by, a paraffin lamp with a red glass bowl for light, candles for the bed-room, and a large stone copper to heat water for washing in a small scullery.

Outside, a garden for flowers, or vegetables, a well full of water – and ground around me as far as the eye could see.

Our bungalow was up a narrow path leading off a side road between Lowfield Heath and Tinsley Green. To one side, just over the hedge, was Gatwick Airfield, the other side a meadow where three cows grazed. If one wandered farther along our pathway it ended at Gatwick Race Course, so you may know how we were situated. A bungalow in an oasis. Wasn’t this what all the love songs were about? Just you and I, All Alone, etc.? Yet I was depressed.

The day after our marriage, my husband went through the gate leading across the meadow on his way to work, gathering the cows on the way, preparatory to milking them, which was one of his jobs at the big house where he was employed. No honeymoon period for us. The gentry could not allow such luxuries. It was like getting blood out of a stone to get a day off to marry.

Everywhere outside was dull and dismal. Mud all around. What else could one expect in January? We lived in Wellington boots, should we go outside, but always left them in the porch, as our door opened on the living room. If there were callers, which there were not, they would be able to know if we were at home by the Wellingtons in the porch.

We had not rushed into marriage or treated it lightly. We were mature, George twenty-nine years old and I twenty-six on my Wedding Day, which was Boxing Day 1934.

I tried to sort myself out, and came to the conclusion I was lonely. Being one of a family of ten children, and always in domestic service with large staffs, I had always had contacts, and someone to talk to – and all this week we were just ourselves.

George went off to work at 6 a.m., after we had our cup of tea, which was quite a business on a kitchen range. One could not hurry these in any way. Paper and a handful of sticks were lighted, and two cups of water in a small tin kettle put on top, and one hoped it was enough to boil the water. A few more sticks placed on afterwards and a shovel full of coal would start the fire for the day.

George returned for breakfast at 8.30 a.m. till 9 a.m. bringing with him a can of milk and a daily paper. I could see him in the distance, so meals were always on the table when he came in.

He propped the paper on the table to read while he ate and conversation was impossible. The newspaper was between us again at the midday meal. When he had eaten, he would lie on the sofa saying, “call me at five to one”.

George’s day finished at 5 pm, and when we finished tea he would have another look at the paper, and doze off to sleep. I would play some gramophone records on a ‘wind-up type’, which was a wedding present. That had been the pattern for a week, and I could not see how it could change. My daily chores did not take up all my time. I had several hours to spare. Perhaps when the weather improved I could get out in the garden.

Next day, I decided to do something about it. We had a change of clothes to be washed. I would change the bed linen and have a wash day. I asked George at breakfast if he would fix my clothes line. There were no posts so he tied it to the apple tree one end, and a bracket on the bungalow roof the other end. And I set to work drawing buckets of water from the well and carrying them through to the back scullery of the bungalow.

I filled the copper and a galvanised bath, then lit the copper fire. It took a long time to heat, but as I was doing the washing in the copper I didn’t need it boiling and then it could go into the rinsing water in the bath. I had no wringer. I did it all by hand, and I did not know how heavy and awkward a sheet could be.

I was quite pleased with my morning’s work, and with the water in the copper scrubbed the floor and threw it a bucketful at a time on the back bricks which led to our outside toilet – the bucket style, which needed emptying from time to time.

Midday meal was ready on time, and as I ate I looked out of the window at my line of washing. It looked good. The line sagged rather a lot with the weight and I had no clothes prop, but I thought it must be getting less weighty as it was drying. As I looked the line gave way, and all my morning’s work was dragged along the ground to a standstill in the mud.

I jumped up and screamed, “look at my clothes line!” George looked, and laughed. That was enough. I shouted, cried and went round in circles. I accused him of not fixing it properly and that he didn’t care how much trouble I had in doing it, and now I had to do it all again. Also, he took no notice of me at all during the day, too much at night, and it was an over-rated pastime and I was sorry I ever married.

My words just tumbled out, and no matter how George wanted to console me I pushed him away. He could not understand my outburst. This was something he had never seen before or since.

There was no time to sort me out before George went back to work, but I did quieten down, and he said we must have a talk when he came home.

As I worked through the afternoon, carrying all the water through the bungalow, to do the washing for the second time that day, I felt ashamed of my outburst. George was also worried all the afternoon, brooding over the situation.

That evening we spoke more than we had done all the week, and I said everything that was on my mind. Neither of us got heated, so we really sorted out my feelings. We arranged no newspapers to be read at the table, but after George’s mid-day meal in place of his doze; also, in the evenings until he had read all he wanted to, and he would teach me a card game so that we could have contact the rest of the evening.

This worked well. George taught me to play crib. We competed for a hundred times round the board, and I won by two holes.

George mentioned our upset to the housekeeper where he worked. She said I could always come up to the kitchen in the afternoons for a chat. There was also a young housemaid who came daily from Three Bridges. I got on well with her, and later we were invited to her home for Sunday tea.

I felt more contented as the days went by, but still I needed time to adjust. I was away from all my family and friends in an isolated position and I did not feel happy about giving up everything as I had done just to marry, but others must have done the same.

In April I found I was pregnant. This put a different light on things. We were both happy with the knowledge. Now I could fill in my spare moments with knitting and needle-work making garments for the little one to come. I was very good at hand work of any kind, love would be in every stitch.

While walking home from Three Bridges during June with our arms round each other and the sound of nightingales never out of hearing it seemed far away from my outburst a short time ago. Life was good, how could I have thought otherwise.

When the weather was fine I walked this road in daylight, also down the road to the Church where there was a cluster of houses, one butcher’s shop, and almost a general shop, but as the lady seemed to keep one of everything, and no stock, my grocery order came from a nearby village shop.

About this time feeling on top of the world I thought I would transfer our bed to the other bedroom – the room faced a warmer side, although no larger.

I set about with a will dragging the bedding and mattress through, then knocking off the side irons to release top and bottom panels, assembling it again was a different matter. But I did it after a struggle. I looked at it when it had been made up with its covers and was quite pleased with the result.

I still had time to spare. The kitchen stove was quite hot so I made a batch of cakes to put in the side oven, but as I bent to put them in the side oven I started a haemorrhage. I grabbed a bath towel and sat on it. I was really frightened to move. I went first hot then cold, and hoped I was not going to faint. There I sat till George came home.

There was a lot of to and fro-ing for the doctor and ambulance which took me to hospital until the crisis was over, but I had lost the baby.

I still took my walks up or down the road, very seldom seeing or meeting anyone, and if a small plane should go up from the airfield, it was something to stand and watch. They were only small planes. One, I got used to because when coming in to land the pilot was always whistling. One day a huge plane landed, it looked like a train carriage with all its curtained windows along the sides. I was hoping it would stay till George came in, because it really was exciting. It turned out to be a Fokker trying out the airfield for future landings. I got my camera into action, but the results were not very good.

On one of my walks trees were being blasted and not long afterwards the house and surrounding land were sold to extend the airfield, so George had to find another situation.

Our move was to Faygate on the Horsham Road, where George was second cowman, so he was right back on the farm again, but I had a neighbour there so felt less isolated. Some upset in the work did not suit George, so we were off again, and several times in the next few months.

Sometimes the job was at fault which I did not understand, and sometimes it was the tied cottage that went with the job. I did not complain, as I wanted to be settled. I disliked all the packing and unpacking.

Some of the places were very primitive. Nowhere was there a flush lavatory – always buckets under a seat as far away from the house as possible.

Where we once stayed in a row of five houses, we had to walk the length of the row to where the five lavatories stood side by side. You had to make up your mind in good time to make the journey. Not only that, when it needed emptying, the bucket had to be carried back along the row to be buried in a secluded part of one’s own garden, and more than once someone came out of their front door at the moment you didn’t want them to.

The floors in another cottage were so sloping that the bed would only rest against one wall or it worked its way across the floor. Wardrobe and dressing table needed wedges under them to stop them from rocking, and all night long we heard the death watch beetle sending coded messages to his mate, who replied. I mentioned this to an elderly neighbour, saying the taps sounded so loud at night. In her own words she said, “They baint no death watch beetles, they be tick spiders, your cottage be better’n mine – I got mushrooms growing on my stairs”.

Another cottage we moved into was very low-pitched. The mirror top to our sideboard stood on the bed-room floor while we were there, as there was not the height to fix it. The stairs were narrow and twisted, not allowing the top panel of our bed to be carried up, and as the legs and panel were in one piece, the only thing to be done was to saw it across and reverse top to bottom. I brushed brown boot polish on the sawn edge to cover up the wood.

We arrived at Ditchling in 1936. It was the last cottage on the right as one went up the Beacon. We had a lovely view overlooking fields. It was from our bedroom window that I saw the Aurora Borealis which was visible in England that year and I also stayed up half a night trying to photograph lightning flashes during a severe storm, but not knowing much on the subject failed to get any pictures.

It was a gloriously sunny August day when my son made his entrance into the world, helped by the village midwife, and it was the happiest day of my life to hold that small pint bundle in my arms. He had silvery hair and blue eyes and weighed six pounds, three ounces. He gave his first cries as George walked up the garden path at tea time: he was very surprised because in the morning I had walked to the top of the Beacon and back with my mother-in-law, who had come to stay with us during the event and we had waved to George working in the valley during our walk.

George bought me the tallest bunch of gladioli I have ever seen. The only receptacle that would hold them was the water jug on the washstand – even then they touched the ceiling.

A neighbour brought wood and coal wrapped in newspaper, which surprised me, but she explained it was for a housewarming for the baby, which was an old custom.

A woman I did not know called on me from a local chapel. She said she had come to say a prayer for the baby. She looked in the cot and said, “this is God’s child, he is only entrusted to you; when God wants it back he will take it”. Then she said a made-up prayer. This really upset me as I thought of the other little one I might have had, and she left me in tears.

I could have done very well without her on my happiest day.

There was no well or tap water here. Water was in the cowstalls on the Westmeston Road, so when George went to work he would take a bucket with him, and bring it back full when returning.

My brother thought of an idea to hold some water in hand. He bought a new dustbin and soldered a tap near the bottom, this we stood on a table and any water in the buckets could be put in it prior to refilling them and should either of us feel energetic we would make extra journeys to get water in hand, which I needed now that Geoffrey had arrived.

Part of the house was damp where the soil had encroached over the years, and piled against the outside wall. The outside bucket lavatory was in the front garden facing up the road. As one sat in there traffic could be seen coming down the Beacon Road. Because the door had nearly fallen apart, we hung a sack over the top of the door to stop the rain beating in making the seat wet. I only hoped those on the road didn’t see me as clearly as I saw them.

Geoffrey was baptised at Westmeston Church on a Harvest Festival Sunday. The font was decorated with apples, these had to be removed before the lid could be taken off the font.

We stayed at Ditchling till Geoffrey was three months old but a combination of dampness with the bad weather decided for us that it was no place to bring up a child.

We moved to Splaynes Green, near Fletching, a large cottage, plenty of rooms more than we needed, so the second floor stairway door had been nailed up.

There was also a large garden, and a few sprouts and root vegetables were left in the garden. The Well was in a covered yard, so it was handy for me, but the day we moved George was taken ill.

Coming to a new district, and not knowing who or where a doctor was, I had to knock on a neighbour’s door to ask, then find a phone, also get back, to see to Geoffrey and George, who was in a state of collapse in an armchair. He seemed completely helpless.

I struggled upstairs to erect the double bed. The daylight was going, and I worked by candlelight. I had just managed, by almost dragging George up the stairs and getting him to bed, when the doctor arrived. After examination he said George had influenza, but I did not think so; his symptoms seemed different. He had to stay in bed for a week and the doctor would call again. This of course was fortunate. I assured the farmer who came to see me that George was really normally quite healthy. This was the first illness since we married. He asked how I was situated financially, and gave me thirty shillings to tide me over, saying that when George started work he would deduct it out of his wages.

George was in bed three weeks. The doctor said it was anaemia and gave me all sorts of medicines. When George did get up he was very wobbly on his legs, which is to be expected after a long stay in bed.

George had not started back to work by Christmas, and the money the farmer had loaned me had almost gone. We lived mostly on what was left in the garden, and when I walked up the road, I would look for any vegetables discarded by other cottagers. They, having plenty, threw away the small ones. I found small parsnips and sprout tops, which were quite all right for eating.

I was told the farmer gave all his workmen a joint for Christmas, so was hopeful we would at least have something to look forward to. I had no money for Christmas puddings or cakes, but would feel quite happy with meat and vegetables I could find in the garden.

Thank goodness Geoffrey was too young to know what Christmas was all about. He would lay in his pram and chuckle at a scarf swinging on a hook in the ceiling, so I bought a penny balloon and after inflating it hung it on the hook in place of the scarf. He seemed delighted with it.

We waited till quite late on Christmas Eve for the expected joint of meat, which did not arrive. I thought how could I have expected it, when George was not even working for him yet, so our Christmas dinner consisted of potatoes, sprouts and Bisto water.

I took Geoffrey out in his pram Christmas afternoon towards Fletching village. I heard laughter coming from inside the cottages, saw fairy lights and decorated Christmas trees. The tears rolled down my cheeks, but when I reached home I had pulled myself together, as I would hide my feelings from George.

We had not been in long, when the balloon burst with such a loud bang. I immediately dashed to the pram in case it had frightened Geoffrey, but he was laughing, his first laugh. It was music to my ears, and I found after that if I clapped my hands, that made him laugh.

The house had been an old Workhouse, but was now four cottages. Structurally it was warm and dry. The only thing that put me off was unwelcomed insects, called body lice. If ever any of these are around they al-ways find me, and I am tormented by them. The bites turn to big blanes, which itch for days. I could not sit in an arm chair for many minutes till one or more paid me a visit by biting behind my knees. I’d have to jump up and hunt for it.

At night I sprinkled Keatings Powder between the sheets before getting into bed, also in Geoffrey’s cot. We would find half a dozen or more lice in the morning staggering around in the bed, stupified by the powder which made them easier to catch; but such was the size of them, they could not be killed in the ordinary way, by cracking them between thumb and finger and hitting them with the back of my hairbrush on the dressing table. But we had to stay till George had worked for a time and paid back what the farmer had loaned us.

He was not really a farmer, but a dealer. He took his cows to market, and brought back poor looking ones. He would then give instructions on feeding and grooming and back they would go to market. This is unsatisfactory for a worker who likes to get used to his animals, and build up a good herd.

Our next move was to Sheffield Green, not far away, and that was where George finally had real bad luck. He fell, while building a haystack and was brought home very distressed. He had fallen on the base of his spine and was very sick and giddy. I thought the doctor would have a look at him, and it happened to be the doctor who had seen him previously. He didn’t think there were any bones broken, but he had shock and concussion caused by the fall. He advised him to stay in bed for a few days to settle, and he would call again.

George did not improve, so arrangements were made for him to go into Brighton Sussex County Hospital for observation.

I wrote to my mother telling her where George was, and she suggested that Geoffrey and myself should come to Brighton for a short holiday while we had the chance; it would be the first time I would stay in my home since I was fourteen, and went into service.

Not many days elapsed, when a letter arrived from the farmer, asking me to empty the cottage, as he needed it for another man. I replied I had no means, or place to put our things so the cottage was emptied, and the furniture stacked in the old forge on Sheffield Green.

The doctor had given me a certificate to send in to get some panel money; also while George was in hospital, I had certificates which I sent to the Insurance Company, but no money seemed to be forthcoming. On enquiring, I was told they were trying to find out whether it was sickness that caused the fall, and the sickness and accident societies were sorting it out. Neither paid till eighteen months later and then it was back sick pay. In the meantime, I had nothing to live on.

As soon as my mother knew we had nothing to live on, she said she could not keep us for nothing, and that I would have to find a job. I went to the bureau in Castle Square, but she wanted 30 shillings just to put my name on the book. I had not any, so had to resort to advertisements in newsagents’ windows. I picked out one that would fit in with looking after Geoffrey and the working hours alright. It was cleaning the floor of a Public House in Cleveland Road, opposite Blaker’s Park.

I applied, and got the job. But on the third day I had washed and fed Geoffrey and put him in his pram outside the front door as usual, where he would sleep for a couple of hours, even when he awoke he did not demand attention, but that morning it rained and he was taken inside and left in the front room. I suppose the movement disturbed him and he cried most of the time I was away. So mum told me to take him with me tomorrow, as she had had her share of children, and did not want to look after mine.

The next day I took him with me. He was fast asleep when I got to work so I left him outside the door, and said nothing until the lady asked if it was my baby. I admitted it was. She said it was not right that it should be left outside and she could not have it inside. So I had to give up the job as I had no alternative. She paid me the few shillings I had earned, which I gave to my mother.

I found another place in Harrington Road. It was general domestic duties. So off I went there daily, taking Geoffrey with me. He was no bother. I did not have to attend to him the short time I was there.

At home, tension was mounting. My stay had been longer than my mother expected. I could sense I was not wanted, but what could I do? I was trying to earn money.

Geoffrey was fretting a bit while teething, and some-times in the night I would take him down the three flights of stairs from my attic room to heat him some water. I would hush him to stop his crying and tip-toe down as quietly as I could past the other bed-rooms. But it seemed every stair had a creak of its own.

Mum asked me in the morning why I had to disturb everyone in the night by going downstairs. I explained it was to warm some water. She replied, “He’s old enough to drink cold water now. Take it up over-night”. And Geoff was six months old.

She would get messages to me through Dad as well. I felt I had no-one on my side. I was getting very depressed and did not know which way to turn – George in hospital, no home, no money and my own parents did not want me or Geoffrey.

It was in this frame of mind, when I had just put Geoffrey to bed and I was turning out my suitcase for a change of clothes, that I found a table knife that had missed the packing and had been put in my case for safety.

I held it in my hand, looked at Geoffrey sleeping, and was all but tempted to end both our lives. I could not sink any lower, or see a way out. What was the use of either of us. But something inside me said, “Wait till tomorrow”, and I hastily put it back in the case.

I went to work as usual next morning, and in the afternoon we visited George in hospital. We then went on to Ovingdean to tell his mother how he was progressing, which was not much. There had been several tests but they did not tell me what the results were.

When I met his mother I’m afraid my feelings got the better of me, and I told her how strained things were at home. She said, “You come and live here, we haven’t much, but we will share”.

Next day I went to work in the morning but told the lady I would be out of the district, so couldn’t continue with her, and as I was only employed by the hour I gave an honourable notice and was paid according to my hours.

I gave that money to mum, and in the afternoon I left, complete with suitcase, for Ovingdean.

My mother-in-law was an angel to me, always kind and gentle, such a contrast to my own mother. My sister-in-law had two rooms in the bungalow and a baby boy four months older than Geoffrey.

Both mother-in-law and my sister-in-law did domestic work round the village in the large new houses that were springing up at the time. Whoever was at home cared for the baby, in that way no one suffered. I fell in with them. We all worked different hours and everything went fine. I was happy, or as happy as I could be under the circumstances. I was still waiting for George to come out of hospital.

When one of the neighbours heard of my circumstances of not getting any panel money they said I should be entitled to Public Assistance. They painted a glowing picture of someone who received it, and had enough to go to the pictures each week. I was full of hope.

I went to the Parochial Offices and was questioned very thoroughly. I told them all about the panel money being held up although I was still sending in certificates. But I was told I was not entitled to any money as I had not been a resident for three years. They could grant me a weekly loan but it would be repayable whenever George worked or panel money was paid.

I received money for three weeks which I had to collect, and it looked such a large sum. I didn’t think I could ever repay it because George’s money was so low on the farm, very little could be spared to pay debts, so I wrote asking them to discontinue the grant. I had a letter written in red ink demanding the money. I had to go in and tell them why, and I would try and earn enough to keep us. I promised to let them have the money as soon as I got it.

We three ladies of the household pooled our earnings. Father-in-law was a shepherd, and brother-in-law a gardener, so we managed to keep the wolf from the door.

I was pleased when George was coming home: he had been in hospital so long, it was lovely to be together again.

I left Geoffrey at Ovingdean to fetch George and thought, now we are both in Brighton, go on as far as my home and see my mother. She would be pleased we were together again. But what a surprise. She said she was busy washing and was not going to leave off to talk to us, so we came away.

It was no surprise to me. I knew how hard-hearted my mother was, even when I was a child. And I had grown up with it. But to shun George hurt me.

We had a warm welcome at Ovingdean. It was lovely to see Geoffrey on his daddy’s lap.

I had now to go to Rottingdean for a certificate from the doctor and a hospital report. George should have gone, but he was walking rather badly, dragging his feet. So I went instead, and just as well.

The hospital report showed that he had multiple sclerosis.

The doctor explained it to me at great length, saying it was a progressive disease of the spine. A patient might live only six months, or could go on to a ripe old age. Sometimes there was a remission when all symptoms disappeared and one could work again. But there was no known cure. He remarked, “I am only telling you this so that you may plan your life”.

As I retraced my steps, I made up my mind not to tell George. It seemed almost a death sentence. I would watch to see how he progressed.

Progress George did, and after 15 months he was applying for a job as a cowman at Duncton, near Petworth.

The rest of the furniture came out of the forge. I had paid visits up there from time to time and sold some to the cottagers and a gardener in Sheffield Park.

The large polished dining table had been sold for thirty shillings. The three piece suite with double drop end settee went for three pounds, and the six matching chairs belonging to the suite went for four pounds. Ridiculous when I think about it, but we had to eat.

George started back to work as cowman. Our cottage was the end one in a row of five. Still paraffin lamps and one stand pipe water tap between us. When it froze, as it often did, we would thaw it with hot water, then knock on the doors to tell them they could fill their buckets.

There was plenty of wood around that we could gather. We would take a horse and cart on a Saturday afternoon into the woods to get a load. Stacking the wood nearby, it was always handy to saw. Sometimes George and I used the cross-cut saw with the two handles or I could manage quite well on my own. Little Geoffrey loved carrying the logs one by one, and dropping them indoors in the fire place.

While there, we were given our Identity numbers and cards, also gas masks as the Second World War had started. I accepted two evacuees and a single man came as keeper next door. I also fed him. So I had more money to manage on now.

My mother-in-law came to stay for a time. During her stay we were asked if we could embroider a banner for the Mother’s Union. The design had been marked on white satin and gold thread supplied to work it. When completed we were invited to a day out in Bognor, to thank us.

The day was fine. We went by coach enjoying the ride and change of scenery. We walked along the sea front passing the usual stalls selling ices and rocks. When we came to the shell fish stall, we both looked lovingly at the lobsters, crabs, whelks, etc. Mum said “Couldn’t I just manage one of those ?” I said “How much money have you got?” We both took out our purses, then laughed. We had ninepence between us. We were not worried, we both knew what it was to be broke, but we shared a plate of cockles and bought a cup of tea in the afternoon.

We laughed on and off all day, saying “Won’t it sound good when we send letters telling them we had a day out in Bognor”.

When we had been in Duncton a while George thought it was time we had some decision from the Insurance. He took with him some Insurance Policies to surrender to get money some way if we had no satisfaction otherwise.

We needed to make up the furniture we had sold, only a lump sum would help.

Things turned out alright, we did not have to part with our policies. He was assured the settlement would be made within the month, which it was. He was awarded sickness benefit, but one would think they were giving us a gift. They had little thought about how we had lived the last eighteen months. The payment would have been more if it was proved Accident.

I sent the money I owed to Brighton and thanked them for the loan. Now we were clear and could start from scratch again. It was a lovely feeling.

The evacuees did not stay long. One mother wanted her little girl home for Christmas. She did not return. The other one went at Easter. After all they were only 5 and 6 year olds and their parents must have missed them. Also things were quieter in London by that time.

George had to get appendicitis whilst in Duncton, but was not away from work long. He did not walk very well. I hoped the illness would improve more. It seemed stationary. He would stumble and fall in the meadow while getting the cows in, not hurting himself. Yet he was alright on level ground. Some days I would get the cows in, while George went on his bike to the cow stalls to get the machine ready for milking.

George felt so fit now he was getting ambitious. He had heard that a man in Petworth was wanting a centre lathe turner, so was going to try for the job. I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand we had got nicely settled with good neighbours and fair conditions. Yet on the other hand, I thought he would walk better if on level ground, so I told him it rested with him.

George applied and got the job. The man also gave him the address of a vacant cottage so when George came home all was settled and we moved into a cottage in Petworth, behind the Chemist’s shop in East Street.

Now that George was working the only lathe, the man applied for another one, as he had plenty of work. After waiting quite a while he was told only big firms could be supplied – something to do with munitions – so he could not have one. That is why he could not keep George.

George wrote to Allen West’s at Brighton, where he had worked previously, and was asked to come for an interview which proved successful, and we moved back to Brighton in 1939 into a flat in Coombe Road. There was plenty of work with overtime if one wanted it, and George took advantage of this. I started a Post Office Bank Book, to insure for a rainy day.

Harringtons of Hove were working on aircraft and George wanted to try there. Yes, off he went, as an inspector. He was checking the fixtures on the wings while there. Then he hankered to get on to Bristol, where the Bristol Bombers were made, so away he went into lodgings, only coming home at weekends. He had not been working there long before he was called into the office and asked to have a medical examination because it had been noticed he had a limp. He replied it was alright he’d been limping for a long time but after examination they explained because of this he would be a liability in an emergency, and would have to go, so back he came to Brighton.

He applied for his job back at Harringtons but it was taken. He went to Allen West’s, and all they could offer was night work on marking off plates, or coil winding. I know nothing about these jobs, but he said it was work done by school leavers and he felt degraded to be offered it. Yet I told him he had best start it and try to look for something else. He told the office staff he had been a centre lathe turner and they said if they heard of a vacancy they would contact him.

With the factory opposite us in Dewe Road going full out night and day George did not sleep too well, his health seemed to deteriorate. The doctor advised him to try and get day work. Then the job for a centre lathe turner came along from the Moulsecoomb Way factory.

George left home daily at 6.30 for work to start at 7.30 a.m. He now used a walking stick to help him, and would also put his other hand on a wall or fence. He had to start off early each day to get on a bus with certainty while it was standing still. If he left later, the buses only slowed down and the men had to jump on as they were moving.

It had been snowing as he started to work one day, not alot, but I went across to the other side of the road with him to make sure he was on level ground. He then had only to go down Natal Road where he would get on a bus opposite.

I went back in doors, but twenty five minutes later a man had helped George home. He had slipped over just round the corner (of the road) and had had nothing to hold on, to help him up, there he lay, till this man found him.

George was very distressed so l fetched the doctor who advised him to have a few days in bed, as he was suffering mostly from cold and shock. The doctor said he would call again, but he didn’t. So, after a week I went down for a certificate. He asked how George was, and said he could get up if he felt like it, but would not discharge him yet. We only had panel money coming in so I had to draw on the Post Office Savings.

I went to work in the mornings on a farm at Newmarket, near Lewes, but the farmer’s wife took advantage of some of my time to work in the house; eventually I was not working outside at all. My fares were also taking up a good part of what I earned, so I stopped going.

George’s aunt had a Nursing Home in Tisbury Road, Hove, and I went to help her. I was paid more, also I had my midday meal before I left; so that helped with food.

Eventually, all our money had gone from the Post Office, it went much faster than it took us to save it. George and I were very tearful trying to sort out what to do. He said “Tell the doctor to put me in the General Hospital, and you and the boy, maybe, could fend for yourselves. I am only a drag on you”.

I went to the surgery, but could hardly speak through tears. I told the doctor what our position was and that this was the only conclusion we could think of.

The doctor banged his fist on the desk, and said “You should be getting Assistance, your husband won’t work again. I thought you were getting it”.

He wrote a letter for me to take to the Parochial Office. I also said I had tried before, but was only given a loan because we had not been resident for 3 years. I went home first and told George I had the letter, but I did not tell him what the doctor said about his health. There were more tears before I left home on that Saturday morning.

One thing I did not know, was everywhere seemed closed in the Parochial Office on a Saturday. I wandered up and down empty passages looking for a sign of life, till a man popped outside one of the many doors and asked me if he could help me.

I gave him the letter, which he read. Then said, he was sorry that nothing could be done about it till Monday, when the Board sat again. Could I call again Monday? I said I could, and turned to go, he called me back and asked if I had enough money to last me over the weekend. I told him I had the food, and a shilling in case the gas went out.

He put his hand in his pocket and gave me six shillings. That man’s name was Mr. Elphick. I could not forget because of his understanding kindness shown in that gesture.

I went down on Monday morning, gave my name at a Reception Desk and was told to go through a certain door and wait.

Behind that door was a passage with forms on either side on which people were sitting who looked a lot worse off than me, rag and bone men, down-and-outs, but we were all here for the same purpose. Money for survival.

A peaked cap gentleman walked up and down kicking a foot here and there, and should anyone try to make conversation shouted “Quiet please, no talking”. We all sat like dummies. Every so often, a name was called, and the person went into a room, then back, to resume his seat.

Mine was called. I went through the door, but no further into the room. I stood as requested, with my back to the door, while about ten men sitting round a table, asked me questions. It was like the old painting of “When did you last see your Father?” All they wanted to know was, what I had been living on till then, and had I any more savings anywhere. I then went back to my place on the form.

This continued until all new applicants had been seen, then an opening like a ticket office at a railway station removed its shutters, and the pay out began.

The man inside shouted a name then the peaked cap gentleman shouted it. The money was slammed down as it was counted, so everyone knew what everybody else was getting. “Hurry along” was heard all the time, as if they were glad to be rid of such dregs of the community.

I had to go every Monday morning, and how I hated it. I felt in my heart I had done my best to help myself, and couldn’t do more. I was delighted when I was handed a letter from them to say, because of reorganisation our money would be brought to us in future.

I was glad I did not have to go down to that office again. The two men called every Monday morning with our money. One would sometimes come in and have a few words with George but if wet, they sounded the car hooter and I would go down to the car to collect.

Our daughter was born prematurely, in 1943, just a little bundle. When undressed she looked like a skinned rabbit, but she progressed in time and after a struggle. When the men called on a wet morning and sounded the car hooter, I grabbed something to put over my head and shoulders which was a blue plastic cape belonging to my daughter. In my window was a poster advertising a play of “Bluebell in Fairyland”. The man called out “Come on Bluebell” to me, and that was his name for me when ever he saw me. Around about the time my daughter was born, we had to queue up in Dean Street for ration books. I got there fairly early, but already there were people about, four or five deep right down the centre of the road.

Residents had taken out chairs for the elderly to sit on. A lady asked if she could take my baby inside, but I said I would prefer to nurse her, she was no weight, but I said I would be grateful if she would allow me to come in to breast feed her when the time came. This she allowed me to do, and twice during that time of waiting I fed Gladys. The queue moved at a snail’s pace. When the air raid sirens sounded, by rights we should have all made our way to an air raid shelter, but no one moved for fear of losing their place in the queue. The poor warden nearly went berserk over his efforts as no one moved.

During this time Geoffrey needed boots, he needed a size 5 and they would have taken quite a slice out of our weekly income. Sickness payment was only eighteen shillings a week, our rent was twenty one, and I think we were allowed twenty six shillings from Public Assistance.

(I am not quite sure now I think back all those years ago), so I asked if I could be given a little more to help buy a pair of boots.

I was asked why I did not get them by weekly payments. I replied that I did not approve of that method. If I could not pay cash, I would do without. I was given a letter to take to the General Hospital, with instructions as to which block to go to, and ask for a certain gentleman.

I found the place without any trouble. Inside was a dimly lit passage, with boots in cubby holes. I was sorted out a pair of boots which would fit over the ankle, they had toe caps and were made of very stiff leather. The man said they would soften up with wear.

The boots hurt Geoffrey’s feet and ankles and after only a few days wear I noticed the stitching was breaking away round the toe caps. Not wanting them to go further, I took them to a cobbler in Coombe Terrace, asking him to re-stitch them. He gave one look, and threw them back to me saying “Where the hell did you get these? They are about 50 years old”.

I was very upset at this, but told him my story, and he sorted me out an uncollected repair, which he was entitled to sell if not collected in three months. I only had to pay the price of the repair, they were a very good smart pair of shoes, and I bought others, from time to time.

Gladys needed a warm winter coat and I was sent to the W.V.S.in Grand Parade, where rows and rows of clothes, mostly coats, hung on rails. It smelt musty, damp and of mothballs. They had no childrens’ clothes, but I was given a lady’s two piece costume in a mauve woollen fabric to make a coat for her.

I was handy with my needle, but there was not enough in the skirt to make a coat, and far too many panels and joins in the jacket. So I took it to a woman in the road who did private dress making to ask her for advice. She too said it was impossible, but in the market they were selling surplus army blankets. If I chose a nice colour she could make both of us coats.

I bought a light grey blanket. The lady made us two lovely coats. I paid her for the lining and making them, which was under the pound, and no one could tell what they were made from. They looked fine.

In 1946, the Monday men told us of further reorganisation. We were to receive Allowance Books to enable us to draw our money at a Post Office. The next week would be the last time they would call. Jokingly one said “Don’t forget our Testimonial”, as they drove away.

This got me thinking O.K. you shall have a testimonial. From an artist friend I begged a large sheet of drawing paper. Partly with pen and paints I wrote in very flowery words about untiring devotion to duty etc. At the top of the sheet was a quartered shield with an open hand in one quarter, falling coins in another. I am not sure what I put in the rest, but underneath was a scroll with “Pennies from Heaven” written in Latin, which I looked up in the back of my dictionary. I sealed it at the bottom with pink tape and clipped it together with two milk bottle tops, rolled it up, tied with more pink tape and gave it to them the following Monday. They took it and threw it over to the back of the car, and I waved them a cheery good-bye. Reproduced here is the letter I received from them.

There was a dairy at the corner of the road. I was asked if I would care to work there two hours daily, capping milk bottles. I said I would. I would be paid twenty-one shillings a week for the seven days.

It was very handy for me, being only three doors away.

Being honest, I went down to the Parochial Office to let them know. A stoney-faced man said “Brought yer book?” I said “No, are you deducting some?” He said “All of it. You are earning a shilling too much”.

I was furious, I blurted out “I am trying to help myself but you are making us a nation of loafers”. He didn’t bat an eyelid, just said “That’s our instructions and we have to keep to them”.

So here was I working fourteen hours a week for one shilling.

It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. My daughter caught measles, so down the Office I went to tell them that as I was bottling school milks, I must keep away from the dairy to prevent infection. My money was put back to my usual allowance. After three weeks, another letter came, saying your child is now out of quarantine, when are you resuming your work? I replied my place had been filled, so could not go back.

One other incident that upset me with the authorities was when Family Allowance of five shillings was given for the second child. Geoffrey was fourteen years old on the day I drew allowance. George had a job to go to, but one week’s money was held back, so it would be two weeks before he was paid. That meant three weeks from my last payment.

I considered I had been deprived of one week’s allowance, and asked if it could be granted, but no, I did not get it. Five shillings off such a small income for three weeks meant an awful lot of budgeting then. Today it doesn’t sound much, but I could buy plenty with five shillings then.

Nevertheless, things were gradually improving. We had callers to check up on our circumstances, and look at the rent book to make sure we had no debts. Taken on the whole, they were understanding people, who treated us as human beings. Only one tore up our Allowance Book in front of us because we were drawing sixpence too much, but that was a fault with some one in the office, and not us.

One such caller came, and George apologised for the waistband of his trousers being undone, it was, he said he was getting a bigger tummy with sitting long hours. The lady asked if he wanted a new pair to fit him. We both looked at her open-mouthed, no one had given us an offer like this before. She went on writing, and said “If your trousers are too tight your pants must be too. I’ll make you out a ticket for them, and post it on to you.” It duly arrived, I had to buy them at the Co-op Clothing Store in Sydney Street, and save the bill for her. Another time when she came she granted me four pounds towards a winter coat, also save the bill again, so things were really looking up.

When Social Security arrived one could have savings and still be eligible to have assistance, also be able to earn quite a fair amount of money without deductions. I took advantage of this and scrubbed some shop floors in my district, making sure I kept within the amount shown in the small print in my book otherwise we would not feel the benefit of my earnings.

Through the rationing days of the war, I let the three teenaged girls next door buy our sweet coupons. Another neighbour would bring me margarine and cash for my butter, one other was always after any surplus tea. She gave me her coal dust, which I mixed with a little cement to make brickettes to put on my fire. One could keep the fire in all the evening if we didn’t poke it.

My clothing coupons were given to an neighbour in exchange for her childrens’ left off clothes, she had a son and daughter just a size above mine, so I was able to keep my children tidy.

The Social Security really did help families like ours, who through bad health could not do anything about it. I felt I could now hold my head up again. The money had improved over the years, and kept us off the poverty line. I managed with what I was allowed, but had to count every penny before spending it and I can honestly say I never had a debt.

Now to get back to George, sitting patiently in his Windsor Chair day after day. He would work out the crosswords in the daily paper, which was our only luxury, or try to study foreign languages from his Popular Educator books. His brain was very good. He was excellent at mathematics, and sometimes surprised me with his wide knowledge of things, considering he left shcool at the age of twelve, he was very advanced in several subjects.

George wanted to work, he could not walk, but thought if office work was brought to him, he could do it. He wrote for someone to call from the Labour Exchange. George was sitting in the yard in the sunshine when they came, I took another chair outside and they talked. The man heard all George had to say and all his ideas about perhaps counting ration books etc., but the man said none of this would bring in much money, and advised him to forget about it, and be happy as he was. George was a bit disappointed but he had tried. The man patted him on the back as he left, saying “Look here son, you are not fit to work yet, enjoy your rest, you are not a sponger”.

We had visits for George to interest him in some kind of handicraft. The first was leather work, where he was given a cardboard template to cut the leather to size for making a purse then holes were made round the edge, and it was completed with thongings.

Next, he made some shopping baskets of sea grass and also wove a stool with the same material. He did some scarves on a loom, and fire screens in Petit Point needlework, so he kept his fingers working.

He could not walk unaided now, so I hired a wheel chair from St. Alban’s Vicarage, to take him out when the weather was suitable. I have taken him to the end of the Palace Pier to watch the anglers, and the other direction into Stanmer Village. I was always tired out when we got back, but I didn’t mind. I had given George some pleasure. If it had been me, I’m sure he would have done the same.

Our house was not suitable to even have a ward chair for George, and the passage was narrow, and there was no room for turning into rooms, so George could only sit in an ordinary chair, with everything he needed within reach. Washing and shaving things had to be put near and cleared away when finished.

To get him to the toilet, which luckily was on the ground floor, I had to half carry and half drag him there, not always in time. He used a urine bottle which was kept in a waste paper bin near his chair.

To get upstairs to bed, George sat on the stair and eased himself on to a higher one by levering himself with his hands. I would lift his feet and hold tight to them while he negotiated the next stair. Once upstairs I’d drag him into the bedroom, and on to the bed where I’d undress him, then swivel him round to lay straight, and tuck him in, leaving his urine bottle handy on the bedside table.

This was the procedure daily, and when I took him out in the wheel chair, the front steps were negotiated the same way.

The Cripples’ Aid Society had been formed about this time by a Reverend Took and his wife, who lived in Hove. They obtained George’s name by some means, and Mrs. Took came to visit him with a catalogue of invalid three-wheeled carriages. They were propelled by levers on either side, which enabled the person to propel himself. She asked George to select one, the only thing was it had to be kept under cover when not in use.

We had nowhere, but not far away was a garage which housed about a dozen cars, and the man said he would find a corner for it. This was on a hill, so I always needed help to put it back, I managed getting it out by walking one side and using the brake.

How excited we all were when it arrived. It gave George some independence. I did not have to go with him. He now could get as far as Preston Park to watch bowls, and to Wild Park or Stanmer to watch cricket. He met several men during these trips, and made friendships which continued for years. That chair gave him another lease of life.

George made plans with a boy who had a bicycle to make the journey to Barcombe, near Lewes to visit his mother. He needed this boy’s help to negotiate some hills on the way. He would provide the tow rope. I knew nothing at all about this but by the account afterwards, this is what I gathered:-

This boy’s older brother who was serving in one of the Forces in Germany, had sent him a mouth organ that day. He was so delighted with it, he would only ride his bicycle holding the handlebar with one hand and playing the mouth organ, while he held it in his other hand.

The tow rope was fixed from the bicycle to the tricycle, and George worked the levers back and forward as they drove along. They negotiated Falmer Hill without any trouble, turned off at Lewes Prison, all going well. They decided to take the lower road at Offham, and along there they met a Post Office van which pulled up as the driver knew the boy. He offered him a lift home, and that is where they parted company, leaving George to finish his journey on his own.

It was a warm sunny day, and as George sweated with his efforts on inclines, the cattle flies tormented him. He had difficulty in working his machine, and flicking away the flies. It took him ages to reach his destination.

Needless to say he did not return that night, but arrived next day in a lorry, with his machine on board. He did not venture that journey again.

Soon after this the Ministry of Pensions were issuing motorised vehicles for which the serving disabled in the armed services had had priority. Now the civilians were being given them.

George was given one like a bathchair shape, with it’s engine and petrol tank behind the seat. The make was a Fitt. However it was soon discovered they were unsafe, as too much weight was over the back wheels. Also, the driver could not attend to any engine faults behind him. He was then given an Invarcar, which had the engine on the right side of the vehicle and was tiller driven with controls on it. These were recalled as unsafe because the weight on one side, gave the vehicle a pull to one side, which might cause it to swerve into traffic. This had weather protection.

The next was a blue car named a Tippen. It was very narrow with hood and side panels that could be removed in fine weather.

They looked like sedan chairs on wheels. That was the car that George had until he gave up driving, when his reactions were not quick enough in the fast traffic of today. We still retained a folding chair, so that I could take him out.

In the meantime, we were lucky enough to be allocated a ground floor flat on Bates Estate, on the main Lewes Road, but not without difficulty. I contacted everyone I could to get us moved, as George had so many falls on the stairs and in the bedroom. I found it increasingly difficult to cope with him. I put the bed downstairs after a while, but I was still dragging him around. I am only five feet tall and George five feet ten and a half, and heavier than me.

We had been placed on the housing list some years before because we were in privately owned property. Every so often I had to go to the office with my rent books. When we eventually got the keys to the flat it came as a surprise, as I had given up hope of any change to our situation.

It was almost like a dream to have everything on one floor, more than once I woke in the mornings wondering if it was really true.

The Estate Manager came to see us and arranged for a shed to be erected to house George’s vehicle, with a concrete run-way.

The Health Visitor called, and George was allocated a wheel chair so he could get around the flat. Hand bars were fitted in toilet and bathroom. In fact everything was done to make life easier for both of us.

George was very happy just looking out of the window onto the main road. Before he’d only had the yard outside the window.

The bus stop was just outside, so he saw lots of people who lived on the estate. He got to know the times of the buses and people who passed would give him a wave. In the summer he could speak to them while sitting outside. His life was fuller now.

At a later date I did ask if the dividing wall between the bathroom and toilet could be removed as his chair only went as far as the doorways. In co-operation with the welfare services and Housing Department this was done after nine months wait. It made a good-sized room where George could now turn round in his wheel chair.

There had been two incidents of George falling in the toilet, which wedged him between the door and the pedestal. In each case I called on the Police to help him up. One time there were three men in there, I know one had to stand on the seat and another astride George. It seemed impossible in such a small space. We laughed about it afterwards when comparing the situation with the parody of “Oh dear what can the matter be?”

Of course before they attempted to get him out I assured them he had not hurt himself. They first thought of taking the door off but the hinges were inside. The window was too small so there was no other way.

George had falls out of bed, and the Police have been wonderful in helping me, but in cases where he has harmed himself, I have had to get an ambulance.

He cut his head twice which needed seven and eight stitches. All George said about it was that his halo would fit crooked when he eventually got it.

When George arrived home one night about ten-thirty after visiting a friend he switched off the car controls, but the engine was still throbbing. I checked in case he had forgotten something, but I could not stop it.

I smelt rubber burning, so hurriedly got George into his transit chair, put him at a distance, and played the small fire extinguisher to where I saw smoke. It made no difference, so I phoned the Fire Brigade. They came in no time, removed all seat and panels and pulled out all the leads. Then it stopped throbbing.

It turned out the plug lead had jumped off and was laying over the hot engine. The firemen were excellent. They stayed till the engine was cold before putting it in the shed. I have nothing but praise for all branches of the public-services. Even when we had a chimney fire, they were most helpful putting down cloths on my carpet, and washing all around afterwards.

I count my lucky stars we have such help in the community, and I was born when I was, because in such cases as mine, the workhouse was the only answer. Cases such as George, would have been put in an institution, never seeing life outside. But today we are provided for in our own home by Social Security. It is sufficient for one’s needs and although I have never had a chance of luxuries during my life, I’m quite content with my allowance.

These unfortunate people now have clubs where they can meet, they have parties and outings some in their own coach or mini bus. Most of which are supplied by organisations who are blessed with good health and whole bodies. The Social Services do as much as they can within their guide lines.

The Invalidity and Constant Attendance Allowance helps a lot of people financially, but this can not buy the strength and patience, which is needed by those who care for such cases.

As one grows older, one’s strength diminishes, also the patient becomes more helpless. I had to ask for a hoist for lifting. I could not get him in the bath now, so blanket baths were for him from now on. Also, a commode was needed in the bedroom.

George had prostrate trouble, but an operation could not be performed, so a catheter was fixed. That meant another job for me – to fix day and night bags. Should there be a blockage, I called on the Queens Nurses, another wonderful group of people. But I never called on help from any source until I had tried myself first.

I had a routine, and way with looking after George which was practically automatic, and to time. He was always in his chair by 8 a.m. for breakfast. It had taken me an hour with things I had to do for him.

Yet I don’t know what happened one day. I was doing everything as I had done for months.

I had dressed him as far as I usually did on the bed, and placed the slings of the hoist under his arms and seat, pumped up the hoist to raise George off the bed. Then my mind went blank. I did not know what to do next. I had to ask George what I had to do next. And from his swinging position George had to tell me. Even then I was tumbling about.

This lapse worried me. so I confided in my doctor. He said I should have some help. and a nurse came to bath and get him in his chair twice a week.

It was just as well the help came at this time, because George had severe arthritis in his spine now, caused through his posture in sitting. He could not sit many hours, so his day was divided between bed and chair, which meant getting him up and down twice a day.

I now had his bed in the lounge, so we had each other’s company. Also, he was in the warm temperature all the time. He had a good man friend who came in to chat with him two afternoons a week. They talked on varied subjects, and I was able to get away for shopping or a hair-do.

Don’t imagine George was a miserable person. He was quite the opposite. He would laugh and joke with anyone. His man visitor said it was the high spot of his week visiting George.

When the nurse called one morning, I could not stop my tears, they had been flowing since the previous day. I was not crying, yet the tears would not stop.

The Nurse said she was getting the doctor to me, but I was not ill. It was started off the day before, when I found George had soiled his bed in the night.

I never made any fuss clearing up such accidents, I had done it over the years. I had a strong stomach. Even right back in my school days, I was sent for to clear any sickness, but yesterday had been a day of days.

I bathed him, put him in his chair, removed the soiled bed linen. I had just remade the bed when again he had an accident in his chair. So again, wash and put him back on the bed, put clean cushion covers on the chair. But before I could get him back in it – Yes, you’ve guessed.

I gathered up the soiled things from the chair, took them in the kitchen where the other pile of soiled linen lay. I was thinking, how shall I ever wash and dry it all with just a balcony for drying space, and my tears started.

When the doctor arrived, he was very understanding.

He gave me great credit in the way I had cared for George over the years. He had been thirty years in a wheel-chair, yet during all the time I cared for him he had no pressure sores or ulcers, which seem to affect such cases.

The suggestion from the doctor was, George should now go into Hospital on a six weeks in and six weeks out basis, which would give us both a change. His first stay would only be five weeks.

Five weeks it was to the day, when I had a phone call from the hospital to say George had passed away one hour previously.

I have nothing but praise for all the Public and National services who had helped me through these years, and come to my aid when I most needed it.

Now I am living quite happily in my Council flat, a senior citizen. But the story may not end here.

I have a devoted son and daughter, living locally with two grandsons and one granddaughter, and who knows, they may one day write on their life and times.