The Circle of Life - A woman’s life in Brighton

Another life begins

At 5a, Richmond Road, Brighton, on the fifth day of the week, the fifth month of the year 1920, at 5am, I inhaled my first breath in this life, thus completing the family of my parents Ellen Mary and Matthew Baxter. My sister, Ellen Selina was born 30th July 1910, brother William Alfred Hector, born 6th March 1913, and Robert on 6th August, 1918.

I was their fourth child, and would have been the fifth except for the fact that my Mother miscarried a twin during her first pregnancy. I suppose reading this, one would automatically think of five as being my lucky number, but I had not thought about it until now.

My Father was a Farrier Staff Sergeant in the Royal Field Artillery. He loved the horses and did a tremendous amount of stunt riding when he was stationed at Preston Barracks. Mother was a lovely lady, with long black hair. She was born at Mhow in India, her father being stationed there with his regiment.

We were a very close family although my Father was very strict. Soon after I was born my Father was invalided out of the army with sciatica. For years he experienced great difficulty in obtaining regular employment. For a while he was a Bookmakers Runner. He even had a spell of being a Bookmaker himself. Then he was a Bouncer in a Club, and ended up being a Doorman at the Lotus Club along Brighton seafront. Unfortunately, at that time he liked to drink and gamble. Nevertheless he was a good father, and I loved him and my Mother very much.

I do not remember very much of the days at 5a, except the Landlords name was Mr Love. One day I was sitting on the front step with a rag doll my sister had made for me when he came by and said “Would you kindly remove that article”. He only spoke to us when he wanted to say something like that.

I was about four years old when we moved to a larger ground-floor flat at the other end of the road: number 19a. It consisted of a sitting room, kitchen and two bedrooms. There was an outside door which opened on to a stone passage, which housed the toilet. I can remember once sitting there, when a rat ran up the pipe to the cistern. I had never seen a rat before, so I wasn’t frightened and thought it was a cat. My bedroom was just inside the main door and I hated sleeping so close to it. The kitchen had a large stone copper in the corner, where mother would burn all her rubbish, on washdays. It also had a range, and gas mantles. There were no lights in the bedrooms, so we always carried a candlestick to bed. We had happy and sad times in that flat and I will endeavour to remember some for you.

I will start this story looking back to the year 1925 when I was five years old. I attended Ditchling Road School, now know as “The Downs”. The Headmistress of the infants was a Miss Wigmore. The early days were spent playing, and each afternoon we would lie on little beds and go to sleep.

1926 – a year to remember

One thing that stands out vividly in my mind is the ambulance that used to go round the town collecting some poor soul with diphtheria or scarlet fever. It was such a common sight. The ‘Sanny Van’ was not a nice white ambulance. It really did look like a van. The Sanatorium where the patients were taken is now The Bevendean Hospital.

When I was six, our family was struck down with diphtheria. Although it was the year of General Strike my father had just managed to obtain full-time employment as a Blacksmith on the Parks and Gardens Department. It was great. It was regular money and a secure job. It was the end of one nightmare for our mother and us.

However my Mother had been suffering from an enlarged thyroid gland which is known as a Goitre. She went into the Sussex County Hospital and underwent a major operation after months of waiting. She was very ill, and in an oxygen tent. She lost her voice and I know my father was nearly demented, because she nearly died.

My poor sister who was sixteen, had to take on the role of mother and look after us all even though she had broken her arm early in the year and it had been wrongly set. So she was waiting to go into hospital herself. She had passed the Hedgecock Scholarship and went to Varndean School.

My Father did not believe in helping around the house in those days, but his job was very hard and his day long. Not many men did housework at that time. He would wake my sister early in the morning to get his breakfast. If there was shopping to do, she did it, then went to school herself, came home at lunchtime to feed us, back to school in the afternoon, then home to cook a meal for us all and do the housework, the washing, ironing, then do her homework. Poor girl, she had a very tough time.

My sister left school when she was sixteen. She had always wanted to be a nurse, but she got a job in the Telephone, in the Clerical Department. She felt obliged to accept it because the money was so much better and she could be more help to my mother that way. She became interested in the Ranger Movement, and joined St Lukes Company, and after a while she took me to join the Brownies and Guides.

It was whilst my mother was so ill that I contracted diphtheria. I woke up one morning and felt so poorly and said, “I cannot get up.” I stayed off school for about a week. Then as there was an epidemic, I was given tests. I remember feeling a bit better and playing in the garden. Then my brother Bill was taken ill and swabs were taken from him and sent to the Health Department, and as a result, he was admitted to the Sanatorium. Towards the end of the week I was ill again and swabs were taken from my throat. The day I was taken into hospital is so vivid in my mind. I was sitting in the toilet with the door open and the newspaper hanging in squares on a piece of string (we did not have toilet rolls – only well-off people bought those), when the outside door opened and two men walked in. I pushed the toilet door shut and I heard them knock on our flat door. My father was at work, and my sister and my younger brother were off school because of us having the disease.

I went into the sitting room where the two men were writing on a form and were asking my sister questions like, “Has she had measles?” “Yes,” she replied, and I chirped up “So has he.” Everything they asked her I answered “So has he.” I thought “He’s not getting away with anything.” I suppose it was the fear of the unknown, even at that tender age.

Then they looked at me and said “Would you like to visit your brother in hospital?” “Oh yes,” I said, as I loved him dearly. He was always very special to me. So we went out to the car. I don’t think I had ever been in a car before. They put me in the back and I looked out of the window and waved to my sister and brother. Then I said something that was to become a standing joke in my family for evermore. We were going to have herrings for our tea that evening. I was particularly fond of them, and it was to have been a special treat, as tea usually consisted of bread, marge and jam. Anyway I popped my head out of the window and called “Can I have my herring when I come back?” My sister was too upset at the time to see the funny side, as she knew 1 was going to have to stay in hospital. She would not be allowed to see me, as they discovered she was a ‘germ carrier.’ That phrase was repeated to me many times in the years that followed.

When we drove off I saw my father running round the corner. He had come home from work, having been informed that I was to be admitted to hospital. But he could only wave to me. I started to cry and changed my mind about going with these men. We arrived at the hospital where a Sister met us and her first words were, “She can’t see her brother.” I wanted to go home but she removed my clothes and put me in a bed. I remember feeling very degraded to lie naked. It seems hours before anyone came to me and no words of comfort. My younger brother was brought in three days after me. He had it mildly but the authorities thought he would be better off in hospital. I often wonder how my children, or grandchildren would react to the same situation. Thank God they did not have to. Hospitals have so greatly improved since then and the staff are far more human.

I can remember the ward I was in. It had a big old boiler fire, with a big stackpipe chimney in the centre. When the patients were allowed up, they would sit round the fire. I recall we had cold Rice Pudding in a cup each night for supper. As it was an isolation hospital visitors were only allowed to come on Sundays and look at the patients through the window. Our beds were pushed in front of them so that we could see.

The first Sunday I was there, my bed was pushed over, and I waited and waited for my Father to come. Then when visiting time was at an end, a nurse came and told me “Your Daddy couldn’t come today, as he had to be with your Mummy”. I found out later that my mother was at the crucial period, and it was touch and go with her. Thank God, she pulled through. But then I got worse, and the next week I was too ill for my bed to be moved, and I lay very still and pale and upset because I had not seen a member of my family for two weeks. Then I saw a man dressed like a doctor coming towards me, and as he drew near I recognised my Father. He came to my bed, put his hand inside the covers and held mine and said “Are you warm?” My poor father, he used to visit my mother in the Sussex County then run over the hill to the Sanatorium to see my brothers and I.

It was a terrible period for us, but eventually my mother was allowed to go home. She still couldn’t talk much and was very weak. But she had tremendous will power, and used to sing and whistle until she regained her voice.

After a while my two brothers were released from hospital. I remember them coming to the door of my ward and waving goodbye. After nearly three months, on Christmas Eve a card was delivered to my home to say I could leave hospital.

I should have told you that when I was admitted to the isolation hospital, my clothes were taken and baked in a special container to kill the germs. Well, I used to wear a garment called a Liberty Bodice, with home-made elastic suspenders stitched on the bottom to hold up my black woollen stockings. When the nurse dressed me she found my suspenders had disintegrated, so she had to pin me up with safety pins. My poor little legs were so thin, and when I walked the stockings kept slipping down. I arrived in the waiting-room looking like a pin cushion, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.

My father was at work, and as mother was still too weak to do much, my sister had to fetch me. We had no transport, and no money for taxis. The hospital didn’t provide ambulances for the return journey. I was very weak and when my sister saw me she was shocked and realised I would never make it on foot.

There was a lady and gentleman in the waiting room, who had come to take their child home. She had been ill with scarlet fever. They had a car, so my sister asked if they could give us a lift. When they knew that I had had diphtheria, they didn’t want to know, and made an excuse not to take us. In the end the hospital condescended to give us transport part of the way, which was down Bear Road, and the driver put us off at the corner of Upper Lewes Road, outside Cox’s Pill Factory, (which incidentally, has just been pulled down). We lived in Richmond Road so had to walk up part of Roundhill Crescent, up D’Aubigny Road, then up into Richmond Road. It was just too much for me, and my sister ‘piggybacked’ me nearly all the way. I often think of being in the same situation today and how it would be dealt with.

There was great excitement when I arrived home. When my father returned from work I hid behind the door. He was so surprised and pleased. It was a very special Christmas for us, although money was scarce, and our bad spell hadn’t ended. We heard just afterwards, that my sister had to go into hospital and have her arm broken and re-set.

Christmas celebrations

Weeks before Christmas my Mother would make the Mincemeat, Pudding and Cake. She would buy the dried fruit and lemon and orange peel. We would sit round the kitchen table and help her stone the raisins and prepare the fruit, which she would then wash and dry in the oven. When she removed the thick crystallised sugar from the orange and lemon peel she would give us a piece. We were always waiting for that moment.

Our kitchen only had a range to cook by and we burned whatever was available, especially when we ran out of coal. It was difficult to keep the oven temperature steady, so when Mum made a big cake, such as at Christmas and Birthdays, or when she could afford it at weekends, she would put the mixture in the tin with her name on a piece of paper on the top. One of us children would take it down to the bakers, which used to be at the top of St. Pauls Street. They would bake it for 2d and we would collect it the next day. There is a long flight of stairs leading from Richmond Road to Roundhill Crescent, which we called the ‘Cats Creep’, we would fly up and down them when we were in a hurry, but we always took special care when carrying the cake.

We spent many hours making paper-chains and decorations. It seems to me now that it was a much more exciting time before Christmas for us with so much preparation. Now everything is pre-washed and pre-packed.

We wrote list after list of what we were going to buy for our family, and spent hours walking round Woolworths. Everything there was under sixpence in those days. As we never had pocket money my father would give us a half-crown to buy our gifts. He always went shopping with mother on Christmas Eve, the only day in the year that he ever did. They bought everything that night; gifts, fruit, nuts, sweets, Christmas Dinner, according to the money they had to spend. We never had boxes of chocolates or bowls of fruit on show in my younger days. We were given a few sweets, apple, orange and nuts in the bottom of our stocking. When we had eaten them, that was it, we had no more. The decorations were never put up until we were in bed on Christmas Eve, so when we woke up on Christmas morning the house was transformed into Fairyland.

I can remember my Father dressing up as Father Christmas one year, and distributing our gifts. I believed in him for years. Dad would say “Can you hear the sleigh bells?” and I always could. I suppose I always had a vivid imagination.

We seemed to have more White Christmases then and a lot of snow in winter. I can still remember the wonder of those days, even when times were really desperate for us, my parents always made a celebration somehow.

One year we had no money for dinner, my father decided our Pet Rabbit, who was really huge and called “Peg,” would have to end her days, and she ended up as our Christmas Dinner, but we children just sat and cried. “Poor Peg.”

Early school days

At the age of seven I went into the Junior School. I was never happy there. There seemed to be a ruling that if your face didn’t fit, then you were out of favour with the staff, and mine certainly did not fit. I always had the feeling that it was because we were poor and couldn’t afford the uniform and the extras they liked us to have. It really appeared that the school was trying to run on the lines of a private one.

I was often late because of my mother’s health. Sometimes a vein in her leg would burst and the blood would spurt right up the wall. Help had to be fetched and a tourniquet put on to stop the flow of blood.

On the days I was late for school I would be petrified and arrive shaking in my shoes. I already knew my fate. I would be sent to the Headmistress, Miss Naylor. She would make me wait outside her door (I think to sweat a bit) then she would roll up my sleeve and slap me up and down my arm. I always said that if ever I met her when I grew up I would tell her what I felt about her, but I never got the chance.

I could tell you many tales of unjust punishment, such as the day when we had to change classrooms for another lesson, I thought I would be good and read a book whilst waiting for the teacher to come, so I opened the desk and took one out. The next day I was told off for doing this, and the class was warned not to open the desks or touch anything inside. The following week the girl next to me decided to investigate a pencil box in the desk. I remember very vividly telling her not to do this and that she would be in trouble, but she took no notice. Next day I was sent for by Miss Boss and accused of touching things inside the desk; of course I denied it. She said “Are you calling me a Liar”, I said, “No, but I didn’t do it”. The class was tittering. She made me go to the headmistress and fetch the strap, which was a leather thonged one. I had to take it back to her. “Do you still think you shouldn’t have this?” “Yes Miss”, I meekly answered, whereby she promptly brought it down on my bare arm. Of course, I cried, and when I got home my brother Bob had told my mother. She looked at me and said, “I hear you have had the strap today?” “Yes Mum”, I answered, and explained why, so she said “When you go to school tomorrow, you tell that teacher that if ever she does that again, I am coming down to find out why”. Next day I calmly walked up to the teacher and repeated just what my mother had said. She was quite dumbfounded and made mumbling noises, but I was given a desk in front of the class.

That was the only time I suffered the strap, other times it was slaps, nearly always up and down the arm. One time was when wireless was first introduced in schools and we all had to congregate in the hall to listen to a broadcast. The Headmistress told us to sit on the floor and warned that if she saw anyone move, the culprit would be singled out next day. I foolishly sat with my feet under me, and of course before the end of the programme I was beginning to get uncomfortable, so slipped my legs forward. Immediately I knew my fate was sealed, as I felt Miss Naylor’s eyes on me. Sure enough next morning in assembly she started picking out the victims. I was trying to hide behind the child in front, but it was no use, I heard her say “And you!” whilst pointing at me. Out I went and after everyone had filed out it was my turn for the reprimand. She hit me sideways and knocked me straight across the hall.

I did, however, make quite a few friends there, and the best thing that happened was when I learnt to swim.

One evening my Mother said “If ever you get the chance to learn to swim, you say yes”, and the very next day it happened. The teacher asked who wanted to learn to swim. Up shot my hand and I started to go to the baths. My elder brother Bill was already a promising swimmer, and I took to it with great enthusiasm. I remember going home one day and saying “I can swim now”, and my sister said, “I will take you to the baths and watch you”. When we got there, I went across the width with one leg on the bottom and doing the actions with my arms and the other leg. Of course my sister laughed at me, but it wasn’t long after that when I mastered it. I was about nine years old.

I was very poor academically but I loved sport and gymnastics, and swam a lot for the school later on. In fact, Miss Naylor once said to me, “If only you worked as well as you swim, you would be alright”. My swimming improved even if my general work didn’t, and I joined the Brighton Ladies Swimming Club, at North Road. This alas has now been replaced by the new Prince Regent Swimming Pool. My two brothers were already members of the Mens Club, and my elder brother was fast becoming a champion.

My swimming continued to improve, and I joined the Life Saving Class. I would go every Friday morning, early, before school. I managed to pass my Bronze Medallion when I was about twelve, but never did take the Gold. We had some wonderful times swimming, and I will tell you more later.

Children at play

We spent hours amusing ourselves. Many of the games we played were seasonal. In the Winter it would be skipping, or top and whip, which we could buy for tuppence. The whip was a stick with a string on the end. We would wind the string round the wooden top, then spin it on the ground and pull the string off. As it spun the art was to keep whipping it. We would go up and down the pavement for hours and must have covered quite a few miles. I also had a steel hoop, which my Dad made, with a hook. I would bowl it along the road then hold the hook on the rim, and it would roll along with me running to keep up with it.

We played marbles in the gutter on the way home from school. And conkers and hopscotch and many ball games.

In the Summer we would have tea parties in the garden and organised concerts. These were mostly held across the road, as the houses there had basements, which we called areas. The stars would do their turns in the area, and the audience would sit up the steps and would pay a halfpenny to watch the show. If it was their house, they didn’t have to pay.

My Father only ever smoked cigars. Perhaps one in the evening or weekends. Once he left half of one smoked on the mantelpiece. Bill thought he would really be a toff and watch one of our concerts and smoke at the same time. My Father in the meantime had finished his meal and looked for his cigar. Of course it was missing. He must have known his son, because he went straight across the road. Bill always said when he told this tale, that Dad yelled down the area, “Are you down there Bill?” and then this big hand came down and yanked him up in the air, with the cigar dangling from his lips. He said he flew up the steps on the end of Dad’s boot. This story never failed to raise a laugh when we reminisced.

When it was wet my Mother would turn the kitchen table upside down and my younger brother Bob and I would pretend that it was a boat. We would row away for hours and drift on a sea of fancy. I used to do the same for my own children and I believe they enjoyed the game as much as we did. I really do think we didn’t get bored like so many children today.

We went to the Railway Mission three times on Sundays. We also went to Bible Classes once a week and my brother belonged to the Boys Brigade. I joined the Girls Life Brigade. We had some great times on Sunday School Outings. We went to a place called Penny’s Field by train from Lewes Road Station. We would be given tea which included slices of fruit and madeira cake. Sometimes my sister took us to the Salvation Army. They often played and sang on the Level and we would follow them into the hall. But when the Speaker said “Come and be Saved,” she would take us out because we didn’t belong to the Army and she got scared.

A few more things come to my mind about Brighton in my early days. One was the drinking fountain at St. Peters Church. There was a large metal cup hanging from a chain which we could drink from, but mother never allowed us to do this. We always had to put our mouths near the jet of water and catch it as we pressed the button. There were two horse troughs there, and we would watch the horses having their fill. It’s hard to remember how things were, and realise just how much traffic has built up on the roads since those days. Cars were a real luxury for the few when I was young.

Another memory was Jack Sheppards Concert Pary, which we would always visit after our picnic on the beach. We always went on the Daltons Beach, which is the second one from the Palace Pier, going towards Black Rock, We walked along to where the Peter Pan play area is now and watched the stars perform. We never sat in the deckchairs, we would always watch from outside and leave when the collecting-box came round. It was always very good. They had a proper stage and everyone knew Jack Sheppards.

Mother did not go out to work. Not many women did. They had enough to do looking after their families and the house. Everything was so much harder to keep clean then, without all the modern equipment. But she did do a couple of hours cleaning now and again, for an old lady whose name was Mrs Smith. She lived in a large house which stood in its own grounds in Wakefield Road. It ran the whole length of the road. The main gate was in the Upper Lewes Road end, but there was a wooden door in Princes Crescent through which my mother would go. Sometimes my brother and I went down to her after school and Mrs Smith would give us some fruit, or perhaps some pudding left over from her dinner. She was a very kind old lady, and I particularly mention this house because it is significant later on.

Actually my sister was more like a mother to me as she always used to take my brothers and me onto the beach, on picnics, blackberrying, or picking primroses and bluebells. It was often a nightmare for her, as I was always getting lost. I don’t think she’s ever forgotten the day I wondered out of a shop on London Road and all the way down to the seafront. A policeman directing traffic saw me and took me into a sweet shop till he came off duty. Then he took me to the Police Station. I was quite at home there, they gave me a penny and put me to bed. I remember my Dad arriving in a taxi (he must have been drunk at the time) and the bed being wet when they lifted me up.

I know my sister cringed everytime my mother suggested we went anywhere. The boys would play on the groyne when we went to the beach and that used to worry her in case they fell. One day Bill lost his boots and had to go home barefoot. She made him walk on his own she was so ashamed of him.

My mother used to give us a penny each to come home on the tram (we had to walk to the beach) and a halfpenny to buy some sweets. There was a little shop in Oxford Street called Fords, and Mrs Ford used to sell the best “broken” that you could ever to wish to find. “Broken” consisted of all kinds of bits and pieces of sweets and chocolates and we would get our 2 ounces in a newspaper cone. Just imagine 1d a quarter or 2d for a bar of chocolate. There was an amazing selection of sweets in the shops. Some were only one farthing each. Not that I had many sweets. We didn’t have regular pocket money.

There was a little shop in Mayo Road, which was like a house really, with everything in the front window. He sold everything from paraffin to boot laces. When we did have a halfpenny to spend we would go and look through the window and work out what was the best value for our money, Monkey Nuts or Sherbert Fountain, bars of Toffee or Lucky Dip. There was so much to choose from. Sometimes Mother would send us sometimes to buy 1d worth of vinegar or 2d worth of Mustard Pickle in a cup. We would always drink some of the vinegar, and she always told us our blood would dry up. On the corner of Mayo Road was a public house which my Father frequented. Whenever Mother had a bad turn, we always knew where to find him. Another one of his haunts was a tiny little place in Rose Hill known as Potts Pub. That was Dad’s local. They used to go on “men only” outings sometimes. They had their photos taken standing by the Charabanc. He would dress in a white suit and shoes and a straw boater hat. He would have a rattle, similar to the ones used by football supporters, except his was wooden and quite big. He would always bring us little sticks of rock home from this pub. They were about 2 inches long and about as thick as my little finger. He also bought us Brighton Biscuits, which were always in a jar on the counter and looked something like a Farleys Rusk.

Sometimes on Saturdays, when Dad came back from his drink, he lay on the sofa and held a sixpenny piece in his hand. We would try to prize his fingers open. If we did he would let us keep the money, but his fingers were so strong, we used to struggle for a long time with him until he got tired and went to sleep. One night he came home the worse for drink and lay down on the floor with his head on the treadle of the sewing machine. Mum stayed up all night watching in case he moved and got his head caught. I suppose in those days men worked hard and the wives stayed at home more, and after work they would go to the pub. As the years went by my father didn’t drink very much, and at the end of his life, only the occasional one at home.

The men used to play many games, such as Shove-halfpenny, dominoes, cards and an outdoor game called Bat and Trap. Every Good Friday they would play on the Level. We children always had Sunday clothes, which were worn only on Sundays, and Easter was always the time for new ones. I suppose it depended on the cash available, but I remember my sister making me dresses and coats and going to the Co-op to buy patent black leather ankle-strap shoes. Mother used to have a trading club and paid weekly. That must have been when things were a bit better because I can also remember my dad mending our shoes with rubber tyres.

We went on to the Level dressed in our new outfits and watched the games. Of course, the men always had barrels of beer and most of them finished up ‘one over the eight’. Quite often we were given pennies when they were in this state, as half of them didn’t know what they were doing.

We also used to have a great time on Bonfire Night, there was always a ‘Guy’ made, by all of us contributing some part of him. Father would hire a handcart from a place in St.Pauls Street. We would collect all the rubbish we could find from shops and neighbours and Mother used to save anything she didn’t want for weeks before. Then with the cart piled high, we would all make our way to the Level and build the fire, which was always one of the biggest there. We also had fireworks which Dad would light. It was a splendid night and we would all come home tired and hungry. I remember once my poor Mother standing by watching the different displays, when someone set off a rocket, and it came down on her leg and burnt her. She was in pain and my father pushed her home that night on the hand cart. She had a terrible open wound for months, and never went to the Bonfire Celebrations after that.

The Level was used a great deal in my early days. It used to house the market before the present one was opened. The stalls used to be on the outer rim and I would often go with mother on Saturday evenings to shop. She would buy meat which was always auctioned off when it got late. Shops used to keep open till nine or ten o’clock. It was quite common to shop late at night, especially at weekends.

We used to go to the pictures on very rare occasions. I just remember the silent films and going to the little cinema in Lewes Road, which was known as the ‘Flea Pit’. I never knew its real name. I believe it cost 3d to go in. I remember going with my sister to the Astoria when it was fist opened, to see Gracie Fields in “Say it with Flowers.” The cinema was decorated with masses of flowers.

We also used to visit the Palace Pier Theatre to see the pantomime. I would have to be carried, as I was afraid of looking at the sea through the slats.

Tradesmen & shops

There were four shops I remember well in Ditchling Road. One was the butchers, where on Mondays the ice lorry would arrive and deliver loads of ice to keep the meat cool. There weren’t the refrigerators then. We children would always get a piece to suck when the driver wasn’t looking. Then there was the grocer, who used to sell fabulous broken biscuits, and when in season gooseberries and we’d buy 1d worth in newspaper. The sweet shop used to sell 1/2d Surprise Packets. They consisted of a slab of chocolate which had an animal shape on each one. It there was a ticket inside, the lucky person would get a prize, usually a slab of toffee. I used to be quite good at picking the right one. Then there was Gigins the Bakers. We used to get our bread there. My Mother would send us with a pillow case to buy loaves of stale bread because it was cheaper. The bill was paid at the end of the week.

I recall one Saturday, Mother giving my brother a £1 note to pay the bill. I went with him and on the way we met Leslie Brooker, who lived across the road. He was playing with a four wheeler, so my brother got on and had a ride. When we arrived at the shop we had lost the £1. It was a terrible shock, as my Mother probably only had about £2 to pay everything with. Poor Mum was so upset and worried about how she would manage. She put an advert in the shop window, but of course, we didn’t get it back, so it made the housekeeping short for a long time.

The milkman used to come round on a horse drawn cart. He would have a big churn and a measure that would hook on the side to fill your jug. Also there was the Muffin Man. He carried muffins and crumpets, and rang a big hand bell. People would go running from their houses to buy them for tea at the weekends. Then the Winkle Man used to sell shell-fish. Sometimes for Sunday tea, Mother brought us winkles. She washed them and we sat round the table with our ration on our plates, with bread and marge, and of course, our pin to pick the winkles from their shells. I loved them at the time, but later, seeing them alive under the rocks in the sea, I decided instantly I could never eat them again.

At certain times of the year, strange looking men wearing Black Berets and riding bicycles, with strings of onions hanging from the handlebars, would appear in our road. We thought they were Spaniards, but I think now they came from Belgium, but whether they were genuine or not we never knew.

The Lamplighter would ride his bicycle up and down the street, holding a long pole, to light the lamps or turn them off. Some of the men were so clever they could operate the pole without getting off the bike.

These days have all long since gone, and there have been drastic changes, many for the good, but some I have been sad to see happen.

Bath night

Saturday night was a busy time as we all had baths. We had no bathroom. A big bath was placed in front of the kitchen fire and we children had ours first. The big copper was filled, and jugs of hot and cold water tipped into the tub. After our bath my brother and I were dried and sat on the kitchen table. We were then given Caster Oil. That was supposed to clean us inside as well. We were given a piece of orange or lemon after to take the taste away. We also had Scotts Emulsion, which was rather foul, but when mum could afford it she would tip this stuff in a jar, and add a tin of condensed milk to it, which made it more palatable. I suppose it helped to make up for what we lacked in our diet. At least Mum thought so. In the winter we also had Cod Liver Oil or Malt, but we quite liked that. After we children had had our baths, Mother and Father would have theirs. It was quite a major operation and just a one day a week occurrence. We would all have clean night wear and underwear. In the winter I used to wear combinations, an all in one garment with a flap at the back which buttoned, so that one could go to the toilet.

Another thing we used to use in the Winter when our hands and knees got chapped from the cold, was a block called Melrose. It was rubbed over the affected parts and was supposed to take the soreness out, but when it was put on it used to sting like mad.

One Saturday when the bathtime session had just begun, a letter arrived from the Council to tell us that we had been allocated a house in South Moulsecoomb. This was truly a wonderful day for us all. My Mother had applied for a house as we needed the extra room. I had failed my eleven plus exams but I was changing to a Senior school, so the move came at a very opportune time for me.

Moving to Moulsecoomb

One day at the beginning of August 1931, we moved to our new home, which to us, was like living in the country, with all the grass around.

We were thrilled with the house. 20 The Highway. It contained one small sitting room, a large living room, which led into a kitchen. Upstairs there were three bedrooms, toilet and bathroom. Just imagine going upstairs to bed and being able to have a bath in a special room, to be able to turn on the tap and obtain hot water. In the living room there was a range with a back-boiler which heated the water. The most magical thing of all was to press a switch and the electric light came on.

The furniture that we had in the flat was very sparse, and not very smart, so the house looked quite bare. We had no carpet for the stairs and they remained like that for a very long time.

My mother hired an electric boiler, cooker, kettle and iron from the Electricity Board for about five shillings and sixpence a quarter. It was all brand new and was marvellous for her. For years she’d had to cook over the fire and range and iron with two flat irons, which used to take ages to keep heating and go cold quickly. Now she could boil a kettle at the touch of a switch. Best of all she could do the washing without lifting heavy baskets of water, or lighting a fire under the boiler.

There were quite a few youngsters round the green where we lived, Elsie Hawkin, Gladys Diplock, Paddy Gibbs, Win Griffiths, her sisters Elly and Olive, and her brother Tom, Gladys Gear, and next door was Alec Hill and his baby sister Margaret. I had always loved babies, so was very happy to know there was one so close to us. We made friends very quickly, as most children do.

It was the start of a brighter life for my parents and us. The house had a very nice back garden, and a flower garden in the front. The rent was one guinea a week.

Days at 20 The Highway

We used to own a gramophone with a huge horn. We had to wind it up, and when it started to run down the music would slur and take on a deeper tone. Then we would give the handle a few turns and it would speed up and raise up an octave. We would take the horn off and shout through it. Our cat would often sit on the record and go round. He used to enjoy that. After a while we had our first radio. We paid one shilling and sixpence to Radio Rentals. We had a box on the window sill which controlled the on and off switch, and I believe it came from the Race Hill. We had much pleasure from that set. We would listen to Radio Luxembourgh. Sometimes they broadcast serials in the afternoons and a childrens hour. It was always very good. That’s when they used to sing:

We are the Ovaltineys
We’re happy girls and boys
Give your request
We can’t refuse you
We are here just to amuse you
Would you like a song or story
Will you share our joys
At games and sport we’re more than keen.
No merrier children could be seen
Because we all drink Ovaltine
We’re happy girls and boys

We hurried home to listen to our favourites. Saturday evenings we would listen to things like “Valentine Dial” and “The Man in Black,” “Paul Temple,” and “In Town Tonight,” and there was always a good story on late.

Soon it was time for Bob and I to attend our new school, at Moulsecoomb. My Mother came with us the first day, and we went into this big new school. My brother went into the Senior Boys. We first met the Headmistress on entering the Girls Department. She was very pleasant and quietly spoken. Her name was Miss Carson. She was very interested in my swimming. My Mother asked if, although it meant me being late for school, I might be allowed to continue my Life Saving on Friday mornings. She readily agreed to this and, as my Father had said he would pay for another girl to go with me for company, she said she would ask someone in my class. It was only a few pence to join this club. My Mother then left me and I was taken to my class. The teacher’s name was Miss Corbin. She had protruding teeth and blonde ringlets. She was a charming and caring person. I remember one day when she had a fit in the classroom and slid under her desk. The whole class screamed and ran past the desk while the poor woman lay frothing at the mouth.

On my first day there was a great excitement in the class. I felt just like a VIP. They knew I was a swimmer and when she asked, “Which team shall we put her in,” all the hands went up, and everyone was calling the name of their house; these were Cissbury, Wolstonbury, Chanctonbury and Hollingbury. The last one was to be by house all the time I was at the school.

The first day went very well. We did arithmetic which had always been a bad subject for me, and when I got it wrong the teacher came round and explained to me what to do. I was waiting for the slap and telling off. I couldn’t believe it when it didn’t come. That was the start of a real love for me for Moulsecoomb Senior Girls School. It was a wonderful place in those days, and I spent some of the happiest years of my life there. My academic work still wasn’t very brilliant, but I did try. I loved poetry and the teacher who took us for it was Miss Mills, she also took us for Country Dancing. She would bounce up and down on her toes in time with the music. Also I enjoyed needlework with Miss Richardson, and cookery with Miss Neat.

My swimming improved rapidly; also running, long jump, high jump and hurdles. I was always in the school sports and Inter-schools at Preston Park. But I shone best as a swimmer. I ended up Back-Stroke Champion. The school was really sport conscious and eventually I was attending either St Lukes or North Road, nearly every day. We also had land drill. On our way to St Lukes we went up Islingword Road and could smell the cakes and bread being baked in the shop half-way up. When we came back down after our swim the teacher used to let us go in and buy buns. Back at school we would go to the Cookery Class where Miss Neat would have a big jug of steaming cocoa ready for us, and we would sit with brimming mugs and eat our buns. They really did look after us and encouraged everyone with the ability for sport. When we had races to compete in, we were always sent home early to rest beforehand.

Eventually a lot more of the girls joined the Brighton Ladies Swimming Club, and we produced a good team and won the Schools Shield. Also we swam for the club. We used to enter for the Regattas off the West Pier, and the Pier to Pier races. One year six of us entered for this event. It took place on a Saturday afternoon. We did very well. One of the girls came first and a couple of us got prizes, which was a good result, as there were quite a lot of entrants. My Father had said to me, “Don’t race, just try and do it”, which is what I did. We were also training for the school sports. After assembly on the following Monday, we were all called on to the stage and gently chastised because we had raced, when we were supposed to be resting, and then praised because we had done so well. The teachers had seen our pictures in the local paper, but they were secretly proud of us, especially of the girl who won it.

My brother Bill also took part in the West Pier Galas and the Mens “Pier to Pier”, and also races round the Pier. His friend was Jimmy Godwin of Hove Shiverers Club and many times I have seen them race against each other and come in to finish with their arms round each others necks. He also played water-polo and it was a wonderful moment for him and us, when he was picked to play for England and received his Cap.

My parents took a great interest in our activities and Dad would go out in a boat when we swam in the sea. Mum would always see we had a light meal, usually boiled eggs, and bread and butter, also she would rub us with olive oil to relax our muscles. We had a lovely cat called Paddy, and he would run up my brothers leg and up his back and lick the oil off. We were also given Horlicks tablets to take to the baths to suck. Mum said it would stop the sinking feeling. She meant in our stomachs, but it always amused us.

When the S S Brighton was opened in West Street, I was one of the girls chosen to represent our school. We were all given a different coloured swimming costume, and we formed a human crocodile on the side of the baths. The first girl stood upright and dived in, and all the others went down on one knee and held on to the ankle of the girl in front and went in one after the other. My brother Bill also took part. He performed a comic boxing match on a raft pulled by two swimmers. My Mother was given a ticket to come and watch. It was a magnificent building, designed like a ship, with portholes and changing rooms like cabins. All the attendants wore white duck suits and sailor hats. Later it was turned into the Ice Rink.

I used to take part in the school concerts. I loved singing and acting, but nearly always got the part of Narrator, I suppose because I enjoyed the poetry class so much and was good at learning words. I always tried to say it just as the teacher read it, using the intonation as she did.

One really special friend was Dorothy Simmons. She lived five minutes from us at the corner of The Avenue, Moulsecoomb. I would call for her every day on my way to school, and we would come home together. She also used to be in the Schools Concerts. She was quite a plump girl and always jolly and good natured. We also were friends with Ruby Chambers and Joan Scopes.

My elder brother and my sister were both working by this time and things were a bit easier for Mother. My sister had always been very thrifty and started a Post Office Savings Account. She decided it was time my Father started to save a bit for his old age, so she persuaded him to do the same. She also thought it was time we had some new furniture, so she took my Mother to London and they bought a small carpet for the little sitting room, which we had never furnished till then, a leather suite and a coffee table, a fire screen and curb, sideboard and dining room suite for the living room, and two fireside chairs. We also had some carpet for the stairs. We were very excited when it arrived. My Mother used to pay for it monthly. My sister used to send the money and dealt with the correspondence. Things really were looking up; the gardens back and front were blooming. Dad used to dig and plant vegetables, and Mum worked hours with the flowers and the weeding. They both loved the gardens, which always looked neat and well kept. Dad was Secretary of the Moulsecoomb Parks and Gardens Social Club for years, and Mum used to go each week with another member’s wife, Mrs Cornford, and clean the club room.

Dad also joined the Preston Park Bowling Club, and was a fine player. He loved the game and went to the Park every chance he had. He eventually became Captain and, at the age of seventy-two, was picked to play for England. His name is on the Plaque of Honour at Preston Park. He played until he turned eighty.

Bob and I enjoyed the company of the youngsters on the green. The games we played were different. More group games were played, such as skipping in a long rope together, ball games, and chasing. It was lovely having the room to run about on grass, instead of a street.

My sister was extremely good to me and one day she bought me my first bicycle. It was an upright handlebar, second-hand, but I was thrilled with it. I had learned to ride, like so many children do, on someone else’s when I was quite young. I spent hours on that bike and it lasted a long time.

In 1932, Bob left school, and started work at the Co-op Laundry.

So now I was the only one at school, I enjoyed every minute of it. I loved composition and making up stories. We had put on some very good shows, one of which was Hiawatha. We worked really hard at rehearsals. I was once again the Narrator. I also sang one solo. We made all of the clothes, and my mother made me a wig out of darning wool. It was great fun and a huge success.

Days at work

Sadly my days at school were fast coming to an end and, in 1934, the dreaded day arrived. I was very upset and cried. I left on the Friday and on the following Monday I went to the Labour Exchange and was offered a job at Cox’s Pill Factory. I went for the interview with some other youngsters. Some of us started the following week.

I had always loved children, and would have like to train as a Nursery Nurse. There was a place in Wellington Road. You had to pay to train there and, once more, my sister wanted to be responsible for this. But I would have had to sleep in. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being away from home. I realise now, it would have been the best thing for me and given me more confidence.

We had different sized bottles for different sized pills. Doing the Sugar-coated ones wasn’t bad, but the powdered ones were terrible. The dust would get up your nose and down your throat. After we had filled the bottles we had a big drum of tubular cotton wool and an object like a skewer which we used to pack the tops of the bottles. There was an art in doing this. There had to be a certain amount each side, and they had to look neat. The boss was very fussy about this. I hated doing it and wasn’t very quick. I soon came to dislike the job intensely, but I was really frightened to give in my notice or change to a new situation. I was paid fifteen shillings a week, working from 8am to 1pm and 2pm to 6pm, and Saturday mornings 8 am till 12 midday. My mother had five shillings, and I had about nine shillings after my stamp was paid.

I was there for ten months and then the decision to leave was taken out of my hands. I got the sack. I remember crying about it. It seemed degrading to lose my job, but I soon got over it. I was unemployed for a while, then I got a job at Madam Carswells , blouse making. She had started a small factory in Roundhill Crescent. When we lived in the flat we often ran down the Cats Creep steps and stood looking down into the basement at the girls working. Later she expanded her business into Coombe Road where I was to work. I was paid the same money, fifteen shillings, and the hours were the same. I started off doing embroidery. I learnt to do some very nice work and made my sister several good blouses.

My friend Dorothy also worked there. She had gone straight from school. We started going out together on our bikes in the evenings, and to the pictures or picnics at the weekends. We got more friendly with Ruby and Joan again, who also worked at the same place. We would often meet on Sundays at Dorothy’s with our bikes and off we would go, usually to Barcombe Mills. We would take a boat on the river from Mr Brown’s Boathouse. I think we knew every nook and cranny there. We spent so many happy hours dreaming away on that river, and we would walk for miles and laugh and really enjoy each other’s company. We knew the way blindfolded. We always met an AA man on his bike. He always smiled and touched his cap to us, he was so pleasant. Then we would see the Wall’s Ice Cream trike, “Stop me and buy one.” We would stop and have a 3 cornered penny ice pole.

You could really taste the fruit, which would last to the end: not like today when after halfway the flavour is all sucked out.

Another gorgeous ice cream was Gizzies, along the seafront. We would walk some Sunday afternoons and have a penny wafer. They were so huge, it was a job to get it in your mouth. They also sold Knicker-Bocker Glories. We had never had one. They were one shilling and threepence each. We would stand looking in the window and say, “One day we will treat ourselves.”

On my sixteenth birthday my sister took me out shopping. We went to Halfords in London Road, and she let me choose a brand new bike. It was a drop-handle Super one. I was so surprised and pleased.

She was earning good money at Telephone House. Her office had moved there from Dyke Road after the new premises were built, at the bottom of North Road. She was so very good to me. She knew my Mother couldn’t afford things. Although Mother was better off then, than in my younger days, it was still quite tough to make ends meet. My sister would have given me anything possible. I have tried to make it up to her since, in little ways, but really it’s all done through love.

My elder brother Bill was very handsome and full of fun. He loved dancing and always used to do a tap dance in our living-room, in the doorway leading from the kitchen. The lino always lost the pattern there first.

Bill met Iris at a dance. She was very smart and attractive, with a lively sense of humour, which matched his. He introduced her to my Father on Brighton Beach after a race. My Fathers retort was, “Oh, so you’re the reason for him staying out late. You’d better come to tea on Sunday.” We loved her from the start. She became like a sister to me. Sundays gradually took on a new pattern. Mother always did a lot of baking in the morning, then cooked a roast dinner. Iris would come to Sunday tea, and Sunday tea was really something. We had come quite a way since my early days. Mum made tarts and all kinds of cakes. She was a good cook, and with her electric oven she could really shine. After the washing-up was done, we would sit round the table and play cards, or Escalado, which was a horse racing game. We would make so much noise and had such a lot of fun. About nine-thirty Mum would bring in a big plate of bread and cheese and pickled onions (home preserved), and homemade wine. We loved these days. Bill would make us laugh so much. Sometimes my stomach would ache so that I could only say, “Don’t make me laugh anymore, its too painful.”

Bill and Iris courted for five years. Then on the 17th May 1937, they were married at St. Andrews Church, Moulscoomb. They had managed to get a flat a few doors away from her parents. Money was very scarce but they furnished it. Iris kept her job. My parents were quite shocked to think she was going out to work, it wasn’t a recognised occurrence then. But she became pregnant quite early in their marriage. On the 1st August 1938, Joy was born. The first grandchild and for me, an Auntie at last. We all loved the baby and I couldn’t wait to be allowed to take her out.

My brother Bob had also met his future wife by this time. Dorothy worked in the Co-op Laundry as a Packer. So began their courtship. The two boys joined the Army Territorials. Dad was quite pleased as he had been a regular soldier.

My time at the blouse factory continued for a while. Our boss, Madam Carswell was about eighty years old. She was a real Victorian figure, with a long black dress and a walking stick. Her son and two daughters were also part of the firm. Madam and the elder daughter were very formidable, and I was afraid of both. Each afternoon they would walk through the workroom; everyone kept their eyes on their work. The other daughter and son were much kinder.

There was a woman who used to clean; she was also like a forewoman. Every morning and afternoon when we were starting work, she stood with a book in her hand, marking people who were late. When everyone was sitting at their machines, she turned on the switch and work would commence. After I had been there about six months I was put on the cutting of the blouses. It was really hard trying to fit the patterns into a certain amount of material. I did that for a while, then I was taught to use the machine. The first day I sat down at the bench and I put my foot on the treadle. It just shot away and I was petrified, but I soon learnt to control the speed. At first I had to make sleeves, and crossway binding, then the complete garments. Soon after I was put on piece work, but I was always much too particular and never made any money. So once more I was given the sack. I was still only sixteen and already had had two jobs.

Then I went to work in a private Childrens Home and stayed there for two years. It was run by a spinster lady, who was a bit eccentric. The children called her Auntie. I learnt quite a lot about looking after children. We had little ones from 3 weeks old to a girl of twelve, who had been adopted by Auntie. I loved the children, but it was quite a sad place really. Since I have had my own children I realise just how sad it was. After about two years I got rather run down, more work was being put on me and the responsibility was too much. I was off work for a couple of weeks and decided to leave. It was a change for me to give in my notice.

I got a post in a private house in Sussex Square. Nursemaid to a Colonel Knowles’ two children. He had lost a leg and he used to get terrible abscess’ on his stump and had to go into hospital. I would sleep at the house. Again I was upset at being away from home and after about a month I left. The family were very sorry to lose me but gave me a good reference.

The country was having problems with Germany and the threat of war was getting serious. I got a job with a private dressmaker in Hove, Mrs Fulkner. (She used to make garments for my sister occasionally, she had also made a coat for my mother). I learned quite a lot about dress-making there. I enjoyed it and because it was special work, I could be particular, which is what I liked. I was very happy there. I used to ride my bicycle to and from work, was still paid fifteen shillings a week, and I didn’t have to start till nine.

Days of war

My friends and I started going to dances. Mostly at the Regent or Corn Exchange. And we really enjoyed skating. We met a few members of the opposite sex, but none of us had any serious affairs. We also frequented the cinemas when we could afford it. The Odeon, Savoy, The Regent, or the dear old Academy. They always had the films after the rest and we always went there to see one we had missed, we could get in for ninepence. Sometimes we would go for a long walk on a Sunday afternoon, then go in a cafe and have Egg and Chips, Bread and Butter and Tea, then go to the pictures or we went for rides on our bikes. That would be our treat for the week. We never had much money, but we enjoyed ourselves. However, our young lives were soon to change drastically.

War was now imminent. One evening towards the end of August 1939, returning home from a bike ride, I found a note telling me that my two brothers had been called up by the army, and the family had all gone to their depot to see them off. I called Dorothy and we rode over to Preston Road, just in time to see them all getting into the lorries. It was sad. Iris was there with the baby, and Dorothy, Bob’s girlfriend. We tried to be cheerful and were still hoping it would be a false alarm. But on Sunday 3rd September 1939, war was declared. Within ten minutes the siren had sounded and everyone was panicking, not knowing what to expect.

We filled sandbags, and after dinner Dorothy and I decided we would go out. So complete with gasmasks, we took a stroll along the seafront and found ourselves outside Gizzies’. We looked at the Knickerbocker Glories, and were both in agreement that now was the time to indulge in our extravagance. We thoroughly enjoyed it and we felt if we had to die, at least we had tasted this luxury.

Life continued somehow. I personally was very scared, and each time the sirens sounded I shook with fright. My sister had joined the Red Cross a few years previously. She had been working every weekend at the Woman’s Hospital on Windlesham Road, so she was called up to join the Army Nursing Corps. That left just my parents and myself at home. I was still working with Mrs Fulkner, but she was beginning to feel the pinch, as custom had fallen quite drastically, so she could no longer afford to employ me. Once again I left, and got a job making Uniforms.

Night times were plunged into darkness. Each house had its blackout curtains, and not a chink of light was allowed to show. I had become very interested in skating, and spent about two or three evenings a week at the rink. Dorothy never mastered the art, but used to come and watch. It was amazing how everyone tried to lead a normal life. We would go out and grope our way round and became adept at getting from A to B and never seemed to worry about the dark. I suppose we also got a bit blase about the danger of the war.

We had some nasty moments in Brighton, but compared with places like London and Birmingham, I suppose we were lucky. Of course there were restrictions. We could no longer go the beach to swim, and no more visits to Barcombe Mills. Sometimes we took the bus to Stroods Pool, when the air-raids quietened down.

We all had our ration books. Mum used to do all sorts of things to vary our diet. She would save the top of the milk to make cream, shaking it up and down in a jar. She would get a marrow bone from the butcher and scoop the marrow out to make a really delicious steamed pudding. My Dad tried to join the Armed Forces and was most upset because he was told he was too old.

My mother, who was a true homemaker, had virtually no outside interests and as the war progressed I started to take her occasionally to the cinema on Sunday evenings. On one such occasion when returning home we both discovered that we had left our door keys in the house. My mother started to get slightly panicky. I told her not to worry and that I would go and see if my father had his.

He was across the road playing cards in the Parks and Gardens Social Club. This was one of his favourite pastimes. When I walked in and asked, “Have you got your door key, because Mum and I can’t get in!” he raised one eye, whilst keeping the other on his hand, and very nonchalently said “No, I haven’t”, and then was lost one more in his plan of play.

I returned to my mother and she was getting agitated, thinking we would never get in the house. I must explain that it was winter time and also we had just had a delivery of coal. We had a side entrance to our house with a small trap door which enabled the coal man to deliver the coal without entering the house. The ARP station was quite nearby, so I had an idea of getting one of the wardens to bring a ladder over and get through a bedroom window. I told my mother of my plan and off I went. The officer in charge was very helpful and within minutes we were back at the house.

I went up the side entrance and the scene that met me was like something from a comedy and yet at the same time was quite pathetic. Mother, who had by this time worked herself up into a state of fear (you must remember it was wartime and being locked out of one’s house in the blackout and with the possibility of an air-raid any minute was not something that one really wanted to do) had taken things into her own hands. She had removed her best hat, coat and dress, and was standing in her petticoat surround by coal which she had been scraping with her hands through the trap door. Her idea was to try and squeeze herself through and out into the kitchen.

I quickly recovered from the shock and said, “Good gracious, what are you doing? The ARP man is here and you will get pneumonia!” I wrapped her coat around her and the warden, oblivious to all that was happening, shinned up the ladder into the bedroom and within seconds had opened the front door.

We took an evacuee from London. I asked my father to get a child for us to care for, so he went to the office where they were dealing with homes for the evacuees, and he came back with a Mother and Baby Boy of eighteen months, Barbara and Arthur. I was thrilled having a baby in the house, he was a lovely little chap, and we grew very fond of him. His mother was divorced and didn’t appear to have any relatives, except for a brother who seemed to manage her affairs and visited her now and again. Barbara and Arthur stayed with us for a couple of years.

My job at the Uniform Factory was not very good, and I decided to look for something else. I saw an advertisement for a machinist in a gown shop near Preston Circus. The wages were three pounds a week. I had never earned that much before, and I felt quite rich. I went to work in a small room behind the shop. My boss was not a very nice person. On my first day he asked me to stay behind after Jean, the girl who worked in the shop, had gone home. He asked me if I would go out with him. He said he would give me a good time. I told him to take his wife instead and wondered if he might dismiss me if I didn’t do what he asked. Fortunately, he took the hint. His wife was a strange little woman, and would moan and wail when business was bad.

Our usual haunts were slowly being closed to the public. Only certain parts of the promenade were open; most of the hotels were taken over by the military and much of the park land. Stanmer Park and Rottingdean, two favourite outings for me and my friends, were full of soldiers. We could still walk along parts of the sea front, and it was while doing just that, one Sunday afternoon in February 1941, I first met Jack. He had been given a weekend pass and decided to come to Brighton. He got together with a Canadian and decided to go out for a drink. As Dorothy and I walked past the bus stop Jack turned round and looked me straight in the eyes. He was very handsome in his uniform and peaked cap. He wore a moustache and had vivid blue eyes. He and the Canadian followed us along the front and when they got level with us, Jack walked by me and said, “How you doing?” I learnt afterwards that he had been having a few drinks, which gave him Dutch courage. Otherwise I don’t think he would have spoken, as he was quite shy and reserved. We were going to go to a dance in the evening, but Jack and his friend persuaded us to go out to tea with them, then to the pictures. He said they couldn’t dance in army boots. He didn’t tell me it was because he couldn’t dance, or that he didn’t own a pair of shoes, but we agreed to go with them. We went for a meal in an ice cream parlour at the bottom of St James Street, then on to the Regent Cinema, after which we went to the station to see the boys on to their respective trains back to their bases.

I already had a boyfriend in the Air Force whose name was Gerrald. It wasn’t very serious as far as I was concerned; he was rather a mother’s boy. Jack asked me to see him again. I told him I already had a boyfriend. His answer was, “Get rid of him then.” During the following week I received my first letter from Jack. It was about four lines asking me to meet him at the weekend, and to bring Dorothy and he would bring another Guardsman friend of his. We met as arranged and went again to the cinema, then for a drink. Jack asked me again to give up Gerrald and be his girlfriend. He told me later on that as soon as he saw me, he told the Canadian who was with him, “There goes my girl,” and that it was love at first sight as far as he was concerned. Until then he thought he was a confirmed bachelor. After this meeting I wrote to Gerrald and told him as lightly as I could that I wanted to end our relationship. He did not reply. I wrote and told Jack, and his answer was, “I can’t say that I am sorry.”

I first met Jack in February 1941 and on May 5th I celebrated my twenty first birthday. I did not tell him because I hadn’t know him very long. My sister bought me my first watch which I was thrilled with. All of the family managed to get home. Mother waved her magic wand once more and produced an attractive spread. My friend Dorothy came, and a couple of my sister’s friends. My Father bought me my first legal drink, a Port and Lemon. I had sampled one before but he didn’t know that. It was a very happy day. It was soon over though, and my brothers and sister had to return to their camps. But the few hours together were something to remember in the days to come.

The times Jack and I spent together were very limited. He got an occasional weekend pass. One Sunday evening we were in a public house along the sea front and were telling each other about our respective families. He told me his father had bigamously married his mother. She had lived for five years under the impression that they were married, then his father died and his wife turned up out of the blue. There were two children born to Jack’s mother, Frank, and Jack, who was eighteen months younger. He was born on 30th May 1915, and was christened in the same church as myself – St Martins, Lewes Road – John William Davey, his father’s name.

After his mother told him the story, when he was older, he wouldn’t use the name of Davey, and took his mother’s maiden name of Masterson. He was very upset at what had happened and thought that I would not want anything more to do with him, because he said it made him illegitimate. There was more stigma attached to that in those days. I told him that he didn’t ask to be born, and that his mother was an innocent victim.

He was so honest and open. I think that is what endeared him to my Mother. When I told her she said, “He must think a lot of you to tell you, and so soon”.

On his next weekend pass he asked me to meet him at Blackboys in Uckfield, as his mother was working as a cook at Possingworth Manor. I was to go up after work on Firiday evening. As I explained before, I was never a very confident traveller, and going on a bus at night in the black-out wasn’t very easy. He gave directions and said he would meet me. It was quite a long slow journey and when I eventually arrived at my destination, I found myself in the middle of nowhere, and of course there was no Jack to be seen. I waited for a while and as it was cold, I decided to move on. I came to a house and saw a man going in. I asked him the way and he told me, “Go across that field and you will come to a road.” I plucked up courage and when I was about half way across (carrying my little torch pointed to the ground), a man came out of the hedge and I let out one scream and ran. As I got near the road I saw Jack on a cycle. I fell into his arms and shook like a leaf. He said he was sorry for not being at the bus stop, but had been late arriving at his mothers’. We had about two miles to walk before we came to the Manor. It was a lovely place. We went to the Servants Quarters which were very comfortable.

His mother was a little fat lady. She was so sweet and really charming, and a very good cook. When we arrived she had just made a birthday cake for the little boy of the house. It was very attractive and quite a change to see a real iced cake, as things like that were gradually fading from party menus. Towards the end of the war years cardboard cases were made to slip over the cakes, especially for weddings.

I met the rest of the staff and we had tea together. I shared a bedroom with two of the maids. The lady of the house came into the kitchen and I was introduced to her. She was very nice and wished me a pleasant weekend.

I got on well with Jack’s mother right from the start, although I could not imagine anyone not being able to, she was so inoffensive. She told me how pleased she was that Jack had met someone outside the village. He had also been employed at the Manor, as Game-keeper. He had learnt to use a gun when he was about twelve. On his visits to see his mother he would hang around the Head Keeper and became quite attached to him.

When his father died , because the marriage was not legal, his mother was penniless. She couldn’t claim any benefits, so put Frank into Dr Barnardos Home and Jack was fostered by different people in Brighton until he left school. She took a job as a cook. She told me how upset she was having to do this. Her life was very hard but somehow she coped. I never heard her utter one word against her husband. She told me the five years they were together were the happiest of her life.

When Frank was eight years old Barnardos sent him to Canada. Jack remembers going to the docks with his mother to see him off. They never saw him again. He used to write to his mother but when he was fourteen his letters stopped. She tried to trace him without success. She told me she had been to the Salvation Army, but they had drawn a blank also. She never got over the loss of her son. She wouldn’t let him be adopted as the people in Canada wanted. She always intended one day to have the boys back. It was very sad and I felt sorry for her when she used to talk to me about it. She had a little silk handkerchief with an embroidered corner with forget-me-not on it, that he had sent to her. (I gave it to Lesley, one of my daughters, the day she got married. It must be about sixty-five years old now). She worked hard and saved what she could. She never had a home of her own after she was left alone. We had a very pleasant weekend, and Jack was happy that his mother and I liked each other.

Weeks went by and we had some very nasty moments. One I remember well. My brother Bob was home and the sirens sounded one night. The planes droned over and the Germans dropped some bombs, one of which landed in the playing fields opposite our house. The noise was terrifying. I screamed and Bob came running into my bedroom. He sat with me for a long time, I was so frightened. Bob and Dorothy were now engaged to be married. Like most couples they saw very little of one another. It really was a case of living every moment one could, as each time our boys went back we never knew if ever we would see them again. Brighton Station was a very sad place at these times, watching the train slowly disappear with our loved ones on board, running right to the end of the platform to see the very last vestige slide away, then walk home alone with the tears falling unashamedly down our cheeks.

I had introduced Jack to my parents, and when he got leave my mother said he could stay in our house. We seemed to pack so much into the time we had together and we got to know each other very well. I suppose we met about six or seven times during the ten months after our first encounter.

On Boxing Day 1941, Bob and Dorothy were married. I attempted making my first wedding dress, and two bridesmaids dresses, one for her friend and one for me. Dorothy was pleased with the results, and we all thought we looked good, although the old photos have caused a few giggles since.

Jack had by this time decided he definitely did not want to remain a bachelor and had asked me to be engaged. So after Christmas he bought me a ring. We looked round but had so little time and we decided on one in Davis’ in East Street. It was a second-hand diamond ring and cost £5. The day Jack collected it he met me from work. We stood outside the Fire Station waiting for the bus, and he slipped the ring on my finger.

Jack and I decided to get married in the summer of 1942. I saved my clothing coupons. Some of the family helped me out and gave me some of theirs, and I managed to buy some very nice material and lace for my wedding dress from Hanningtons, and some for the bridesmaids who were to be my friend Dorothy and my little niece Joy. Iris had offered to design and make my dress for me. Mum started to buy bits and pieces towards our reception. She pinched and scraped, saving points on our ration books. They grew lots of vegetables in the garden, including lettuce, tomatoes and outdoor cucumbers, which all helped towards the end product.

Jack’s mother was delighted and she used to send me little gifts towards our future home. I would go and spend an occasional weekend with her, but it was an awkward journey and I could only go when the lighter evenings came, as it was such a long, lonely walk from the bus. It was alright when Jack got home on leave. I didn’t mind the dark then, but those times were not very frequent.

Our letters were full of our forthcoming marriage. I had to do all the arrangements. I remember going to Sinnocks in Baker Street to buy my wedding ring. I wanted a twenty-two carat gold one. They were scarce, only nine carat were being made during the war. Mrs Sinnock had two, one was shaped like a threepenny piece, and the other a thin band with a pattern chased round it. She let me take them both home so that when Jack got his next leave we could choose which one we both liked. I had known Mrs Sinnock for a long time. My mother always used the shop when she needed clock or watch repairs.

All the arrangements were falling into place. I had been to see the Vicar, and dad had booked the Music Room at Moulsecoomb Place for the reception. Gerry had been unusually quiet for a little while and we hoped the lull would continue.

Love and marriage

The week of the wedding had finally arrived; on the Thursday I went for a drink with Iris and a few friends. I had more than I should have done and I remember thinking, “This time next week I will be married woman.” I cried and said, “I don’t think I want to be married.” Iris laughed and said, “Don’t worry you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Jack came home on the Friday with one of his friends in his regiment who was going to act as his best man. His only relative was his mother and I thought it was very sad, not having anyone else to invite to his wedding. It was a lovely day, with the sun shining. I had heard that it was unlucky for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding so I stayed up in my bedroom all the morning. I don’t think a morning has ever been so long since. We were to be married at two o’clock. My Mother, sister and two sisters-in-law had been busy all morning laying tables and preparing food. They made ham salads, rolls and butter, fruit salad and cream, sandwiches and cakes, and everything looked marvellous, considering we were rationed. My father, sister and I were just leaving the house when we heard a shout. There was my brother Bill running round the corner. He had managed to get home after all. So once again all the family were together.

It was a lovely wedding at St Andrews Church, Moulsecoomb. Iris made a beautiful job of my dress, and Joy looked adorable in a Crinoline style dress, with a poke bonnet to match and little mittens. I carried a bouquet of red carnations which cost fifteen shillings and Dorothy had a posy of sweetpeas, and Joy a basket filled to the brim with every colour of these sweet smelling flowers. Their posies cost ten shillings each, and that even included the basket. Jack wore his uniform and a pair of black shoes he had found in a dustbin. He placed the little band on my finger and I have never ever taken it off. We took our vows seriously, as we intended our marriage to last.

Iris let us use her flat for a week’s honeymoon. It was in Clifton Court at the Seven Dials. She had to share the bathroom and toilet with her neighbour, and it was down the hall, the landlord knew that we were going to stay there. The morning after our wedding Jack went to the toilet and the door of the flat was shut. He had to knock to get in and the landlord walked by, looked at Jack standing there in his pyjamas and said slyly “Locked out then”. Poor Jack’s face looked very pink when he came in.

We met some of my relations and Jack’s mother the following morning, and also Dorothy. Some of us girls went for a ride in a horse and carriage which used to go along the sea front. I had always wanted to ride in it and thought the first day of my honeymoon was as good a time as any. We had a happy week together but all too soon it was time for Jack to go back to camp. It was so much harder now for him to leave.

The Germans started to get busy again and I got so frightened, especially at night. So my father got us a Morrison Shelter, which took up half of the living-room. It was a flat-topped table-like object with mesh sides. We would put the mattress inside, and when the sirens sounded I would sleep in it with my mother. Dorothy never got up. She never appeared to be afraid. I don’t think my mother would have bothered either if it wasn’t for me. Sometimes when things got really bad, I used to get in bed with my mum and dad. He would say “It was bad enough having to have you in our bed when you were little’, but they didn’t really mind and Mum would put her arm round me and give me a cuddle.

I always felt safer then.

One day when I was at work several planes came over and dropped down level with the shop windows in London Road and then started machine gunning. We ran into the show cases amongst the coats and dresses. We could hear the bullets breaking the shop windows, and people screaming. It was very frightening. When it was over we realised that the show-cases were completely made of glass. It really is incredible the stupid things one does sometimes in panic.

After we had been married about a year Jack was ordered overseas. He was given fourteen days leave which was almost like having fourteen days to live. We tried to fill every minute of it but all too soon it was time for him to depart. Our farewell that time was to remain something for us to remember in the dark days to come. Everything was top secret so I never knew the day that he was to be shipped across the water. I had to wait weeks before I received his first letter, but I couldn’t write to him. The days were now empty and long. We all tried to carry on with life some how.

Jack fought at Africa and Anzio beachhead in Italy. He had a very bad time at Anzio, and lost many of his friends. My brothers, Bill and Bob were now also overseas in Africa.

Jack was eventually flown home. I didn’t know he was in this country until he phoned me. I couldn’t believe it when I heard him, I couldn’t think who it was. One minute I was reading a letter telling me as much news as the censor would let him, and the next he was speaking to me on the telephone. He had to remain in quarantine for about seven days. I think he nearly went mad being so near and yet not being allowed home. The day he came home I remember so well. I waited at the house for him to come. I saw him coming from the window, and I went to the door and he started to run up the road. He slipped his pack from his shoulder because it hampered his movements and then I was in his arms. It was lovely to have him home again. We had been kept apart for just over a year, and had so much time to make up. But once more, all too soon it was time for him to return to base.

Luxuries were very scarce now. Fruit was not very plentiful; oranges and bananas were non-existent. My niece Joy had never seen a banana. We used to queue for hours to buy a few apples and when possible a couple of oranges. When Jack was abroad he sent about a dozen tiny oranges. They actually arrived on Christmas Day.

Jack and I dearly wanted to start a family, but we didn’t seem to be having any luck. We were quite disappointed. Then one day in August 1944, I realised I was pregnant. Jack was thrilled, and we talked about our son in our letters to each other. We were going to call him Gary John. Then Jack was sent overseas again and I didn’t see very much of him during my pregnancy.

My sister had been working very hard with her nursing, she had seen some very sad sights, but she loved her work. She had never had a relationship with the opposite sex. She met a soldier who had been a patient of hers and went out with him for a while, but it didn’t work out. She was upset, but as it happened it was all for the best, because later on she met Danny, who was also one of her patients. He was about fifteen years older than her, and he was one of the kindest, most gentle men that one could ever wish to meet. We all liked him from the start and he fell in love with her, and she with him. We were delighted because she had really had a tough strict upbringing, and whenever there was a dance she wanted to go to, my father wouldn’t let her go. He always thought dance halls were sordid places and he really restricted her for a great deal of her social life, but whenever there was any trouble in the family, it was always her they called on. We had thought the possibility of her ever meeting a husband was rather remote, so we were doubly thrilled for her. They had planned to get married at Easter in 1945. But, alas, in November 1944 he was posted abroad. He was given fourteen days compassionate leave to get married. They had to get a Special Licence. Iris and I sat up for two nights making a suit for Nellie to wear, we were determined that she was going to have that at least. Of all the people who really deserved to have a lovely wedding with all the trimmings, it was her, but everything was scarce because we just didn’t have the time to try and save any rations.

I was pregnant, and suffering from a lot of sickness, so wasn’t fit to act as bridesmaid, but we managed to make a dress for Danny’s sister. There was no Wedding Cake or ingredients to make one. The lady I worked with had a cousin who had a home-made cake shop in Oxford Street, so I went there to see what I could get. She had a small fruit cake about eight inches in diameter, we iced it and put it on a cake-stand. My father managed to get some rabbits, and the night before the wedding Nellie made pies. She had the pastry in a bowl ready to mix and she dropped the lot, we had to pick it up and use it because we had no more. Dorothy and I waited on table. There were only about a dozen or so guests. The boys were all away so were unable to come.

My mother was in bed because she had a bad ulcer on her leg and the doctor insisted she stay there. She was unable to attend the wedding. It really was so sad. But we have had some laughs about the things that happened on that occasion since.

I attended Brighton General Hospital Ante-Natal Clinic. On my first visit I met a young blonde girl, also there for the first time. We chatted to one another, I remember she wore a pair of fur gauntlet gloves, and I thought she must be quite comfortably off, they looked expensive. We would see each other on every visit to the clinic. Her name was Iris Neves. Her baby was expected two months before mine.

My mother-in-law had not been very well for some time, she would get very breathless. She had a friend in Tunbridge Wells and went there for a rest. She became very ill and was admitted to hospital. I was about seven months pregnant when I had a letter from the hospital asking me to go to see the almoner. My sister-in-law, Dorothy went with me and when we arrived at the hospital the lady almoner was shocked that I was so pregnant. She told me my mother-in-law had a leaky valve in her heart and that there was nothing they could do for her. Her friend had agreed for her to stay with her. I was very upset to see her so ill. She was so happy at the thought of being a grandmother. I really thought her will power would see her through. I wrote to Jack and told him that she had not got long to live. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t get better. We went and stayed with her. Jack had about ten days leave and at the end of it he left to go to base camp and join the next boat to take him back to Germany. The night he arrived back at base his mother died – 13th March 1945. The police came to the shop where I worked and told me. They were very good and managed to contact Jack as he was waiting to board his boat. So he was allowed back home.

Her affairs were in a mess, because although she mostly used the name of Mrs Davey, she sometimes used the name of Masterson, as she thought people would think it strange and would wonder why she and Jack did not have the same name. She had half of her things, like Ration Book and Identity Card in one name, and her Bank book and other papers in the other. This caused a great many problems for us and we had to go to Probate. The gentleman there was very kind and understanding. Jack explained the situation and he said “I think your Mother had a very sad life, and the best way out of it is for you to combine the two names and be known as Davey-Masterson”. So that is what he did, but we still called ourselves plain Masterson.

Jack’s mother left £500, which was quite a lot in 1945. She must have saved every penny she could, and never lived to enjoy any of it. I was very upset, and especially as she hadn’t lived to see her grandchild.

I was in the last stages of my pregnancy. Jack left once more to board a ship to Germany. I felt very depressed. The weather got very warm. Iris Neves had a baby girl, Linda, by Caesarian Section on the 28th April, 1945. I met her in the town and the baby was lovely, I couldn’t wait to see mine. We became very good friends and visited each others homes. Iris and her husband Bill had three daughters, one of which grew up to be the famous model Vivian Neves.

Thank God we were winning the war and there had been very little activity for some time, which I was very pleased about, as I didn’t fancy giving birth to the accompaniment of Gerry’s bombs. I left work at the end of April and on the 7th May 1945, the war with Germany ended. Everyone went crazy. I was hampered with my bump, but I was very happy and had so much now to look forward to. Jack was in Germany helping with the clearing-up operations, and the day for him to come home for good was getting nearer all the time.

Picking up the threads

I was two weeks overdue, and it was Jack’s birthday on the 30th May. When the day came I thought what a lovely present if I could give birth that day, but I went on to the next night, then had to rush would another to the Brighton General Hospital at 2am. It was on 1st June 1945, that our daughter was born. She was so like Jack’s mother, it was uncanny. Her little arms looked as if they had been cooking at a hot stove, the sleeves of her little nightie were pulled up to her elbows, and her little face was pink. She was very dark with a mass of hair, but it was really a shock when I first looked at her, and I remarked “Oh my God, my Mother-in-Law!” The nurse laughed, I think she thought I was being funny, but I wasn’t, it was almost as if she had come back in my baby.

We called her Jacqueline Ann the nearest we could get to her Daddy’s name, as although he really was John, everyone called him Jack.

I really missed not having my husband especially for our first baby. My sister and her husband came to fetch us when it was time to go home. It was ten days in bed and two weeks in hospital at that time. Jackie was five weeks old when Jack saw her for the first time. He too was so surprised at the likeness to his Mother. He was thrilled with her though, and soon got over his disappointment at not having a son.

I was only sorry that he missed most of her early days, but on the 1st March, 1946, he was demobbed, complete with his navy blue pin-striped suit, and not much else, as he had lived in lodgings before the war and had never owned many clothes or possessions. Jack and I continued to live with my parents. They let us have the big front bedroom, and the little sitting-room, which we furnished.

My father got Jack a job on the Parks and Gardens. He started off there doing general labouring, but intended to look around for something better.

Iris decided to do some dressmaking at home and asked me if I would help her. My mother agreed to look after Jackie so that I was able to oblige and the extra money was handy.

Our little girl was growing fast, she was lovely and my parents adored her, especially my dad. He made her a little swing and would put it up in the doorway (where my brother used to dance), and he pushed her to and fro for hours.

As all of the family were now back home, we decided to have a Welcome Home Party. We hired the Music Room again. We decorated it. Jack had bought a huge Swastika flag home from Germany. We unpicked the emblem and stitched “Welcome Home” in white tape on the red background. It hung across the hall. Again Mum did us proud with her food. We were still rationed, but at least the tension had gone out of trying to keep alive, and we could make plans.

When Jack had been working about a year, we took a holiday with Iris, Bill and Joy to Warwickshire for two weeks. That holiday was to last us for many years.

Life went along quite smoothly. Jack and I had our ups and downs like most young couples do, but he was a loving husband and father, and we overcame the trials and tribulations of early marriage, especially after being parted by war.

I was quite busy at work. We were asked to do a wedding order for a Jewish girl Hettie Sugarman, whose family were very well known in the town in my young days as “Rocko”. They had a rock shop in Queens Road, near the station, and stalls along the seafront. We really enjoyed making the dresses and we were invited to the wedding, which was held in London. Iris and I made ourselves long dresses, because it was that kind of affair. It was a magnificent wedding, hundreds of people present, and I have never seen so much food before, or since.

We travelled up in the morning and went into a pub toilet to change into our long dresses. We sat through the ceremony then we all stood around for about an hour, just drinking and talking and eating canapes. We were so hungry as we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so we stuffed ourselves with the delicacies. We were then told that “Dinner was served”. On going into the dining-room we saw tables to seat six to eight people, set out with gleaming silver and sparkling crystal, and every table finished off with a centre piece of an arrangement of fruit, each topped with a Pineapple. We were amazed, as none of us had seen this sort of fruit for years. We were served a five course meal, which because we had eaten so many of the Canapes, we found it difficult to compete with. What is more I had started Flu, and felt really poorly. After this meal the tables were cleared and arranged for a tea dance. The waitresses then brought round the most exotic gateaux that I have ever seen.

All we could say was “Wouldn’t the children love some of this!” I remember whilst dinner was in progress the Bride and Groom sat with their attendants and parents on a raised dias, and they had fiddlers playing. One tune I remember well was “Oh how we danced on the night we were wed”. It must have cost thousands.

The country was gradually picking up the pieces after the war.

Jack was transferred to Stanmer Park to work. He really enjoyed being in such a lovely place. In 1949 he was offered a job as Pest Control Officer in the park to keep down the vermin, rabbits and such like, which had bred in great profusion over the war years. He was also told that a house in the village went with the job. When he told me I was upset at first at the thought of leaving my parents. Then he took me to see the house. We had a choice of two which were next door to one another, but we chose the end one, number three. It had a huge garden, back and front, three bedrooms and a box-room upstairs, a large kitchen, a sitting-room, dining-room, bathroom and toilet, downstairs. It was a lovely cottage, and I began to get quite excited at the thought of having a home of our own, especially as another baby was expected.

We bought some furniture, floor covering and rugs. It wasn’t very plush but we managed to get the essentials with some of the money that Jack’s mother had left.

So in September we moved to our own home. My parents were really upset at not having Jackie around them, and I was just as upset at leaving them. In fact the first few weeks I was so homesick, I used to go back home every afternoon. I would get a midday meal, wash-up, then get Jackie dressed, and off I would go to see my mother and father.

I felt very strange trying to get used to village life, it was so quiet. Jack, of course, had lived in the country for quite a long time, and loved it. He couldn’t understand why I was so unhappy. The village street was very muddy and it was hard work trying to keep it out of the house. Our garden was a mass of rubbish, but Jack worked very hard and soon had it looking lovely. We went home to spend that Christmas with my parents, and I suddenly felt very unwell and had to spend the day in bed. We went back to Stanmer on the Tuesday after Christmas, and on the Thursday I knew that my baby was soon to be born. On the 30th December 1949, my second daughter was born weighing 81b 11oz. If it had been a boy we were going to call him Paul, and Jackie was quite upset that I didn’t get her a baby Paul. But we called the baby Sandra. She was so good and placid. Jack used to call her “Smiler”, and it was after she came to us that I began to settle down in my new surroundings. I found I could no longer keep running home to my parents.

Jackie started school at Falmer Village. I took her for a while, and then she used to walk all the way with the boy who lived opposite, Jimmy Eleker. But I went every afternoon to meet her. At that time it was quite a lonely walk, as there was no University with people going to and fro, just a couple of small-holdings, and the road was just a single narrow track. There was not even a proper bus-stop, we had to stand up on the grass verge to hail a bus. When I think about Jackie going all that way now, it makes me feel very guilty, but we had no transport at that time.

There were no shops when we first moved to Stanmer. A mobile Co-op used to come on Tuesdays and I would go into the town on Saturdays. Jack had a flourishing vegetable garden growing, which helped our limited finances. Times were very hard for us with two children. I had given up work when we moved and Jack’s wage was never very high. We couldn’t ever afford to go away for a holiday, but we would go out for picnics and a bus ride sometimes. I made most of the children’s clothes and would use cast offs. I remember making Sandra’s first school coat out of one of my father’s navy blue Melton overcoats, which I unpicked and turned. I was very proud of that effort and it was lovely and warm for her.

When we first lived in the village the war agriculture still farmed the land. The workers lived in some of the cottages. They were very rough and ready folk but good hearted. Later the farm was taken over by Mr West from Coldean, and gradually new families came as the others left.

There were no lights in the park or village. If I went out Jack would always have to meet me from the bus. I still had the cycle that my sister had bought and Jack would ride it as well. It was a real communal way of transport down the park. When I went shopping in the town I would put about three bags on the handlebars and push them up the park.

When Jackie was about seven, she changed schools and went to Moulsecoomb Juniors. After some negotiations we were given free bus tickets, but that still meant the children had to walk through the park. The other children had cycles, but we couldn’t afford one for Jackie, so she had to walk to the bus. I pursued the Education Office for transport for all of the journey. After a short period we were told that a taxi would be provided for the children up to nine years old. But Jackie was nearly that age and because the driver let her go in it if he had room, some of the mothers really were quite horrible about it, and one of the boys made poor little Jackie’s life a misery.

Life with our children

George and Bet Andrew with their two children, John and Linda came to live in the house opposite ours. They first lived in one of the flats in Stanmer House. George and Jack had been in the same Regiment during the war and both joined the same department of the Parks and Gardens when they were demobbed. They both played in the Works Cricket Team. Jack loved the game and we spent many happy hours watching him play, and eating picnic teas in different parklands. The children became firm friends and played together for hours.

The girls all loved horses, and would hang around when the owners came to ride the ones which were kept in the field behind our garden. Eventually they were allowed an occasional ride.

Sandra was prone to accidents. During her childhood, she suffered four breaks in her arms while riding. We knew our way blindfolded to the Latilla Block at the Sussex County Hospital but it did not deter her from her love for these beautiful animals.

There wasn’t much social life in the village for the grown ups, so in 1953 a few of us decided to form a club. Stanmer House, which once belonged to the Earl of Chichester, had a room near the old stables which we were allowed to use. The servants held their dances in it years before. We organised activities for the children, and socials for the families. In the early days it housed a huge open fireplace, and when an event was arranged for an evening the men would light the fire in the morning and keep it stocked up with wood all day long, to get the room warm. There was a huge old brass nursery fire-guard round it. I was on the Committee and later on Jack was Secretary for seven years. The Club has grown in every aspect and is now a smart, very changed, place. The activities are vastly different from our simple efforts. We held street parties for ‘special occasions’, like the Queen’s Coronation, with every household participating, making cakes, jellies and sandwiches and organising Fancy Dress and Sports for the children. We had some great times.

When in their seventies my parents moved to a flat in Lower Bevendean. When I pass the old house now, all the memories come flooding back, ghosts of the past. I can see Dad sitting at the window watching the football matches in the field opposite, where the Polytechnic now stands. He had a grandstand view. He would have loved to have watched all the events on coloured television, especially the Snooker.

One regret I have is that my children didn’t really know their grandparents. Mum was forty-one when I was born. They didn’t know Jack’s mother at all. She would have loved her grandchildren and I am sure it would have been reciprocated.

On the 17th October 1956, Jack and I had one of the biggest surprises of our lives when I gave birth to twin girls. It was a shock. We had no knowledge of the prospect until I was admitted for the birth, which was six weeks premature. We called them Lesley and Susan. The villagers thought it was great news and I felt like a VIP – for a very short time.

After I left the hospital and had to cope with four children, I didn’t have time to feel anything like a VIP. Again my sister came to the rescue. She helped Jack while I was in hospital, and made clothes for the babies. The Welfare Nurse used to call Lesley “his baby” and would say “Tell him she has gained weight this week”. He nearly always got her to feed.

Life drifted along. Times were still very hard in the financial sense. We worked hard to bring up our children. Jack produced a variety of vegetables, which helped our diet.

We struggled to let Jackie and Sandra go for a few riding lessons, and they still had the occasional ride in the village. On the day the twins were to be christened Jackie and Linda fell from two of these horses when they bolted. Jackie suffered gravel rash and Linda a split head. After this Jackie lost her nerve and didn’t ride again. But Sandra was allowed to look after a horse named Cobby. Linda Andrews had her own pony. They joined the Pony Club and all their spare time was used up that way. We had lovely days with our children, going to Gymkhanas, watching Sandra ride, up at five while the youngsters groomed the horses, and evenings with the kitchen full of riding tack being cleaned.

On 25th April, 1959, our son Stephen John was born, weighing in at 11 lbs. Jack and I had always wanted a boy. I remember after the birth feeling like a teenager, so excited I couldn’t sleep. He completed our family.

We could never afford to go away for holidays, or have evenings out. But we would walk in the country and picnic on the beach, and sometimes on Sunday evenings we would walk to the Swan at Falmer and have a drink in the gardens.

Going to the cinema had been a favourite pastime for my friend Dorothy and I. At first Jack and I often went. Even after Jackie was born we still managed an occasional visit. When we moved to Stanmer we just couldn’t afford it, and it was years before we went again. The first time was to see “The Sound of Music” at the old Regent Cinema, a treat provided by Danny, my brother-in-law.

Jack worked so close to home that we saw each other a great deal. Often, when the children were on holiday from school, he would take them round the woods with him. They learned a vast amount about nature this way, also about their father. He knew every inch of Stanmer Park and adored it. We always had a Springer Spaniel which he used during the course of his work, as a gun dog. He was a very familiar figure in the park, dog at his heels, gun under his arm. Our son was a lovely little boy and very affectionate. He would cry for his Daddy when Jack went back to work after lunch, and he loved to sit on my lap and have a cuddle.

We went through all the usual troubles with the children, tumbles and bruises, blood and tears, visits to the hospital, childhood ailments, sleepless nights and restless days. Jack was always very good with them especially at night. He loved his family dearly and his home. It was something he had never really known in his younger days.

The children had their pets, rabbits and guinea pig. Often one would escape, and I would be hopping over the back garden fences trying to catch the culprit. I always ended up saying “When anything happens to these animals, we are not having any more”, especially when it was pouring with rain. But it was only a momentary statement, I wouldn’t have deprived the children of their pets. There was always a funeral with half of the children in the village being invited to the ceremony.

Jackie became an apprentice hairdresser. She did very well, and practised on us. It was great having my hair done after doing it myself for so many years.

I had tried to earn a little extra cash at home doing needlework at different times, while the children were small. I once worked for a firm making little boys trousers for Marks and Spencers. I would do three dozen a week, then carry them down the park in a large suitcase, get a bus to Western Road. I earned £3 for that, and would then replace the finished garments with another three dozen bits and pieces and start again. I also did alterations for different people and made a few dresses. Then I did fruit picking and potato gathering. I took the children before they were school age, or if they were on holiday during that time. They used to love riding to the field on the back of the lorry. I would take a picnic for them and when they were older they earned a few shillings for themselves, picking potatoes after school.

The area around Stanmer Park was changing fast. The road was made into a dual-carriageway, and the smallholdings up Falmer Hill disappeared as the University of Sussex started to take shape. We also had lights installed through the park.

In 1962 when Stephen was three years old I got a job at the University. Stanmer House had been leased out to them for ten years, and at this time it was used as Administrations Offices. They needed another cleaner and Bet Andrews, who was already working there, spoke for me. After an interview I was given the job. We worked from 5pm to 9pm Monday to Friday and 2pm to 5pm on Saturday, the wage was £3 which wasn’t bad and we had five weeks paid holiday. I was very pleased as I was finding it a great strain trying to make ends meet on the £10 a week Jack gave me. But I seemed to be working from morning till night. I would get the family’s tea ready before I went to work, and quite often would go home to do the ironing or washing. I was determined that just because I had five children they would never be untidy or wear dirty clothes.

The last anchor

We had been lucky as a family. We had all survived the war. Apart from my mother’s legs and dad’s sciatica, their health in the latter years had been good, so I thought of them as almost being immortal. I thought nothing could touch them. It was a great shock when on Friday 13th July 1962, the Police came to tell me my dad had suffered a stroke. He never regained consciousness and died the next day. Mother, who had started to get a little senile, seemed to completely lose her memory. In fact she didn’t know much about what had happened. Again my sister took the reins. She came down from London and stayed with my mother. About three days after Dad’s death Mum was admitted to hospital. Her legs had some nasty ulcers and it was decided to give her some treatment. It also allowed us to make some arrangements for the funeral and to decide what to do about her future. Everything was done mechanically. The hospital advised us to tell mum that dad had died, and for a fleeting moment she was her old self again. She sobbed and said “Oh my God, he said he would never leave me”. My brother told her “He has gone to sleep and is waiting for you”. She seemed to accept that explanation. We were all very upset, but the nurse assured us she would not remember. She said, “By tomorrow, she will act as if nothing had happened”. Which was quite true. When I saw her the next day she asked me “How is Dad?” It was very difficult to try and act normally.

My parents were a real Darby and Joan, as much in love at the end of their lives as they were the day they married. I couldn’t believe this had happened. It was the first time death had touched our immediate family. Mum lived just two months without her mate and on the 20th September 1962, she too passed away. Then the full impact of what had happened hit me. I felt like a ship without an anchor. I loved my parents dearly and could never imagine life without them. But I have some lovely memories and often imagine I can see Dad in his white flannels, blazer and panama hat, just leaving the house to play bowls, and Mum standing at the door waving goodbye to him. If she had had a chest – which she hadn’t – it would have stuck right out she was so proud of him. I believe that a family is never the same once a mother and father have died. The base has suddenly gone. The ship has lost its anchor.

Stanmer village had changed since our arrival. We now had a shop. The farm had been modernised, and we had a path to walk on. Before, it was just a mud track and trying to keep it out of the house had been really hard work. The pram wheels and the children’s shoes would be caked in it. When they tripped over, which was quite often, I would have to do a major operation on them. But they had a lot of fun, and it’s lovely listening to them now while they reminisce.

Stephen had now started school and looked so grown-up in his uniform. I remember the farmer saying to me when he saw him on the first day “Have you taken his photo?” “No” I answered, “Well you better do it because you will never see him like that again”. It was true. I never did. His cap was always on the back of his head or thrown in the mud, and one sock up and the other down. A real boy. He got into quite a bit of mischief too, from painting someone’s car and letting down the tractor tyres, to pulling all of the name tags out of the plants in Stanmer Nurseries.

Leaving home

Our daughter Jackie had asked us if she and Ian could become engaged on her eighteenth birthday. We gave our consent and celebrated with a small dinner party for our family and Ian’s. It was very pleasant and the youngsters were very happy. They saved hard and on the 26th March 1966, they were married at St Thomas Mores Roman Catholic Church. I made the dresses for her and the bridesmaids, who were Sandra and the twins. They all looked lovely. Jack and I were very proud.

I missed my daughter very much and can only liken the feeling to a pain in the heart. It felt as if a slice of me had been cut off. It has happened as each child has fled from the nest and I have never felt completely whole since.

On the 11th July 1967 Jack and I celebrated our Silver Wedding and, at the last minute we decided to have a party. All of the family came and we had a happy day. I had asked for a request to be played for Jack on the radio. I chose Roberta Flack singing “The first time that ever I saw your face”, a lovely song, with words that said all that I felt about this man that I had made my life with. In years to come I was to feel so pleased that we had decided to have that celebration.

We went through the painful stages as most families do. Early in 1969, Jackie and Ian told Jack and I that we were going to become grandparents. We were thrilled at the news, and waited impatiently for our first grandchild, and on the 20th September after a healthy pregnancy she was born: Lauren Maria. It was like looking at Jackie as a baby all over again, with a mass of dark hair. It was a happy day. Jackie was very capable and coped well.

Sandra and her boyfriend David had named the day for their wedding, and once again I was busy with plans and ideas for dresses. Sandra designed her dress. On the 12th September 1970, they were married at Stanmer Church. Susan and Lesley were bridesmaids. We had a few problems with Lesley as she had decided to have a skin-head haircut about a week before. In fact, she had cut it herself, and as her dress had a hood, it was difficult to find enough hair to pin the hood to. I wasn’t very pleased with her at the time. But she didn’t look so bad on the day, and it has been the cause of quite a few laughs since. Sandra looked lovely. Jackie had dressed her hair and it looked very pretty. It was a happy day.

Again I went through a terrible week of heartache whilst they were on their honeymoon. I felt a little better after I saw her when they returned, but David was to go to college in Somerset, so they were soon off to make a home there. We missed her terribly but had to get used to it. We knew she had her life to live. I believe she too got homesick at times.

It was strange with just the three youngsters at home now. It did make life a little easier. The pile of washing and ironing wasn’t quite so high, and only four beds to make instead of six.

By this time I had transferred from working in Stanmer House to the new Refectory at the University, and was doing full-time. The money was very useful, as we were still not very financially sound, but it was hard work running a home and holding down a full-time job. I got very tired at times, but not having to struggle to make ends meet quite so much gave me an incentive. For the first time in my life, I had a few shillings of my own, and it was nice to be able to buy a gift for Jack or the children sometimes. We were also thinking of buying a car. In all the years I had known Jack, I had never heard him use the phrase “I wish”. But he did say one day “If ever I get enough money I will buy a car”. So he started to save for that purpose.

Jack was very patient with all of our children, and understanding. When Stephen was our only child at school, and fast growing into a young man, taller than his father and at an awkward age, they used to go fishing. Jack really enjoyed that. He wanted to be a friend to his son as well as a father. They would go to the Palace Pier, until one day Stephen caught his line on a dead body. A lady had committed suicide. Poor Stephen was very shaken, and it was a number of years before he went there again. The children all had their ups and downs and arguments, as most youngsters do, but if ever they were in trouble or unwell they rallied round each other. I am very happy in the knowledge that at the present time they are all extremely good friends and very aware of each other.

We all missed Susan very much when she eventually left home to start nursing, but every week on her days off she was back. I know she felt the same, missing us all, and I still have some lovely letters she wrote expressing her feelings for us. These I keep with special cards and letters from all of my children, sent at different times. My Treasures.

Now that our family had decreased, just two at home, life became easier. I joined a Womens Group and enjoyed the talks and activities provided, also the company. I had always been very interested in exercise and at one time belonged to Prunella Stacks League of Health and Beauty. Jackie and Sandra also belonged to the junior section, and now I started a keep-fit class at Coldean. Jack had also been involved in physical culture, so he was very interested. We had a beam running across our kitchen and he used to pull himself up by this. Also he would hold the children up there, and they loved it. There would be shrieks of laughter.

It was about this time that Jack achieved his desire and bought a car, a Ford Cortina Estate. There was great excitement when he brought it home. We all got in and went for a ride down the park. It was pure luxury not to have to walk that mile. I enjoy walking, but it was rather hard going at times, especially if I was late. When the children were small I used to push them to the welfare each week, which was at Moulsecombe Place where the Polytechnic now is, and then back home again, so I consider I had done my share of footing it. Now I would walk for pleasure.

We started to have holidays away from home; the first time was to stay with Sandra and David in Somerset. It had been twenty-six years since our last holiday.

It is hard sometimes to remember things as they used to be. I can just remember horse transport for certain things, then trams, trolley buses, and the motor bus. Many changes have taken place since my early life. Shops in the town have disappeared, such as, The Maypole, Liptons, Pearks, World Stores, Roslings. Bellmans also sold out. I remember when old Mrs Bellman had a little shop in Oxford Street where everything was bundled in the window, and she would sit in the doorway waiting for customers.

The coloured television is a far cry from our old wireless. I feel we used our imagination far more. When we listened to a play, it was realty interesting imagining what the people looked like. And we really listened, not at all like today. I find I have one eye on the television and the other on something else, so I never seem to know what is going on.
Jack and I went on holiday to Wales for a couple of weeks towards the end of August 1976, with Jackie, Ian and the children. We returned to find Stephen in hospital. He was in isolation. We were very worried, as the doctors couldn’t diagnose what was wrong with him. When he was a little boy he had viral pneumonia, and I always experienced a chill inside me whenever he was not feeling too well. Every time I went to visit him in hospital and was told by the Sister that each test they did proved negative I felt depressed and concerned. However, he recovered, thank God, but not in time to start Art College on the first couple of days of term.

After a year at Brighton College of Art he had made plans to go to London to do a BA. I didn’t really want him to go, but I knew it was what he wanted to do, and we had been having a difficult time. Most youngsters go through what parents usually term “the growing-up stage”. All mine went through this in one form or another. But I maintain that if we support them and show we still care, eventually they come through and the whole family is the better for it.

So we came to the early months of 1978. Sandra and David were expecting their first baby, and my last baby was planning to leave home.

Susan had taken her SRN exams and was anxiously waiting for the results. Lesley had been courting a young Jamaican boy, Martin, for almost two years and they were thinking about becoming engaged. We all loved this young man and could find no reason why they shouldn’t be happy. Both knew they would have problems, but Jack and I took the view that they would have to overcome these when they arose, as they were both responsible people.

Jackie and Ian were getting their house and garden in shape.

Jack and I had more time to spend together, doing what we wanted to do. When he had a weekend off, we would work in the garden and then have a bath and meal, and go for a drive, or for a drink. We had come a long way, we were in our thirty-sixth year of marriage, and were looking forward to our fortieth, our Ruby Wedding.

I was still working at the University. I loved working among the youngsters, and made many friends. I was in charge of a small Snack Bar in the Library, and it was a very happy place. I still meet students in the town and they always stop and have a chat, and there are two in particular that have now married and live quite close. They invite me to their home for a meal occasionally, and also visit me.

The last waltz

At the end of March 1978 Susan came home for the weekend to await the results of her SRN exams which were due on the 1st of April. Tension was mounting as she rose very early on that morning, drinking endless cups of coffee and waiting for the post. At long last it arrived, with her dithering, wanting to open the letter, yet afraid. However she took the plunge and shrieked with excitement “I’ve passed, I’ve passed, who can I phone and tell?” I was lying there trying to think. “Phone Brian and Jane”, my nephew and his wife, I said. She woke them up as it was still only about seven o’clock. “Who else can I ring” her voice came in jerky spasms as she bounded up the stairs two at a time, “I know I’ll phone Sandra”. David’s sleepy voice answered. When she had told him her news and received congratulations, he said “Now I have some for you, I have just left the hospital, Sandra has just given birth to our baby daughter.”

What a marvellous day that was, our first grandchild from them, and Sue an SRN.

They called the baby Beth and we couldn’t wait to see her. I was lucky to go and look after them when they left hospital.

Our holiday was planned for the summer, we were to rent the cottage next door to Sandra for two weeks, Sue was to join us with a friend on the last week. We were really looking forward to it.

In July we set off. I did notice Jack was not his usual self. He did not appear anxious to go walking very much, which was quite contrary to his usual behaviour, and he tired easily. One day we went on a picnic to the Black Mountains in Wales. We sat under a tree to eat our picnic, after which we took a walk up the hill. Jack lagged behind. Sandra and I were walking together and talking, she was carrying Beth in a sling. We looked back and saw Jack was standing holding his chest and looking very grey. We ran to him and he insisted it was indigestion. He told me that he had been having pains, on and off, for a couple of months. He wouldn’t go to the doctors while we were on holiday. We were all very worried about him. Sandra sensed all was not well. She and David decided to come home to Brighton with us. They stayed with us for a week.

Jack visited the doctor. He was told he had angina, caused through high blood pressure. He was told to take a week off work. It was the first time he had taken sick leave in twenty-two years. He was given some tablets, but was never given a Cardiograph, or X-rays, or an appointment to see a Heart Specialist, and because he was such a placid man he never complained or moaned about how he felt. I never dreamt things were so bad. I was very concerned especially when he started to get a lot of wind and would rub his chest. I would ask “Have you got a pain”, and he would answer “Its only indigestion”, and I didn’t dream of anything serious. One day when I told him to go back and see the doctor and not wait for his next appointment, he poked his finger at me and said “I am not going to bloody die, you know”.

On Friday the 29th September, we attended Hellingly Hospital, to see Susan presented with her SRN Certificate. We felt so proud of her and spent a very pleasant evening finishing off at the Roebuck Inn at Laughton for a dinner and dance with some of the family and Lesley’s boyfriend, Martin. Susan spent the night at home and early Saturday morning Jack drove her to Eastbourne.

On his return we spent a quiet day together, then in the evening we were present at a dinner and dance in the Village Club, as they were celebrating its 25th anniversary. I had been on the Founding Committee. Jack thoroughly enjoyed it. We met acquaintances we had not seen for several years, so had some very pleasant conversation, and even had our photograph taken. At the end of the evening Jack asked me for the last Waltz, which was unusual for him, as it was always me who did the asking, because the arthritis in his hip made it uncomfortable for him to move his leg. I remember feeling very happy when we sang Auld Lang Syne, I held his hand and I felt so pleased to be standing next to him and not separated by someone coming into the circle at the last moment.

We said our farewells and thanks, then returned home. We made it a practice of having a hot milk drink before retiring to bed. Jack wasn’t sure that night if he wanted one, but decided he would. He watched the end of the late night movie with the youngsters. When we went to bed he said again what a lovely evening it had been.

Those were two nights to remember for the rest of my life. The following morning a terrible tragedy struck our family. Jack got up to go to work. He collapsed and died. Lesley found him in the toilet.

Thus the 1st October 1978 ended a beautiful chapter in my life. A new and strange one started that day. We were all devastated at our loss and there followed months of confusion and tears.

My family have got their own opinions on all subjects, including religion. I personally feel the more knowledge one gains the more one questions things that we were taught and accepted. Jack was not a great churchgoer, but he liked me to attend and would encourage the children when they were young. I have my faith and beliefs, and like to think of Jack and the rest of my departed loved ones at peace and waiting to meet me one day in that other circle of life.

Ian was a tower of strength to us all. He took over and arranged everything. The Parks and Gardens planted a beech tree in the park in memory of Jack and his ashes were strewn round the base. The whole village attended the service in Stanmer church.

Martin had been wonderful throughout, but a few months after, Lesley and he parted company. She decided it would be for the best. We were all upset at the time, but he still visits us, and is like a son to me, and a brother to the family. He will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Stephen was due to go to London and I felt he must still go, although I wasn’t very happy at the prospect of his leaving home. I knew I couldn’t use our loss to cling on to him, but it was a sad day for me when Ian drove us to London to start my son on his new life.

The family were a great comfort to me in the months that followed. Susan, training in midwifery at Chelmsford, was feeling very unhappy. She decided to come back home to do some agency nursing. I was very happy. During that time Lesley met Paul and it seemed at last she had found what she had been looking for. He spent nearly every evening at our house and helped to ease some of the grief for her.

After a reasonable time had elapsed I was informed by the Superintendant of the Parks and Gardens, that my beloved house in Stanmer would be required for another family in the not too distant future. I knew this would happen, as the house went with Jack’s job. We stayed for just over a year.

Eventually we were offered a flat on the Sylvian Hall Estate. We all liked the look of it and I decided this was where I would live. On Saturday the 2nd February, 1980 we moved.

Ian and I were the last to leave my home of the last thirty-four years: Jack’s and my only home together.

I do not remember the journey out of the park. It was like being on the outside of an ambulance. It’s easy to see out of one, but always difficult to see through the windows from outside. That is what I felt like in the car, as if I was travelling inside, yet trying to look through from the outside. I wonder if the reader will understand this?

The family had everything settled in no time at all. My brother came and fixed all of the electrical gadgets for me, and at last the ordeal was over.

My sad times were not ended. In July my brother Bill was taken ill and spent about three weeks in hospital. I thought that it was just anaemia, but when I visited him on his return home, I was very shocked. He was very thin and drawn, and within a week he was back in hospital. His sense of humour never deserted him. He was in a great deal of pain, but still managed to joke and reminisce, telling the nurses of his escapades when young and causing much laughter. The children all visited him and he was so pleased, but on the 27th August 1980, my dear brother who had been my idol, died. I wondered when the hurt was going to end.

We were all trying to pick up the threads of life and finding it extremely difficult. I love my children dearly. They are my life and I found it very hard not to smother them with my affection when their father died. I had all of the love I gave to him, desperately needing someone to shower it on, and I know sometimes it was too much for them to cope with.

Life without my partner is very lonely, and at times almost unbearable. My children are very supportive. I see them all quite frequently, and our love for each other is strong.

I am extremely proud of my chidren, and what they have achieved. Two qualified hairdressers, two artists and one midwife, and I am confident they will go on to greater things.

At the University the conditions had changed a great deal. I had been a bit off colour and thought perhaps it was time for me to take life a little easier. I was getting tired of rushing for the train each day, so I decided to retire early.

I had, it seemed, spent a large slice of my life at that place. In the early days we were known by our Christian names, but it had grown so vast that I felt we were all just numbers now. The day I left I was given a little party by June, who I had worked with for the last three years. Several of the students and staff came to say goodbye, and on the 25th June 1982, I slipped away, practically unnoticed, from the place I had given twenty years of hard work to.

I found out by accident that my friend Iris had moved back to Brighton and was living ten minutes away from me. She was disabled by a disease called Syringomyelis, and her daughter Vivien had Multiple Sclerosis. It was lovely to see her and Bill again. It had been twenty-seven years since we had met. We sat talking for hours, filling each other in on all that had happened to each of us during those years, and of our families.

I thought about the situation my friends were in and decided I would do what I could to relieve some of the pressure. Now I visit them most weekdays. I help Iris do to her exercises to stimulate her limbs. I find it very rewarding and in return I gain company and the pleasure of their beautiful garden, and trips into the country. I find it ironic to think that we met by chance having our first children, through circumstances lost touch, then both of us moving back into the town and each needing comfort and understanding. Fate seems to have played a big part in my life.

I have many interests, one of which is my connection with the women writers workshop.

This tale is now almost at an end, I have only touched lightly on some subjects and have not been able to include many others, simply because the book would have been enormous.

I think of my life as a tree. Our tree, mine and all the rest of the family’s, past and present. My branch had been battered and blown by the winds of time, and broken a little, but it is strong in the support of the young branches of my children and their families, and I know it will continue to be so. Life has been a struggle, but I consider myself fortunate in the richness of all the love I have acquired in that time: Love of wonderful parents, sister and brothers. The great love of a marvellous man, and that of our dear children and now my grandchildren. What more could any human being desire, than to sit and reflect, finding peace and contentment in such treasures.

I am meeting people again now who I knew when I was at my first school, and am getting used to living in a flat once more. It is a vast improvement to the one in which I began my life, but which ironically, is situated on the site of Mrs Smiths’ old house in Wakefield Road; where my mother did her cleaning so many years ago, and where this story all began, one street away from Richmond Road….

Gallery

About writing this book

I have often thought about writing my memories especially those of my childhood. My son-in-law having just completed his course in English encouraged me to put pen to paper. I was then given some books to read which had been produced by QueenSpark, from one of these I found an address where I could contact someone to give me information about getting my work into book form. The original idea was to make a book for my children, as I wanted them to know me in my childhood and I dedicate this book to them.

After having completed a third of it, a writing group for women was started by QueenSpark and I was invited to join. It started a new phase of my life. I suddenly realized how much I had always enjoyed writing. I had always been a great letter writer. I was given encouragement to complete this book and thoroughly enjoyed helping to produce it. I have made many new friends and enjoy listening to their work.

Olive Masterson July 1986.