Upon the Grave Of A Child

Another poem that came from a visit to the cemetery.  I always try to avoid the area that holds the graves of children, I find it too distressing, but this particular day something caught my eye.  It was the grave of a very young child.  It was festooned with flowers, balloons, little bears, china ornaments, lanterns - just a mass of colour. Then I noticed Birthday cards had been placed there.  Although the little one had been buried a couple of years previously it was obvious to me that the passing of time had done nothing to assuage the grief of his poor parents.  It broke my heart.  I wrote the following poem when I returned home.

In view of the dreadful events in Beslan, Russia and the harrowing scenes we have watched on our television screens of so many people burying their children, I wanted to share this with you today.

UPON THE GRAVE OF A CHILD

Under the spreading branches
Hard by the boundary wall
In a patch of gloomy shadow
Lies the saddest grave of all.
A tiny babe lies sleeping
Beneath the cold, hard earth
Torn from his Mother's keeping
So shortly after birth.
Where was the bounteous God above
Who would not let sparrows fall?
Why did He not reach out to save
When death spread his dark shawl?
In graven words the heartbreak shows
Cut deep in marble stone,
A Mother's grief, A Father's woe,
Who knew him as their own.
Thoughts that the mind cannot contain
That freeze the soul and numb the brain.
This tiny space now cradles all their dreams
All that was assumed to be
The shining carrier of their genes -
Their immortality.
An angel kissed them for a while
And then, in tears, was gone,
Extinguished now the little light
That once so brightly shone.
So stranger, should you happen by
And feel a chilling shudder
Then thank your God that grief so fierce
Is carried by another.

                                                                Copyright 2000

 

May we all pray that peace will someday come to our sad world.

 

P.S. I am sorry friends.  I do not know what has gone wrong with this entry or why there is such a huge gap after I finished.   I tried to put it right from this end with no luck.  I did not fancy deleting all and starting again.  Hopefully it will not happen again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Grandmother's House - Finale

 

I think that although the Parlour was the least used room it was always my favourite because of the memories of those wonderful parties and because I am sure the spirit of my Grandfather made contact with me there as regular readers will know from a prior entry.  I loved this room with a passion.

As you entered the room, on the right hand wall was a huge oak dresser, ceiling high, with ornate carved pillars and a huge central mirror flanked by little shelves that held all sorts of ornaments and photographs, again backed by smaller mirrors.  Pride of place on the dresser went to Grand-dad's "Marley Horses".  He had two huge ones and two smaller ones that had been presented to him I think for his running many years earlier.  I am now the owner of the two smaller ones.  On either side of the dresser were two  paintings both of The Monarch Of The Glen".  They were genuine oil paintings and must have been done by a skilled artist because he had done "a pair" otherwise there would have been two identical paintings.  They were surrounded by heavily decorated gilt frames.  Nan loved these so much and used to talk about them to me and about her love of her Scottish homeland.  They were very dirty from years and years of coal fires, household cooking and general dirt but would have been stunning if they had been professionally cleaned. Where they came from I have no idea, maybe they were brought from Scotland when the family uprooted.  These were promised to me, Nan wanted me to have them.

Directly in front of you was a square bay window. I am sure you know the type - one central window and two on either side.  In front of them stood an Aspidistra on a tall dark wood table. They call these the "Cast Iron" plants and this particular specimen must have been because I never saw or remember it being watered and the soil was always like concrete and yet the plant thrived.  The far wall had the fireplace which was also made of cast iron with a little mantleshelf again filled with  small trinkets.  On one side of the fireplace was a china cabinet filled with treasures, mostly brought back by Bill from his voyages.  Paper thin plates with beautiful designs, blown glass ornaments and the crowning glory was a punch bowl made of amber translucent glass heavily decorated with grapes and vine leaves with matching cups.  My Mother was to have this to be passed down to me. On the back wall, behind the entrace door was the piano, an old upright inlaid with Acanthus leaves in gold with two intricate iron candleholders.  This held more family photographs. The keys were yellow with age and use and I used to spend hours tinkling when I was very young hoping I would be able to play as well as Aunt Ada.  In the very centre of the room was a huge circular table supported by just one very large central column which splayed out into four ornate feet.  I used to believe this was King Arthur's table that had somehow come from Camelot.

 

After Grand-dad died, this beautiful room was never used much again except for very special occasions.  Then Nan spent her declining years in there when she could no longer wander down the road to sit on the bench outside the Town Hall and watch the world go by.  She kept active for a long time but the writing was on the wall when she had to be told that her beloved Bill had died.  She could not accept that her son had been taken during her life-time.  She would spend many hours after that talking about her Will and her Bill and saying how she wanted to be with them.  So, her bed was brought into the parlour and placed in front of the window where she could still see her friends and neighbours passing by and having chats through its opening when the weather permitted.  Her eyesight got worse and worse but she still had an active brain.  When Mike and I returned from holiday engaged, I took him to meet Nan.  We sat and chatted for a while and then she asked me to leave the room.  Mike told me afterwards that she had taken his hands and asked him some questions.  Then she called me back and told me that I had found a good man and not to let him go.  I think her old psychic ability was still at work.  She lived just long enough to know that she had a great-grandaughter, our daughter - Rebecca.  All her other great-grandchildren had been boys so my Mother rang Aunt Bet immediately and told her that I had given her the much wanted great-grandaughter.  Bet said that her face beamed like the sun.  It was not long afterwards that she passed away.  Alas, I was unable to attend her funeral because it was too soon after quite a difficult childbirth but I had my own little memorial service.  I am only sorry that my daughter never had the chance to know her.  She has missed out on a great deal.

I have written so much about Grandmother's house and yet I do not possess one single photograph of it. Nobody ever thought to take one.  I know it was built in the 1890's.  I know it was black from London soot.  I know it withstood two World Wars and was shaken to its foundation during the Second when the East End sustained such heavy bombing.  One wall was braced with a vast crosspiece of iron to support it.

Would I go back?  No!  I have learned you cannot go back in this life.  The Bible is right when it says there is a time and a season for everything.  It will all have changed by now.  I know the road which used to be so quiet that us children could play in it all day now hums with traffic as road systems have been put in place to ease the congestion from the High Street. The dark green front door with the heavy knocker (rarely used) is probably gone.  Anyway, I do not need to go back physically.  I can go back any time of the night or day, whenever I wish in my mind and in my recollections.

 

I have other memories of my Nan, sitting  with her in her local park and watching the flowers and the birds, her taking me to the cinema on a few occcasions, her stays at our house where she loved to sit in our garden, but it is her house I will always remember with such deep and abiding affection.  Her house and the people that lived in it and passed through it. People the like of which you do not find nowadays.  Characters, all of them.

The house was never theirs. Maybe I omitted to tell you that.  Always rented.  I think they might have had the option to purchase but never did.  After Nan left us Bet and Alan continued on together there.  When Bet passed, Alan continued alone until his death three years ago at which time the key was handed back to the Landlord.  There will be new people living there now.  Only rented and yet my family lived within those four walls for almost one hundred years.

Every house in that street, every house in every street has a story to tell.  This has been my story of Grandmother's house. I hope you have enjoyed strolling down memory lane with me and enjoyed reading the stories just as much as I have loved writing them down and sharing them with you.

Thus I finish the tale.  A small terraced house in a street of terraced houses with hundreds, no thousands of identical properties throughout the area and indeed, throughout London, throughout England. A house that helped to shape my life, taught me so much about people and the world, made me laugh, made me cry. I miss it. I will always miss it.

We never knew what became of Grandmother's things. My Mother never got the punchbowl and I never got my beloved "Monarch" paintings. We were sad about it.  But, my friends, I do not need those paintings.  You see, I have much much more.  I have what nobody can take away.  I have that room, those paintings, the house and above all the people, those wonderful people. I have them painted rich and vibrant on the canvas of my mind.

Her name was Mary, Mary

Plain as any name can be

But with propriety, society

Some will say Marie

But it was Mary, Mary

Long before the fashion came

For there is something there

That sounds so rare

It's a grand old name.

                                  old song.

 

P.S. When I began writing these memories I had no idea it would run to seven entries! I have now decided to expand on them, naming names, describing places and put it into book form in my spare moments.  It is doubtful I would find a publisher but I have decided to do it for our baby Grandson to pass in turn to his children. See what being a journaller does to you!!!!!!!!!!!!

finis

Old Photo

 

I thought I would share this with you today before I continue writing.  It shows three generations of the family I have been writing about, Nan and Grand-dad, Grand-dad's parents and my Mother and Bill. Bill and Mum are the two children in the front row on the extreme right. The bride and groom are my Great-Uncle James (Grand-dad's brother) and his beloved, Ethel.

I find this photo charming and love the wonderful hats.  I am sorry the quality is not good but I only have a photo-copy and not the original. I had lots of trouble re-sizing it and trying to keep the proportions.  Oh, the picture was taken in 1914.

 

Grandmother's House - 6

 

The parlour is the last room we come to. As mentioned previously this room was only used on special occasions such as Christmas or family parties.  Oh, how I remember those parties when the house rang with song and laughter. Even as a tiny child I remember my cousins and I "hiding" under the large round table and watching the antics of the adults. Ballons were hung, at Christmas a tiny tree, no lights, they did not have them but it looked as festive as they could make it.  The dresser groaning under the weight of jellies, blancmange, cake and fruit.

Grand-dad would start off the proceedings.  His favourite song was Danny Boy and he would reduce everyone to tears when he sang it. He did not have a brilliant voice but it was the emotion and passion that he put into it, he sang from the heart and even Bill had a tear in his eye.  Grand-dad was originally a watchmaker but when he married he changed his employment and became a tea salesman for a well known tea company at first going round making sales with a horse and cart and then progressing to a van. He had been born into a huge family in a very poor and  deeply deprived area close to where Jack The Ripper committed his crimes. It is still hard to believe that when Jack was stalking the East End my Grandfather was twelve and would have known all about it.  Oh, how I wish he had lived longer, there were so many questions I would liked to have asked him. He worked for the tea company all his life except when he was called up in the First World War where he experienced some of the very worst fighting.  He was badly gassed and invalided home but he lost many friends and like most of the men who went to war, he did not like talking about it.

He would also sing to my Nan, he would hold her hands and serenade her with Annie Laurie or Bonnie Mary of Argyle and her cheeks would redden and her eyes would glow. I know it meant so much to her because it reminded her of her home in Scotland.

We all had to do a "turn". With us little ones it was usually reciting a nursery rhyme or a little poem as we got older.  My Mother would always be asked to do the Charleston at which she was anexpert.  She was absolutely brilliant at it and indeed she could dance any dance, the tango being her favourite. She had wanted to be a professional dancer or an actress but the family forbade it. Uncle Bill usually came out with a monologue (often quite risque looking back). Others would tell jokes or do impressions of the famous of the day.   It was hilarious. My Father was always excused. He was a very quiet and I suppose shy man who much preferred to sit in a corner with a drink and hold a deep conversation with someone usually Uncle Alan who did not like doing "turns" either.  The family were in awe of my Dad and always called him "The Toff" because of his smartness and his very good job in the City.  I think they were very worried when Mum got engaged to Dad after a very brief acquaintance - they had the feeling that he would look down on them. It was just the opposite.  My father's family might have had more money and been better educated but his home was lacking in the most important thing - love.  Nan and Grand-dad had love in abundance and Dad adored them all,  He did not even mind being called "The Toff".  Mind you, when Grand-dad eventually got a car (yes although they were poor he did get a car as he was able to buy one through his firm and pay years of monthly payments) my Dad dreaded going out on trips because the damned car broke down more than it ran and Dad was always the one who had to push it!  Grand-dad must have been some sight because I have been told that when he drove he wore a leather helmet, goggles and long gauntlets.

Then came Aunt Ada  - she was one of Grand-dad's sisters. Ada was a true eccentric.  All her life she wore ankle-length dresses with a cameo brooch at the neck and strings of jet beads.  Even when she was ninety she was still dyeing her hair a bright henna red. She moved farther out of London into the market town of Romford.  We used to visit her often as we went to the market a great deal, that was in the days when live sheep and pigs were still taken there to be sold.  Her house was wonderful to me.  Full of antiques and her garden was a paradise.  Like a secret garden with lots of little nooks and crannies, half-hidden statues, mirrors, coloured mosaics dotted all around. It was wonderland for a child.  Sadly, Ada lost her only child, her beloved son at the age of threeto polio. 

Before I describe what she did at the parties I must mention Ada's dog.  She had a little Pomeranian called Sylvia.  Sylvia had a party piece.  She would sit on the turntable of the wind-up gramaphone, Ada would wind it up and the dog would go around and around gradually getting slower and slower then she would bark a signal and Ada had to wind it up again and off  Sylvia would spin at a fast rate.  The dog would spend hours like this and Ada never got tired of it.  Ada was known to all the stall-holders in the market and because of her ladylike appearance including a fox fur stole (oh how I hated those awful things - how any woman could wear an animal with dangling legs, head and tail around their neck I could not imagine) so they nicknamed her "The Duchess" and treated her as such. She was still going to the market at the age of 100 where she proudly showed off her telegram from the Queen.  She lived to the age of 102 equalling the age at death of her sister, Harriet.

Anyway, when it came to Ada's turn it was face pulling time. Ada always played the piano at all the family parties.  She fancied herself a great singer so she would launch into some old song like Come Into The Garden, Maud.  The trouble was that Ada had a very high pitched voice so she trilled more than sang and she was also very off-key.  Teeth were clenched, eyes screwed up, nerves jangled and us children were nudged by the adults to stop us giggling.  It seemed to go on forever but when the last note finally screeched around the room, nobody could be unkind. "Lovely Ada dear" came a chorus of voices.  Of course this only spurred her on to further efforts.  Bill would usually come to the rescue, grabbing her by the hand he would say "Come on old gel, gis a dance" and before she could protest, Grand-dad had wound up the gramaphone and Bill would whirl Ada around in the confined space.  Ada would go coy like a teenage girl and say "Oh, Bill, you are a caution"!!  Grand-dad would watch with great amusement, leaning on the mantlepiece and smoking his pipe.

As more and more drink was put away by each person it got more and more riotious.  Then it would be "Knees Up, Mother Brown" with Nan kicking her chubby legs as high as she could and showing her long pink bloomers whilst Aunt Ada demurely kicked her feet from side to side, not wishing to show any part of her anatomy at all.  Then it was usually the conga with all of us yelling it out at the top of our voices whilst we snaked through the other rooms, out into the back yard and back again.  The finale was always the can-can where even most of the men rolled up their trousers legs and joined in. After that everyone would collapse in an exhausted heap, perspiring heavily and laughing fit to bust. I have never heard laughter as loud and long as I did in those far off days. They were the real pleasures, people entertaining themselves and each other in the days before television became the norm. The days when people mixed and did not shut themselves away behind their front doors not caring whether they knew their neighbours or not.  It is a world now sadly gone.

Parties went on until everyone was spent and too tired to stand or dance. Often us children would fall asleep under the table whilst the adults continued to sit and talk until daybreak.

On my next entry I shall be telling you what else I remember about that room and completing the story of my Grandmother's house.

Grandmother's House - 5 - A Strange Affinity

Before moving on to the last room I must pause here to tell you about my Nan's strange affinity with cats.  You see she never bought a cat and was never given a cat but cats she always had.

Shortly after her marriage a stray cat came to her door. She took it in and it remained with her for the rest of its life.  Within forty eight hours of its death another cat appeared out of nowhere and the same thing happened.  Thus it went on - within a couple of days of the demise of the last cat, another one would appear, sometimes at the back door and sometimes at the front. On occasion they would just walk in.  Some cats were old when they appeared, others were sick but whatever time they had left they lived it out with her.

With her gift of the second-sight and people coming to her for advice on all matters it is a sobering thought to realize that centuries ago she would have been classed as a Witch and possibly hanged.

For some reason that none of us ever fathomed, each cat had exactly the same name - "Tutney".  Where she got this name from we will never know but every cat that came received the same name from her, male or female it made no difference, although the cats were usually male.

Nan always had a cat on her knee as she held court at the kitchen table, her cats followed her everywhere.

The last Tutney never left her.  In her last few years, bedridden and with hardly any sight left, Tutney slept nearly all the time on her chest or stomach and she would stroke him for hour upon hour. He would only leave her to eat or to answer the call of nature.

Came the fateful day.  Aunt Bet who had so lovingly cared for Nan all through her declining years had to go into hospital herself, it could not be put off or she would lose her leg.  My Mother could not take Nan because there was no spare bedroom. In the end it had to be decided that Nan would go into hospital whilst Bet received her treatment in another. Everyone did their best to explain to her but  Nan begged and pleaded not to go, she wanted to live out the rest of her time in her own home and eventually pass away in the same room as her beloved Will.  Nothing could be done.  The ambulance came to take Nan away. Tutney went outside and sat watching her being carefully loaded into the ambulance, then he went back into the house, wandered around Nan's room as if taking one last look and then he left the house never to return or  even to be seen again.  Tutney had sensed what none of us could possibly know - Nan would not be coming back. 

Nan died within days, I think of a broken heart. She just gave up once she was forced to leave her beloved home.

No cat ever lived in or entered my Grandmother's house again.

 

Excuse me for wandering off at a tangent but I wanted to put this entry about Nan and her cats on before I proceed to complete the story of my Grandmother's house.

 

 

 

Grandmother's House - 4. You are reading the story, meet some of the cast.

Alas, I do not posses photos of Fat Agnes, Big Annie or Mrs. Tapp. You will have to imagine them how you will.

 

 

GRANDAD WILL WITH SON ALAN

 

NAN

ELLEN JANE

 

 

My Grandmother's House - Part 3

The Easy Chair by Waterhouse

So you left me last sitting in the corner chair listening to the highly entertaining gossip of my Grandmother and her cronies.  Before continuing on to the rest of the house I would like to take you back to the outside toilet. I have mentioned in Part One that my mother saw an apparition whilst out there so I will illuminate.

My Mother adored her Grandmother, Eliza.  When this incident happened Eliza had been in her grave for five years.  My Mother was expecting her first child and had experienced problems right from the outset.  She was in about her fifth month and still bleeding from time to time.  One evening she was at my Grandmother's house and experienced sharp pain.  She thought she was miscarrying and hastened to the outside toilet in horror and fear.  She sat there waiting for something to happen and ready to call for assistance from my Aunt Bet and Nan if she needed it.  The door she had left open and she told me she had stared out into the darkened garden .  She lifted her eyes skywards to the bright moon and scudding clouds and murmured a prayer that her baby be protected. Then she closed her eyes and let the tears trickle down her face. Suddenly she heard her name being called softly and thinking it was Nan she opened her eyes.  Standing in the full moonlight was Great-Grandmother Eliza holding out her hands. For some reason my Mother felt completely calm as she stared at the familiar loving face. She told me that although she did not see Eliza's mouth move she clearly heard the words "It is alright my dear, your son is safe, you have nothing to fear.  Another son will follow and when you think childbearing is done you will be surprised with the birth of a daughter, may God bless you."  Then, before her eyes, the figure faded to nothing.  Mum noticed that her pain had gone.  From that moment on she experienced no further problems and in due course she did give birth to a son, followed eighteen months later by a second son and over ten years later by me!

So, the gift of experiencing strange things seems to have passed down to me.

Nan also had the second-sight.  When first married she used to read the tea-leaves and was very good at it and very very accurate.  I think she must have been a genuine medium because she often gave "readings" to people without the tea-leaves. She never charged money, it was just something that happened naturally in the course of a conversation and many came to her for advice. She only stopped when a woman barged into the house one day and accused her of doing the "devil's work" and told her she would burn in hell.  She never did another reading. So maybe it is the Celtish blood, I really do not know but the three generations have had it and maybe generations before although it has not been passed to my own daughter. I have followed the example of my Nan and never gone looking for things or dabbling in what I do not understand.  The experiences that I have had over the years simply happened. You will be reading more of them in the future.

Now, we come to the upstairs. Really nothing remarkable, a carbon copy of the rooms downstairs.  No carpets on the floor, just linoleum, bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe in each.  I hardly ever went upstairs in the house because there was really no need.  There were a few occasions when I would go up with cousin Alan, six years younger than me and play with his toy cars but we mostly played in the street which was customary in those days.

As for my Nan's bedroom, I only ever went in there once and I cannot recall it as being a nice experience.  There had been a family party either for Christmas or New Year and the house was packed.  Everyone had far too much to drink and it got too late for everyone to go home.  So the men slept where they could, on chairs, on the floor, under the table whilst some of the women slept in the other bedrooms.  I was told I would be sleeping in Nan's room, but I did not realise I would not be sleeping alone.

Into one standard double bed piled little me, Nan, Aunt Bet, my Mum, Big Annie and my older female cousin.  It was a nightmare.  I was between Nan and Aunt Bet.  Now, I was a very skinny, underweight child although you would not think so to look at me now and there I was with these two enormous people either side of me.  I must have looked like a sardine between two whales.  I never got anysleep that night I can tell you.  I was so afraid that one or the other of them would roll over onto me and I would be squashed flat. They also both snored heavily and the aroma of alcohol hung heavy in the air.  I clutched the sheet tightly in my hands and prayed for morning to come.  I have never spent such an uncomfortable night.  That is the only time I recall being in the master bedroom.

Some of the happiest times, when the house rang with the most laughter, was when Bill came home.  Bill was Nan's eldest son and the apple of her eye.  I think it broke her heart when he chose a life at sea and was away for very long periods.  She loved my Mother of that I have no doubt but not the way she loved Bill. Although my Mother was the oldest child, her twin brother, Robert, had died at the age of fifteen days.  Nan had so wanted a son and had called him Robert after her beloved Grandfather.  In those days when boy and girl twins were born and only one survived it was invariably the girl.  Maybe girl babies are just that bit stronger.  Anyway I think Nan for some reason blamed Mum a little that she survived at the expense of Robert.  So, although she loved my mother and tended her well, when Bill was born he became her favourite. They also had a special bond in that they shared the same birthday - 6th August.  They were so alike Nan and Bill, they resembled each other in looks, had the same sense of humour, they had a really special bond.  My Aunt Liley was always annoyed when her husband Bill, coming home on leave, would always visit his mother first. It does seem strange but Bill knew how much his mother loved him and would be so anxious to see him, especially after Grand-dad died.  That was just the way things were.  I have never met someone as outgoing and friendly as Bill was.  He was a man who truly lived life to the full and wrang every drop of pleasure he could get out of it.  He was the sort of person who, when he walked into a pub and nobody knew him, within about ten minutes he had the whole place in gales of laughter.  He had so many stories to tell of his life at sea and his experiences and he always had a fund of jokes.  It was him that brought home Nan's parrot. He always had a parrot of his own. You should have heard those parrots swear!  Well, they had been on board ship for months flying loose in his cabin and they learned the language of the seamen. When people became his friends they stayed so for life.  He had the rare gift of being able to get on with everyone.

So there was always great rejoicing and celebration when Bill came home, sometimes in the house and very often in the pub or various pubs because we all ended up going from one pub to another during the course of the evening.  I was too young to be allowed inside so I sat on the steps with a glass of Lemonade and a packet of crisps but I could hear all that went on.  I loved Bill very much and I know he loved me.  The last time I saw him was at my twenty-first birthday party.  He should have gone to his own daughter's party as my cousin and I shared the same birthday but he insisted on coming to mine pointing out that Joan had already had her twenty-first so he was not going to let me down.  I danced with him most of the evening and he made me feel like a queen.  I have a funny story to tell about Bill but will save that for another entry.

Another regular visitor to the house was Ellen Jane.  She was Nan's youngest sister and two sisters more unalike you could not find. Whereas Nan was large, Ellen Jane was very tiny indeed.  She was what would be called today a "special needs" child.  The last of a large brood something went wrong during her birth.  She remained very childlike and suffered bad epileptic seizures.  In the days when she was born there was little in the way of treatment so when her father uprooted the family to England, she was at first cared for at home but as her sisters married and departed, she was placed in an institution where she was to live out the remainder of her days.  However Nan was very fond of her and had her for long stays, usually several weeks in the summer, visited her regularly and on at least one occasion took her back to Scotland for a holiday.

So there were always people coming and going from Nan's.  She never travelled the world but the world came to her. Her house was never empty and I always felt so safe and happy there.  I preferred my Grandmother's house to my own where I did not have a particularly happy childhood.  I think Nan sensed that I was unhappy and she made up for it in whatever way she could.

In the next entry I will tell you about the last room and my memories of that.  Until then, dear readers..................

to be continued............