| Probably our birthday. 1951. 11,15,17. |
| 1941, Front lawn, 14, Lindhurst Lane with Dad. Ages: 1,5,7. |
I have just been skimming over some of my blogs and finding such interesting little essays which I had forgotten having written! I wanted to find the blog I knew I had composed about our birthdays, that is, July 28th, the joint birthdays of Esme, born 1936, Heather, born 1940 and me, born1934. I always think of my sisters at this time of year, and wish they were still here with me, particularly Heather, as she and I had such a long, strong friendship, with so much in com
mon. And each year I wonder how it was that I survived, i.e. lived, longer than they did; what it was that happened to me and not to them to account for that. I was the only one of the three sisters who had been ill quite a lot in infancy. We suffered similar alarms and anxieties from our father’s bullying, though Heather, six years after me, less so. She was so much younger than us, arriving at a time when he was physically weaker and older, with fewer temptations beckoning from the world outside family. He had given up cigarettes, alcohol, going to the pub and the ‘races’ and also, women, as far as could be ascertained.
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| In fact, probably my 90th! |
And so .... my 92nd has come and gone with me in reasonable state for a
nonagenarian, though the atrial fibrillation does tend to make me breathless
during exertion! The memory is OK, though fraying at the edges, while the outer
appearance is gradually crumbling despite restorative attempts and disguise. All
in all, the verdict is ‘Could be worse’ which sounds self-congratulatory but
is more self-reassurance! Meanwhile, as part of the doomed efforts to keep
looking as I did ten years ago, I see that time cannot linger while the waist proceeds to thicken
and the hair to thin.
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| Emily Bronte, from a painting by brother Bramwell. |
“This dark night has won me/ To wander far away/ Old feelings gather fast upon me/ Like vultures round their prey. “
| Some of 'the gang'. During my growth spurt at perhaps 12 or 13. |
My memories are not vulture-dark and overall, the childhood I recall was full of happy hours with two sisters and a mother I loved who tried so hard to protect us and give us all she could. I fondly recall the carefree play with the gang of boys with whom we shared imaginative games and unthinking hours of just being together. But life was lived beneath a canopy of fear sometimes, but mostly, just watchful apprehension. Once, we had all been playing ‘in the wood’ next-door to our house, our main playground, and as we wandered homeward, I carelessly and completely untypically, broke a piece off the log fence of the garden opposite our house. It belonged to the retired Superintendent of Police with the big car, of whom we were much in awe. I was horrified when the voice of his unseen wife shouted, “You naughty girl. I’m going to tell your father.” Heart thudding against ribs, I desperately tried to apologise. When Mrs. Superintendent, outraged, arrived at the scene of her fence desecration, one of the boys just said, briefly, “He'll kill her!"
She didn’t speak as Esme and I crossed the lane to go home but strangely, we never did heard any more of it and after several days, I stopped worrying though I took care to avoid the neighbours opposite whose fence henceforth remained beyond even my psychological reach!
| Family party, 1941. |
| Mum, born April 1902, in 1952. |








































