 |
Probably our birthday. 1951. 11,15,17. |
 |
July 1941, Front lawn, 14, Lindhurst Lane, Mansfield, with Dad. Ages: 1,5,7. |
 |
Averil, possibly 1936/7 Before I started wearing specs. |
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 28
th, the joint
birthdays of Esme, born 1936, Heather, born 1940 and me, born 1934. 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 and strong friendship, with so much in common. 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 strict regime and unpredictable temper, 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.
 |
| 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 acknowledge that time cannot linger, while the waist proceeds to thicken
and the hair to thin.
 |
Emily Bronte, from a painting by brother Bramwell. |
No doubt triggered
by my recent birthday, I have reminisced several times, quietly to myself, over Birthdays Past, remembering so many pleasurable occasions, though the other less-than-pleasant memories do seem to be inevitably stronger. I recently read in the current Literary Review,
Emily Bronte’s lines in an untitled lyric poem she wrote at 21in the Autumn of
that year, (1837) in a sad commentary on her life:
“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 from our father, 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 at times, though mostly, it was just watchful
apprehension which needed to be maintained. 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. I had no idea why I had done it, but it was on the spur of the moment and didn't seem to involve any thought about what I was doing. The fence belonged to the retired Superintendent of Police with the big car, whom I didn't know but 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,to her, “He'll kill her!"
 |
| All girls together in 1945, with friend Pamela. |
She didn’t speak
as Esme and I crossed the lane to go home but strangely, we never did hear 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, possibly an end of war celebration, 1945. |
 |
| Mum, born April 1902, in 1952. |