7th October 1921 – 24th September 2012
My Mum was born on October 7th, 1921. Like my Dad, she was born in London – in a Salvation Army charity hospital in Clapton, East London. This was many years before the NHS was created, and access to medical services was either expensive, or through charity.
The time before and after Mum’s birth was very tough for her parents. My Grandfather, Alfred Linton King (from whom I get my middle name) was an electrician by trade, at a time when electricity supply was new and burgeoning, especially for domestic usage. Life should have been good, but this was the early 1920’s, and the Great Depression was around the corner.
I know some of what my Grandparents went through with their new daughter, because my grandmother began writing an account of those early days, which I copied and transcribed. They lived in London, in squalid rented rooms, during the coal strikes of that period. Grandfather worked for a large London firm which specialized in the electrification of large stores and country houses. But the prevailing economic conditions devastated the firm’s business, and work was almost impossible to find. To read of their hardship is heart-rending, and the account – or what I have of it – ends before times improve, if they ever did.
I also have copies of letters – also very moving – sent to Mum from her mother Minnie. Mum was often away, staying with relatives while Minnie was being nursed through consumption, either at home or in a sanatorium. Mum was 11 years old when Minnie died (on her birthday), and her father married again, to Gladys May Perkins. From these letters, it seems Auntie Gladys was known to Mum while Minnie was still alive, and helped with the nursing. By Mum’s account, Gladys became the epitome of the wicked stepmother, possibly with some sort of mental issue. Mum related how Gladys often attacked her father with kitchen implements, and how one day she came home to find her dead under the kitchen table, from a brain aneurysm. She never spoke kindly of her, and hardly ever by name.
Because of Minnie’s ill health, Mum spent most summers farmed out to relatives who lived in Buckinghamshire. Many of the photos of that time show her playing with cousins in country fields, or on day trips with stern looking aunts. Few of them show her brother, Peter, who was just three years younger but must have been accommodated elsewhere.
I guess when she was older and able to help support the family, she came back to Royston, where she met Dad during the war. Dad had been posted to RAF Bassingbourn, and the dashing young airman swept her off her feet. They married in 1941, and spent the war years mostly separated, as Dad was posted around the country.
After the war, they made their home in Orchard Way, where they remained for almost forty years. I wish I could say that I remember how special she was growing up, how I remember some incident as a life lessons that stayed with me forever. But she was just there. Always. She was solid, resilient, dependable and sometimes quite fierce when we were out of line. One day, my friend Gary and I were playing with water pistols, and we somehow contrived to completely flood the kitchen. Punishment was stern, but not cruel. Another time, I was around 9 years old, I had taken a long detour home from school, and was reported missing. As I finally approached my home, I was welcomed by concerned neighbours, but my memory is of my Mum, red-faced, rounding the corner on her bicycle and ripping into me. I was sent to bed, but clearly remember Mum bringing me jelly and ice cream later.
Mum was very proud that I followed my brother Nigel to Hitchin Grammar School. And once I was no longer a child, she seemed proud of everything I did. She was happy when I didn’t initially go to University, like most of my school peers, but then she was proud when I finally did. She never really liked my first partner, Sarah, but she was never unkind about it. When I married Linda she was so pleased, and we both talked about how my Dad would have loved Linda had he still been around. And she loved visiting us here in America, just to spend time with us. We never had to entertain her, every time we suggested an outing or an activity, she would say “If you like…” because she was just happy to sit in a chair and be with us. Even if we had to leave her alone for work, or to run errands, she told us it felt nice to know someone would be coming home to her.
I think after Dad died, she was sometimes lonely. It was clear that as the time passed after my Dad’s death, she never missed him any less.
After a fabulous celebration of her 90th birthday, surrounded by almost all of her family, she died quite suddenly on 24th September 2012. She had had a hip replacement the previous year, and it is likely that the pulmonary embolism stemmed from her surgery, and the subsequent reduced mobility. The abrupt onset meant that, apart from the paramedics, she was alone when she died – it still breaks my heart that someone who adored being surrounded by her family would have none of us with her at that moment. Our comfort must be that although we couldn’t be with her, her beloved Algy would have been waiting for her.
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