As you may have guessed Hilda lived many moons ago! But, one morning she was peacefully asleep in her bed WHEN at 7 am….. her dear John Kenneth burst through the door carrying a piping hot ‘cuppa’ accompanied by 2 or 3 little Studleys tumbling around behind him!
She heard him say: ‘Come on Hilda, show a leg! You’re playing for St Trinian’s today!’
AND Hilda she’s been ever since! I did once say to Paul rather wistfully (after a visit to the solicitor) that it was nice to be called ‘Mum’, but Hilda does bring back such happy memories too, and so I leave the choice to you!!
Sitting here in my comfortable ‘office chair’ in front of my writing desk at the rest home in Bournemouth in October 2008, I have been browsing back over the years (over 90 of them!) – I’ve always noticed that there have been a lot of changes – but it’s only NOW that I am beginning to think that perhaps more changes than in any previous century – read on and see if you agree with me!
When I was born in April of 1918 my mother and my brother Paul, aged 6, were living alone1 – and I think Paul was probably staying with his Auntie Lulu. Why? Because my father was in Germany during the last months of the GREAT WAR – the war which was supposed to end all wars!
My father (L.G. Alexander) was a conscientious objector – but no coward! – as proved by the fact that he was mentioned in dispatches2 and awarded the ‘Oak Leaf’ decoration for bravery as a stretcher-bearer. I think3 this was a decoration awarded by the Red Cross (sadly it seems to have gone missing over the years). He also wore the Red Cross on his uniform.
So, alone with the dear midwife (who I met many years later!) my dear mum gave birth to me, and I’ve since been relieved to find that I had the foresight to weigh in at five pound nothing in view of the circumstances!
A week later dear Mum received the news that her brother Franklin4 (aka Frank) had been killed at Ypres
but then six months later my dear father returned home! THE WAR WAS OVER! All the stops were pulled out to welcome him home!
Just imagine: ANTICIPATION, JOY, EXPECTATION….and a new little daughter!
BUT
It was the new little daughter who really let the side down – oh dear, Yes, me! She screamed her head off! Here was a man – had she ever seen a man before? Probably not; they were in short supply just then! Poor Dad, I’m so very sorry! But you forgave me, my very dear Dad, I still remember the stories you told me when I was sitting on your knee – my favourite ‘treat’, and that of your grandchildren many years later!
After an extended leave he returned to his London office at the Westminster Bank, where he eventually made his mark before he retired – first as Superintendent of all the foreign branches and then as Assistant General Manager of the bank itself. He really enjoyed the first of these appointments, and his gift for foreign language was above average, and he loved travelling! Particularly on the occasions when he crossed the Channel from Croydon Airport sitting beside the pilot in a two-seater plane – yes honestly! Those were the days!5
But I do remember how worn he used to look. And I do remember the stories of how difficult the Chairman (a.k.a. ‘that gentleman’) was said to be, by all and sundry – and I think that perhaps my dear mother was one of the few people who had stood
up to him. On a prodigious SOCIAL OCCASION he approached her and said, ‘Come on, Mrs Alexander, circulate!’ ‘Circulate what!’ was my mother’s reply, as she drew herself up! Oh dear, I didn’t hear the last of that story!
But, to return to the thread of this long story! As soon as we’d had a little time to re-adjust to peace-time, we rented a little house near Walthamstow – that was Woodford Green, a pleasant suburb just outside the London AND it had a good train service to Liverpool Street, for Dad.
We lived for the next few years in a rather quaint little cottage on the Green - next but one to the Castle Hotel – which seemed to me to have six little rooms, each a few steps up towards my bedroom at the top.
I still have a vivid memory of being shaken by my heels in that room, until a GREAT BIG SWEETY rolled out and away across the lino floor. Maybe I do remember it or maybe I’ve heard the story quite often…BUT…
I also have another vivid memory, which you will also find hard to believe, but this one is REALLY TRUE too, YES!! My mother and I had been invited out to ‘afternoon tea’ – a fashion I understand which is now being revived! – BUT NOT THE METHOD OF TRANSPORT which we enjoyed, I think! The invitation came from Mrs Bilson, an old friend of my mother’s who lived in one of the dear old houses in White Hall Road, a couple of miles away. Awaiting us, outside at 20 minutes to four – tea was at 4! – was her coachman standing by the carriage to escort us to our seats! (and me to have a little chat with the dear old horse before sitting down!) And then clop-clopping along the main road at Woodford. Not a car to be seen, nor a marking on the road, merely a wooden signpost to show us where to turn left for ‘White Hall Road’ – and Mrs Bilson!
But soon after that my father bought our house across the Green, not far from where a statue of Winston Churchill now sits. When we lived there Winston had just changed his political leanings from Liberal to Conservative, so he was our MP, and his meetings were held next door but one to us in Grange Avenue. Caution! Never look it up! It looks just like a slum now, or did at my last visit about 20-30 years ago! It was a lovely quiet road, lined with horse chestnut trees, with white posts at the top leading onto the Green. I used to walk through the posts every day to school and across the Green to Woodford County High School.
Soon after we moved my mother and I were out walking when we met on another lady with her two little girls, Elizabeth and Margaret Allnutt. Elizabeth and I got a bit bored and she crept round her mother’s back and put her tongue out at me. I of course reciprocated, and thereby hangs the story of a life-long friendship. She went to India and married a Methodist minister, but we never lost touch, and it’s only a few years since she died – and I still miss her!! Dear Betty, to me!!
We attended the same so-called ‘Dames Schools’ and walked backwards and forwards twice a day together with others who met along the way – we must have walked at least 6 miles daily! – as six year olds! The school was run by an elderly lady and her two – also elderly daughters! Mrs Miller and the two Miss Millers! Mrs Miller always sat at her high desk and seemed to me always to have a ruler to hand, for obvious reasons! And it also seemed to me that I was most often the recipient of it! But I don’t remember suffering any resentment because in those days it was ‘spare the rod, and spoil the child’, and I knew I was no angel! And anyhow I preferred it to the alternative which was to ‘sit on the boys shoe box’ which squeaked every time I moved, and called down an admonishment for me from the high desk! Perhaps that was why years later I decided that a quick smack and a given reason was the best punishment form our own dear children! But that did not always work out as I’d expected!
Out shopping with Elizabeth Peters – aged 3 – one day while Felicity was in hospital with Johnny, Elizabeth stood on the trolley. Twice I requested her to step down but ‘no notice taken’! A warning was given of a smack if not, but it went unheeded and the inevitable smack was administered. On the way home in the car I said:
‘Elizabeth, Grandma is very sorry she had to give you that smack, but you were disobedient etc., etc’.
‘That’s all right Grandma’ she said, ‘I feel like that when I have to smack my dolly’!
I’m never quite sure what we achieved that day, but I must add that she was NEVER a very disobedient child before or after that incident! (Dear Elizabeth, and dear all my 4 children and grandchildren AND my new GREAT! Yes he’s arrived, deo gratis, Matthew Timothy; lovely Bible names too!
When we were nine years old Elizabeth Allnutt and I sat our entrance exam for Woodford County High School – which still stands majestically on Woodford Green. Elizabeth passed for the ‘A’ form and I for the ‘B’. So we were always in different classes. But out of school our friendship never faltered. Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs Allnutt was a lovely lady. She and all the family always welcomed me, even on the frequent occasions when I must have turned up unannounced. I particularly remember her enduring affection and understanding.
My own dear parents, I soon discovered, were sadly incompatible, to their dying days! My much loved brother Paul was six years older than me and a lot more mature. From the age of about eleven he was a day boarder, and then a full boarder, at Chigwell School, and when he came home he seemed more like a dear ‘favourite uncle’ than a brother. I often used to dream dreams about my little brother Stephen6, who would have been only a year or two older than me had he lived. He died a short time after birth, and I believe that is one of the reasons why I set my heart on having a fairly large family myself. Bless you all! But then later I wondered whether it would have been better to have had you all a little further apart, so that I had more TIME just to spend with each one of you, (bless you!) as you grew up. But you were always a good team together, and that was special to me! And, as now I look into the future, I know you will always look after each other if the need arrives. I had confirmation of that fact at the time of our dear Felicity’s illness – brothers, sister, children all rallying round, with her dear Stephen – always there for her!!
But back to the suburbs of London, in the days following the GREAT WAR Woodford Green was only about 20 minutes by train the ‘the City’. Every weekday – and Saturdays at 7.30am in Grange Avenue, and all the other avenues, all the doors (the front doors!) would open and guess what? Out would come from each an immaculate ‘City Gent’. City suit, bowler hat and rolled umbrella; all complete. Singing out ‘Goodbye darling’ or similar, off he’d go, down the road, slamming the door behind him, to Snakes Lane Station and the City, and his high powered JOB!
Just at that time there was a wonderful cartoon in ‘Punch’ – a city gent from a little further out of London was seated on his motor mower determinedly charging up to ‘his office’ in the City! His Rolls Royce had run out of petrol but a little thing like that was not going to deter him! So, boys, if your Rolls runs out of petrol remember the old Chigwell school song;
‘Find a way and make a way, brave old Harsnett’s son’7
AND JUST KEEP GOING!, because as I write that’s what we will all need to do I guess (blessings on you!). But in many areas there was real poverty. ‘Homes for Heroes’ had not yet materialised and then in the thirties there STRIKES and more STRIKES! I remember driving my mother down to South Wales with food and clothing for mining families where conditions were horrendous.
Oh dear, I’ve digressed again, and got rather carried away!
After 4 years at Woodford County High it was decided that I should go to boarding school, partly because my dear Mum had had a BIG operation which she needed to rest from, I think. She and I had just had a lovely holiday at Frinton-on-Sea where I met George Cansdale8, who later became a very good friend of mine over the years.
I really enjoyed pushing my Mum over the greensward in her Bath chair – a wicker contraption with a wobbly handle for her to direct and a bar across the back for me to push. I don’t think she can always have enjoyed my escapades but looking back now I realise she was a good sport. Dear Mum!
When I heard that boarding school was to be my next experience I was quite excited! One of my favourite magazines at that time was ‘Schoolgirls Own’, which was full of the girls exciting escapades. And so it was that I found myself and my mother on the departure platform at Paddington Station awaiting the train for Malvern in Worcestershire. We were standing with a queue of ‘new girls’ awaiting introduction to the accompanying schoolmistress, Miss Chapman. When our turn came my mother stepped forward and said; ‘This is Marian, I don’t think there’s anything special about her!’ Not very complimentary you may be thinking, but it came after listening to so many instructions from Mums about such things as ‘woolly vests in winter’ etc., that I was delighted with its brevity and longed for a chat with my contemporaries. Years later Miss Chapman told me that this introduction had given me full marks from the teaching staff! AND I remembered it in days ahead when introducing my own children, but worded it a little differently!
When the train eventually reached Malvern Link Station, I JUST COULD NOT BELIEVE IT! From there the beautiful Malvern Hills were lined up, just above us, against the emerging glory of the setting sun! After my dear, flat Essex they seemed to me as mountains – magic! And then later I discovered to my joy that (in fours) we had permission to climb the Beacon, and generally explore the hills! Those were days of wonderful liberty – in some ways!!
There I met Patricia St John9 (later a much loved children’s author) and the dear St John family. Patricia was a day girl and we became great friends, both loving the hills and the countryside and the wild flowers – Patricia being very knowledgeable about them. Her dear Mum always welcomed me at their home, and for the first time I realised what a happy united Christian home can be! (and tried to emulate it in our own dear home when I was married). That influence, and that of the dear St John family, with others, tower high as I look back on my long life of 93 years.
Patricia’s father was Harold St John10, a well known Bible teacher in those days. Every Easter holiday after we’d all left school, he and his dear wife and their five children, would open their home in Malvern to friends of their children, and we would study with him one of the shorter books of the Bible for an hour or so. He knew and loved the scriptures and sowed those seeds within our hearts, AND he loved US, and all the fun we always had together. When time was up we’d collect the sausages from the butchers and depart up the hills to build a fire and cook (and eat!) them. As we walked we would ply him with all our questions about that days’ study. His simple holiness and his interest in us, I think won us all – dear Mr St John and dear Mrs St John, his wife, always with him AND US!
Miss Swain (Mrs St Johns’s sister) was Principal of Clarendon School (where I was a boarder) during my time there and became a strong influence in my thinking. But when the time came, AND against the majority decision (I think!) she wrote and appointed me HEAD GIRL for my final year11 – a totally unexpected move for me AND the staff! The letter was full of encouragement, but she did just add ‘and perhaps, Marian, you can grow up a little’! I was seventeen at the time! I did my best to comply and found the situation a good incentive. A few days after leaving school I had another letter thanking me, etc., but I don’t think I have ever really grown up!
Later during the Blitz, she made a special visit to St Thomas’s to encourage four of us (who were training there as Fledgling Nightingale Nurses). Her initials were E. G. and in private that was always our name for her, and one she always lived up to. Her niece Patricia St John, followed in my footsteps as Head Girl, but I don’t think anybody questioned that appointment!
When I left school I worked for a while at Bethnal Green Medical Mission (in Bethnal Green of course!). We had supported them at Clarendon, Dr Sloan their Medical Officer being a close friend of E. G.’s. (While at Clarendon) We used to have a wonderful day out at Eastmor Castle, picking the little wild daffodils every Spring, and sending great hampers of them up to the Mission. We also had ‘sales of work’ and sent them the proceeds.
One of the jobs I was given while I was there was sorting parcels from well-meaning supporters! There were some useful articles but many would have been more suitable for the ‘charade box’ which lots of families kept in those days; and I must confess we had some fun trying them on as we sorted them!
Another job I had was preparing children for the doctor’s examination. Dr Sloan told me that on one occasion she’d asked a Mum to remove a little boy’s clothes and the answer she got was:
‘Oh lor’ no, Doctor! I’ve just been and gone and sewed ‘im up for the Winter!’
But that demonstrates how those dear Mums would do ANYTHING to keep their children warm (and also of course, that hygiene was their unschooled project!).
Visiting was another of my ‘jobs’ – what an eye-opener that was to me! Many of the folk I visited lived in Peabody Buildings – blocks that have since been rebuilt more than once. But then, each of the so-called ‘flats’ comprised one room only and housed LARGE families. There were eight flats on each floor, and at the end of the block was one LOO and one cold tap! Just imagine! And that is less than seventy years ago!
But that’s not all in each of the so-called ‘flats’ there was an open grate (but of course open grates needed fuel, and fuel costs money!). AND in the corner of the room would be one large old bed (but of course beds need blankets and often those would be in pawn in order to buy food! And so often when I visited there would be old newspapers on the beds! Oh dear, it must have been freezing cold in those beds at night (even if the whole family were cuddled up together!)
I often used to wish that the sender of THOSE PARCELS would find even OLD blankets to send! But now I’m being critical and in view of the next bit of my story I’ve no cause to be! Why? Because soon after that my Mum and I took off across the sea IN LUXURY to visit America and Canada – for three whole months! We travelled down from London in one of the ‘up-to-the-minute’ Pullman coaches of that period, arriving at Southampton harbour….AND…..just across the water stood the elegant “Ile de France” liner12, dressed overall and all lit up, and awaiting us!! A proud and beautiful ship! We boarded the tender and approached the ship to see that part of the near side had been let down to sea level. Standing on it, lined up, stood the white coated attendants – many of them! ALL AWAITING US! And that evening my bath was run for me by one of them! Yes, those were the days – for some of us! But I couldn’t help thinking back to dear old Bethnal Green!
We were five days at sea, living in luxury. I didn’t, however find it an altogether easy time, as life aboard was very social, and as a Christian, things like dancing and cinema had not been part of my life. Having politely (and rather shyly!) refused such invitations, one eager young man re-joined (and various others); ‘Well, what on earth DO you do then?’ And I found myself inadequate to explain – but that is something we all have to sort out as life unfolds.
After docking and Customs we eventually arrived at our hotel in New York. We were too late for dinner but ordered sandwiches with ‘Room Service’. Up came the lift in the care of two uniformed waiters and a HUGE TROLLEY! Silver dishes with silver covers and starched table napkins AND WHATEVER! Up flew the silver covers and……lo……behold…..underneath were our humble sandwiches…..richly embellished with…..HOT GRAVY! But by then the gentle heave of the waves had returned to me, and I’m a bit unsure of the rest of the story!
For the next three days we explored New York. From the top of the Empire State building there were lines of perfectly straight streets crossing each other at right angles, with none of the chaos I was used to in London; and only one small skyscraper in view! From there we travelled down to Philadelphia to meet up with some of my father’s cousins, who ‘pushed the boat out’ for us; Archie Norman and his wife and grown-up families.
From there we took a ‘sleeper’ to London, Ontario, Canada, where we were met by my mother’s sister Lulu and her two children, John aged about 14, and Janet about 10. We had a happy and interesting visit, getting to know them and the members of the Kippen family and their friends, and experiencing something of their Canadian lifestyle, which we found to be more relaxed than our own.
Lulu’s husband Jack Kippen had died some years previously as a result of an injury during his service in the 1914 war. Lulu had met him in her capacity as a Red Cross nurse, back in UK.
Years later his son John followed in his father’s footsteps and joined up in the 1939 war, and we were able to meet up with him. Long after the war was over, on a number of occasions, he came and stayed with us as a family. I still remember the occasion (and the children certainly remember it!) when he took the four of them for lunch at the prestigious ‘Hole in the Wall’ restaurant in Bath. Dear John, a great treat!
Janet lived in England for a number of years while Adam attended prep school, and then Winchester College. Stella and I were able to see her quite often, and Sage, Stella’s daughter, then living in Canada travelled a long distance to spend Christmas with John and cook the Christmas dinner for him! In Canada!
Having said our ‘goodbyes’ to the dear folk in London, Ontario, Lulu, John and Janet came with us to Detroit where we all stayed a night or two with one of Lulu’s sisters-in-law, and went with her to visit the Ford works. Then, having said our ‘goodbyes’ and many ‘thank-yous’ to them all, Mum and I continued on our way to Niagara Falls (Lulu and the children already having visited them). Even now, all these many years later as I write I’m trying to figure out just HOW those countless TONS of water can STILL be rollicking over the cliffs without submerging the WHOLE WIDE WORLD! After 70+ continuous years since we were there I think the whole experience must have left me a bit dizzy – even more so than the hot sandwiches in New York! But I’m now a bit confused as to how we got from Niagara to the River St Lawrence in its beautiful valley!
But got there we did, and this was one of the many highlights of our trip – particularly the exotic scent of the pines as we wound round the valley and eventually emerged to see the elegant buildings of Ottawa, and the Chateau Hotel standing high above us. Later as we took our places at dinner there we watched the great tree trunks being swept down the river, and the woodmen jumping agilely from one to another as they directed their progress. Imagine! – and that was 70+ years ago! Are there still any left to keep coming? I hear stories of the fact that tree-felling is causing HUGE problems to our poor old ageing world!
That Sunday morning we enjoyed the fellowship of a little ‘brethren’ church and were invited back to a meal with the family of one of the Elders there. And that afternoon he took us for a drive up one of the Three Rivers we’d seen from the hotel window, and then back to tea with the family, and a sing-song around the piano. Before leaving them all we had a very interesting talk with him and his wife. He had been involved in the restoration of the Parliament Buildings and was very knowledgeable about them.
From there next day we re-joined our boat and continued up the river to Montreal – quite a different city from Ottawa even then - and more so now, I understand! Quite cosmopolitan! But we enjoyed a very scenic drive in a ‘coach and pair’ up Mount Royal, and I had lunch with young songwriter who we’d met on the Ile de France! I think his name was Kennedy.13
Before leaving Montreal we needed a few items from the ‘drugstore’, where we were served by a very dapper little man of uncertain age! I was quite shocked to see that his highly polished nails were painted bright red! Apparently that was not unusual in Montreal!
On leaving Montreal we continued down the beautiful St Lawrence and arrived in Quebec. From the river it stood MAGNIFICENT above us. We climbed the steep zig-zag pathways and eventually arrived at another of Canada’s beautiful ‘Chateau’ hotels, where we stayed for a few days.
From there our itinerary took us to a very small and insignificant ‘halt’ in the state of New Brunswick. The halt was called Apohoqui14, our destination, just a shabby old notice and a railway halt, with a little insignificant structure beside it! But wait! There is a dear old horse and a contraption behind him, and a gentleman and a boy, looking hopeful. And that, in spite of the fact that the huge old locomotive which had brought us there was puffing and blowing and expressing indignation at finding itself at such a humble destination! But the man and the boy came forward with such a welcoming smile, and such a warm handshake, that our apprehension melted. This was indeed Jim Armstrong and his tall son, offering us an ice cream at the drugstore, while our luggage was dealt with. NEVER had an ice cream been so welcome! And as we looked around NOTHING could be seen except miles and miles of beautiful and colourful wild flowers, against the blue, blue sky.
The cart behind the horse had no seats except the one for the driver, but I can’t remember that my Mum was at all worried about THAT! We were both totally absorbed in the beauty around us! After an hour or so we came to a clump of trees and the dear old horse turned in. There, sitting in the shade, were the dear old couple, Mr and Mrs Attoe, and up the pathway from the house came Jim’s dear wife May, to welcome us. We had arrived!
Many years previously they had built their farm house and SOMEHOW had made a living for the five of them. Mr and Mrs Attoe had been close friends of my grandmother Kilpin before they left England, and she would want to know exactly how things were for them. So, while my mother gleaned all the news she could I enjoyed the company of ‘Armstrong Junior’, who was about my own age of eighteen. He taught me to fish and to shoot, and even encouraged me by telling me I was ‘a good shot’. He also taught me how to handle the old boat on the river. For me the whole visit was a wonderful NEW EXPERIENCE, and, to guess at their pluck and their ingenuity, all this and GRANDPA and GRANDMA too!
At the end of that ‘never-to-be-forgotten’ week or two we found ourselves at St John on the east coast of Canada (still in New Brunswick, I think?). We bought a few small gifts to take home but then I get in a bit of a muddle as I think back! I remember boarding the good ship SS Nova Scotia, a much smaller vessel than the majestic Ile de France, but one we had chosen for that reason, as we both like variety, I suppose. I remember very vividly that we dropped anchor in an incredibly SCENIC bay. The surrounding cliffs were an unbelievable cream, almost shining in the late sun, and on the ledges were families doing all the things like families do – hanging out the washing, having tea, etc., etc., and obviously living there! Only recently have I heard that they’ve been moved on. Oh dear! Where to, I wonder? How are they settling, even if now they have just a few of the ‘mod cons’! To add to the beauty of the picture when we were there was a whole fleet of brown-sailed sailing boats visiting (or resident in?) the bay.
Our last Sunday was spent at a small communion service which seemed a wonderful conclusion to a holiday we would NEVER forget.
AND THEN the final voyage ‘home’ to England across the Atlantic to Liverpool, to meet dear Dad, who had not only travelled all the way from London TO MEET US but had provided the ‘wherewithal’ so lavishly for both of us. For dear Mum it was to return to a life of sorrow as well as perhaps some joy, but for me, as for so many of you, my very dear grandchildren, as I write, LIFE WAS OPENING OUT!
After a brief course of ‘domestic science’ at Buckingham Palace Road College, I signed on for four years training in General Nursing at St Thomas’s Hospital, London, to be followed by two years training as a midwife at the mothers’ hospital at the Salvation Army, Clapton – both very fine training schools, says she, proudly! In a matter of months WAR WAS DECLARED! Our own patients at St Thomas’s were evacuated to Sector Hospitals, and as nurses we were shunted between London and Basingstoke, to an old ‘loony bin’.
After months of doing nothing much except making up beds and keeping them aired. And waiting for ‘battle to commence’, it did just that! And with a vengeance! I was returned with a number of others to Thomas’s having said a last ‘farewell’ to the dear old chap still counting the cabbages in the grounds of Basingstoke Mental hospital to the tune of ‘She loves me, She loves me not!’.
As I reported in I was given a notice to report to Matron. It was to tell me that I was to report to Weybridge cottage hospital. A bomb had just fallen in the lunch hour at the Massey Harris aeroplane factory there, with a large number of casualties. The ambulance was now waiting to escort us there. During the journey of about eight miles the bell never stopped ringing, giving us a clear road. I must admit that made me feel quite important, but I was soon shaved down to size when we arrived!
Outside the main entrance to the hospital was a LONG LINE OF CASUALTIES, many on bits of aeroplane wings where stretchers had run out. The surgeons worked almost non-stop for three days at least. And our job was to prepare the casualties for operations. Imagine! I had a young V.A.D.15 to help me. She looked a bit green, understandably, and I asked her how long she’d been training. Her reply: ‘This is my first day on the wards!’ I daren’t say more lest she should burst into tears, and I badly needed her co-operation! Our job was URGENT and there was no-one else available. But she was a tough girl and she managed, somehow, to continue!
Neighbours were wonderful, and beds were always available, even if it could only be for an hour or two, and cuppa availability too! But I was always sorry I never had the opportunity to talk to that V.A.D. afterwards; and she should have had a medal, I thought – but perhaps she did?!
One evening some days later we were able to go up to the roof for a breath of fresh air. The sky over the area of the docks and for miles around was dark red – the Docks were burning! When eventually we returned to Thomas’s about ten days later I discovered that the room next to mine in Gassiot House was shaved right off – literally! Nothing but a clean wall left! But thank God my ‘mate’ next door had been on night duty. There is a picture of the wall in a recently published book16. There had been three direct hits on Thomas’s that night, and during the war Thomas’s was never closed in spite of the huge devastation, almost complete annihilation.17
After completing my four years of training at Thomas’s I trained as a midwife with the Salvation Army at their excellent hospital in Clapton. During the war the ‘mums’ (The Mothers Hospital) were evacuated from London to Willersley Castle18 in lovely Derbyshire. After those long years in London it was wonderful to be able to spend off-duty days exploring the rivers and dales without being disturbed by the falling bombs. And with rarely ever the sound of a plane, we all felt rejuvenated!
Also I enjoyed the experience of midwifery and felt more at home with it than I had ever felt with general nursing! I’d always had an admiration for Londoners and their stick-ability with HARD SITUATIONS and conditions! Right through The Blitz they had lived with courage and their courage was so often laced with humour which seemed to be in-built with humour! And now here they were in rural England without their families and rarely complaining; except occasionally they might say:
‘…but ain’t there even a Woolworfs (sic) down ‘ere, nurse?’ Can you believe it?
Because they had to arrive in good time to be ‘there’ for the ‘great event’ we had the factor in our own job!
But even in the midst of this beautiful countryside the results of WAR did not escape one and another of us. One evening I cycled back from giving a light-hearted talk to our ‘Mums’, to find a note asking me to call at Matron’s Office. It was then only 10pm, so I went with some apprehension! Matron said kindly: ‘Sit down Nurse Alexander!’ So I did. And she told me that that afternoon my brother had been killed. He had been leading his squadron19 back over the Channel when his Typhoon had suffered a direct hit on its tail and had gone into a spin to the ground. This spin in the newly manufactured Typhoon was irreversible.20
Paul, my brother was above the normal age for flying a plane in the RAF, but while working at an aerodrome he was in contact with the young pilots. He got to the point where he could no longer see them going off and not volunteer. He was about 28 I think, at that time.
His dear wife, Dot, had been his girlfriend since she was 14 years old, and Jeremy Paul, their little lad was eighteen months old! Every time a plane went over he would point up to the sky and say: ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ But now he can’t even really remember his dear Dad.
And the 1914 war was supposed to be the WAR TO END ALL WARS!
So, where do we go from here? Pacifism has so often been talked about. A group of Cambridge undergraduates had a debate about it and passed a unanimous vote FOR it, and shortly after war was declared. They were the first to volunteer! I recently found an essay which my husband Ken had written soon after leaving school, on the same subject. He concluded:
‘I just know that if I saw a bloke coming up the path with a loaded gun, I would shoot him before he shot my mother or sister.’
And I can just hear him saying THAT! And some years later he demonstrated it with his 25 pounder artillery gun, right across Europe, backwards and forwards, releasing the prisoners at Belsen en route – a subject I never heard him speak about afterwards!
After the funeral I returned to Wellesley, to complete Part 1 of the Midwifery Training. Then it was hard to say goodbye to our Tutors and to the beautiful countryside around us, where I’d been able to think some LONG thoughts! And then it was back to the Mother’s Hospital for a few weeks experience in Outpatients, and on to Dagenham, which at that point was in the direct path of the Buzz Bombs.
Soon we were delivering babies in corrugated iron shelters down the garden, with all the family looking on! YES, many of the children and some of the mums had returned from evacuation. To the children of course, watching a delivery was as good, or even better, than the cinema, BUT…a colleague of mine told the story of a little boy looking through someone’s legs and saying, as the umbilical cord was cut :
‘Cor, lor’ nurse, is that wot you blow ‘em up wiv’?’
But we loved those kids and their cockney humour, and were full of admiration for their brave Mums. And we loved the end product of that days’ work! And those dear ‘Mums’ and their ‘Mums’, spoilt us to bits! Before the confinement they would have saved every chocolate biscuit which came their way to give us with ‘the hot cuppa’ which was our reward when ‘Mum’ was tucked up with the new member of the family. Contentment at last – for her and for us!
So then, with the war drawing to its close and clutching my recent certificates, I was awarded a place at Haymeads Hospital in Bishops Stortford as a staff Midwife. Haymeads had originally been a workhouse, and I remember seeing some of the original ‘intake’ sitting out on the terrace and still all dressed alike in the striped dresses (in the 1940s!) but there was also an up-to-date and efficient midwifery unit, and I had chosen that because it was within cycling distance of Lane End, Sawbridgeworth where my parents were living and trying to get over the loss of their son, Paul, my brother.
During that year PEACE WAS DECLARED. All the sirens went off for JOY this time, and we were all in Sunday morning church where we could give thanks, even though we could hardly believe it! The nation went MAD with joy. JUBILATION EVERYWHERE! People even dancing on the pavement around Buckingham Palace! BUT – and such a huge BUT – it was tinged with sadness at the absence of so many of our fine young men, and for the hundreds of children who would grow up fatherless, and for the wives who would go through life without their husbands (as in the case of Dot and Jeremy).
After a year or two at Haymeads I took a post as resident midwife at the Mission of Hope. This was a mission in Croydon, reaching out to unmarried mothers-to-be, of whom there were many after the war. I had come across them and their real needs at Haymeads AND their emotional trauma of needing to choose between keeping their babies or having to hand them over for adoption. AND it was there, at a home for unmarried mothers, that I met Ken, and he met me! Can you believe it? BUT, so often our great God’s plans for us are SO unexpected. I was nearly 29 at the time and some of my friends teased me, saying that I was an ‘iceberg’, but because of the disaster of my own parents’ marriage I was probably well, a little backward in coming forward!!
But the fact that we met happened like this.
The director of the mission of hope had been in hospital for a serious operation. She returned to the mission but complications set in. They were too severe (in those days of the ‘40s) for her to return to the hospital, so another midwife and I juggled our work so that we could do a lot of the nursing. When she recovered – and she did! – I went home for a few days. My Mum took one look at me and said to my Dad:
‘That child (aged 29!) looks worn out. She needs a holiday!’
Oh me, oh my, THAT WAS IT! Switzerland here we come! And who do you think was the leader of the party as we headed for the mountains? Yes, Ken, it was! HIMSELF! John Kenneth! Just out of the Army; his first holiday after the war. That first evening I found myself sitting next to him at dinner, and afterwards we all went for a walk together up the slopes overlooking the lake.
A few days later he advertised a climb up mount Neiderhorn TO WATCH THE SUN RISE - just the sort of project which I loved! But then I was rather surprised to hear that he was warning the party that it was ‘a stiff climb’, and I began to feel embarrassed that I had been forward and so began to urge others to join us! But nobody did, and so it was that at 2am, just five days since we’d met, that the ‘iceberg’ disintegrated, and I was waiting when he knocked at my chalet door!
We crept out and away up the mountain, not saying a word, but ALIGHT with the situation! As we climbed higher and higher, the mountain peaks opposite slowly, slowly lit up. Then the fingers of light rose up behind them and stooped down over them, to descend….and to spread down, down and over the lake below. And then on, up and up our mountainside to surround and bewitch us as dawn broke – not only on that morning but on our life together!! Without one word spoken, deo gratis!
What a morning! Not only to bewitch us, but to remind us forever of our total unspoken (at the time) COMITTMENT! For me many sadness’s had gone before, and ‘weeping may endure for a season’ but JOY for both of us came that morning, and is still with me as I look forward to what Ken referred to as ‘the dawn of eternal day’!
Ten days after we parted; Ken home to Cardiff and his office, and me back to the Mission of Hope. Just before parting I was still fearful that I had been a bit forward, so I said (as firmly as I could!): ‘It’s lovely to have met you Ken, but I think you should not contact me for at least a month!’
Oh dear, how should I survive! No reply from HIMSELF!! Just a warm handshake, and off! He didn’t even look back and I was bereft!
Thirty long days! It was forever – or seemed so! Then, four days later I was on the way off-duty when the phone went. Why did my heart go ‘bumpily-bump!’ It couldn’t be Ken anyhow! But I was already answering it, and this voice was saying: ’Is that really you? Is that the fairy I met in the mountains?’ Of course, I melted and who wouldn’t have, and anyway I was no longer that ‘iceberg’.
He had regular preaching engagements on Sundays which he honoured and it was indeed four whole weeks before we could meet. And so it was that I was standing at the barrier at Paddington Station, long before his train was due, wearing my very best dark red suit and brand new (red to match!) ‘bowler hat’, specially chosen by me and the shop assistant who assured me that ‘Men love ‘em, Madam!’
We could never meet more than about once a month. Often I would be waiting at Croydon Station carrying a picnic for two, and we’d continue on to Eastbourne where we would walk the cliffs and Downs. Then after a meal together it would be back to Croydon, leaving him to continue his journey via Paddington to Cardiff in time to be in his office at 8am.
We both spent Christmas with our parents in our own homes, and then….! In January we spent a weekend at Sawbridgeworth at my home. That first evening, while I was giving my Mum a hand with supper, Ken went down the garden with my Dad to ‘shut up the chickens!’ They seemed a very long time! But after supper the two of us were sitting together by a roaring log fire, when I felt something ‘knobbly’ in his pocket!
Yes! I don’t need to tell you what it was in that little square box!
Or what I said when he opened it!
Or what I said when he put it on my finger – except that it was just: ‘Of course!’
And so we were engaged. And engagement meant marriage! And marriage meant a home together! And just after the War that might be a problem! BUT my dear father’s lovely bungalow, “Gandria” was un-tenanted just at the right time for us to rent it at Frinton-on-Sea, Essex.
Ken’s office was in Cardiff, and as you know he was just out of the Army and had returned to his post of Secretary to his uncle who was the Senior Civil Servant for Wales. Like so many soldiers he had found it difficult to settle back to his pre-war post, and had actually considered applying for the Resettlement Army in Germany! But I think his time with the Royal Artillery had probably made him more conscious of his English roots, and so he made the decision to apply for a transfer to East Anglia, and was posted to Colchester in time for our wedding on 4 September 1948. Colchester was about half an hour, by train from Frinton. Not an easy decision for Ken though, and I always remember the day we left Cardiff together. Sitting on the train he was looking out of the window at fast disappearing Cardiff, and it wasn’t easy for him – but he never told me so!
And now, only recently, Ken’s nephew Andrew Studley rang me, and during our chat mentioned the fact that he is the very last male Studley now living in Wales, the Studleys having had families of girls recently. And as I look back to my arrival in Cardiff and the wonderfully warm welcome they gave me, they could have really resented the fact that I was the cause of his move from Cardiff, but they opened their homes and their hearts to me and have done so ever since – a fact that I really appreciate, bless them!
But as against that it does mean that the ancient family of Studley, in England since the days of William the Conqueror21 has returned to its natural habitat – although not to lovely Somerset and Dorset!
So we started our married life at ‘Gandria’, Frinton-on-Sea, Essex. Ken got a transfer to his office in Colchester which was about half an hour on the train from Frinton, until we bought an old Riley – the one with the great big hubcaps which stretched over the spokes, and was heard from a distance with its joyful arrival – rmp – rmp – rmp!
After two years there he was promoted to Cambridge, and we moved to the ‘Strawberry Patch’, a little house in Elmdon.
Our first-born John Fergus, was born not long before we left Frinton, at Haymeads, where I had been a Staff midwife. He was followed a year later by Josephine Aimee, also born at Haymeads ( we only just got there in time in spite of HIMSELF admiring the sunshine en route!).
Then Paul Kenneth Alexander followed about three years later, in a snowstorm when the roads were already icy in Elmdon. But the dear midwife from the next village, with help from everybody on the way, made it just in time to deliver PKAS.
Before she left she sternly advised that three children was enough (at my age!) and that this one should be our last! However!....three years later we were both delighted to welcome our Felicity Marian. By that time we had moved up to Harrogate, so had a different midwife!
Ken had also hesitated about a fourth, for various reasons, but about two years later he and I were sitting on a bench in the park with Felicity trotting around – the others were all at school. She suddenly appeared in front of us from behind a blackberry bush. She had removed all her clothes except her little sun bonnet and pair of black shiny shoes. She trotted up to me looking very pleased with herself and said: ‘Nussings on, Mummy!’ awaiting the applause! Ken just murmured to me: ‘What should we have missed!’
And how often was this our thought for each one of you, and still is as the years roll by. Of course there have been ‘ups and downs’ over the years, and for long periods you have been abroad in faraway lands, but that team spirit has always been there with you and was particularly obvious at the time of our lovely Felicity’s going. And now as dear Jo struggles with the aftermath of her divorce, and John and Sally with the ‘hard to put up with’ effects of her chemotherapy treatment which is planned to continue till February - we think.
BUT our Great God ‘holds the whole world in His hands’ and that includes his children – ‘us’, in fact, even now as the dear old world seems to be falling apart! One of the many wonderful things He has done recently is to enable dear Sally’s Mum to come all the way from China to be with her. It must have been a hard decision for her, not only because of the language problem, but also because her husband has not yet completed his own cancer treatment. So our gratitude goes to both of them as we continue to pray that Sally’s treatment, and her Dad’s, will be in our Great God’s will for their healing.
But now, just sitting here browsing over this and that and remembering back over the years, across my mind has flashed a memory. It was at 19 Hereford Road in Harrogate when you were all still ‘children’. I was running down the front steps to check that all was okay, when there you were, all four of you, just disappearing through the lovely wrought iron gates. John, Jo and Paul on your bikes, and our dear lovely Felicity in her pushchair attached – somehow! – by Paul to the back of his trike, she having no doubt stated EMPHATICALLY that she did not want to be left behind! And that was typical. You were a team! And I know that, when it’s possible with all your grown-up responsibilities, you will continue to be there for each other.
And now, you’ll be glad to know that I have to close!
Why? Because I’ve run out of stories?
No, but because I’ve run out of steam!
Tomorrow is the celebration of our dear Jo’s birthday, and I’m invited! At 9am I’m to be picked up by two of my wonderful grandsons. I have to take this ‘story’ with me and do apologise that it’s got a bit muddled, and is not at all a ‘finished manuscript’ as I would have wished.
But now, my dear, dear family, God’s wonderful gift to Dad and to me….on behalf of us both….I commend you all, and your many lovely friends, to our Great God and Father who alone can keep us from falling, and present us without fault in his presence with great joy!!!! That honestly is His promise!!
So dears, keep going – whatever! And don’t forget the great joy!!
Love you all
Hilda!