My mother

If mothers have strap-lines then my mother's might have been "quietly determined". I think inherited a bit of this trait from her: I remember on one occasion her telling me that I had a stubborn streak. Like most children do I am afraid that I totally took my mother for granted and thereby I missed the opportunity to get to know her as a friend. I do know that she was a praying woman - I remember often seeing her on her knees by her bedside. Mind you, she had prejudices: she would not buy butter that had been imported from China (not sure that I would mind you!) and didn't have a good word to say about Roman Catholics. Of course I loved her, but like I said I took her for granted.

Here she is as a young girl, and a beautiful portrait of her as a young woman.

To give some idea of context, here's yours truly in typical garb though untypically looking cleaner than usual, and my mother as I remember her. The workshop of Smith & Crockford is visible in the background. The gate from our little bit of garden onto the yard was later moved over to the far right.

My mother's father Alan Crockford lived in East Street next to John Arlott's house, not that I ever noticed him. Here is a recent picture of that part of East Street, and picture of my mother with granddad and I suppose my sister Margaret and myself.

I remember all that you can see about him - the way he held his head, the braces, the trousers hitched high, hands in pockets. He used to frequently give my older sister and me boiled sweets, especially barley sugars: possibly this is the reason why I now have so many fillings and hate barley sugars. Or maybe they were never that good. His wife died ages before my era, so my mother was brought up by an aunt, and Alan's sister, "aunty Eva" to us, looked after him. In those days we had "tea" there once a week with tinned fruit salad served with tinned milk being the order of the day.  It was considered a treat in those days: we had to eat it with bread and butter, the idea being that it was too good to consume neat so it had to be diluted. This principle of eating has stuck with me and to this day I find there is something wrong in eating meat, fish or cheese on its own: I have to dilute it with potato, bread or some vegetable. There were other food rules like no second cake unless you first have at least two slices of bread, no jam on your first slice of bread, and of course we had to finish what was on our plate. As a result now, even when in a restaurant, I find myself apologizing if I leave anything uneaten.

I found this interesting post - I thought at first this was the house he and Aunty Eva lived in, but in fact it is one or more to the right, but doubtless the "Allan Crockford" was my granddad as he was a builder and invested in property.

Every week I used to play draughts with him but first had to wait until he had finished the ritual of listening to The Archers on a valve wireless set. Hearing the theme tune, unchanged in all those years, still brings back those memories.

The following entries of deaths appear in the parish register.

CROCKFORD ALAN EAST ST. 1963-11-04 76 C 4 10 315
CROCKFORD DAISY JANE EAST ST. 1930-11-28 46 C 4 10 1197


But, hang on, this blog was meant to be about my mother...

I do not personally remember too much about my parents wedding, but I have these pictures:

I have included the second picture because of my grandad. And the first picture is taken in front of the old Congregational church where the ceremony took place - this building was in West Street but no longer exists. As a family we "worshiped" there until such time as my father has some issue with their doctrine and and changed allegiance to New Farm Chapel - which does not seem to have changed in appearance since I left there apart from the addition of a circular window.

Taking Paul's injunction literally, women were not allowed to speak in church. My mother most certainly would have, had she been allowed, for she was forever composing sermons which, I suppose, none but her eyes ever read.

And then we took that fateful family holiday in Scotland. On the way up we stopped by the shore of Loch Lomond because she was not feeling well. I remember my dad and I half heartedly climbed a little way up a hill overlooking the loch. She was complaining of weakness and her ankles were swollen. I cannot remember whether we continued or returned home at that point, but that was the beginning of her heart problems which ended in what was then a very serious operation in a London hospital to replace a heart valve.  I remember, while she was in the convalescent home, taking her out to nearby Selborne hanger.

This is a wooded escarpment into which has been carved a zig-zag path - my mother was not up to walking much and she encouraged me to go off exploring as was (and still is) my want - but somehow it didn't seem to suit the circumstances.

I am not sure about the relative dates, but around that time I must have started work at the BBC Research Department, got married (doubtless to be the subject of another blog), given in my notice (another blog to be) and moved to Grennell Lodge (another blog..., and now a nursing home).  From time to time we visited my parents or they traveled to see us. There were rumours of wars (more on this when I blog about my dad) but I have always been a bit naive and I do not care too much about hear-say. And then the telephone call in which I was told that, whilst she went upstairs to take an afternoon nap, my father strolled up to the top garden possibly to have a cigarette and doubtless to blow some cobwebs out of his mind and then, on his return, he went upstairs to look for my mother and found her dead, still in bed. It was confirmed that the cause of death was related to the heart valve. My only hope was that she passed away without pain.

The following entry is recorded in the parish register:

BAILEY KATHLEEN CECILIA EVE 1982-04-19 61 EX/S 96 722

So what do I remember most about my mother? The fact that she loved me unconditionally, so that after leaving home I knew I was always welcome back. The fact that both my parents spent quality time with us children, so that there was never a feeling of being unwanted. The fact that they believed in discipline and taught us Godly principle (mind you, such indoctrination is not always an advantage). Happy family outings and the yearly holiday usually in the West Country are etched in my mind. My mother was quite an artist, though never exhibited her work: generally she never thought she was good enough at anything, but she took care with all that she did. Morning coffee (hmmm... instant coffee powder and made with hot milk and sugar, but I loved it) and a few biscuits. A special supper after all the meetings on Sunday evening. The handmade rug she used to work on in odd moments of free time (of which she seemed to have little) and which never seemed to get finished. Her getting up before anyone else in the winter and laying a fire in the living room to take off the chill (there was no other heating in the house back then, and even when my father installed gas fired central heating it was rarely used because of the expense: and no double glazing so Jack Frost was a common occurrence. Being conscious that she got hurt when dad said things, that she found his folk so very hard to get on with (didn't we all?). That, on the subject of me and girls, rather than probe she simply said that one day I would come home with a girl on my arm and that would be that, and this is exactly what did happen some years later.

And that my mother's folk were relatively normal. The folk that she stayed with when her mother died, Aunty Bee and Uncle Elf (Alf), who lived in Woking: although they were the type that you knew you had to behave with, we children also knew that they loved us, made room for us, and we felt safe and entirely happy whenever we visited them. Granddad I have already mentioned. Aunty Eva was a bit starchy but her being a spinster might have had something to do with that. There were cousins and other distant relations and as far as I can remember they were all relatively normal too.

Now I have grown up, I would love to be able to go backwards in time and be able to talk to her and share where I am at and get her input. If only I had spent more time with her...