Writing for Fun
January 2015
A Life = My Mum - Jenni Bowers
I miss her and often talk to her – in my head of course because she died in 2009. I keep looking for her – (in my mind) but can't 'see' her although I can still 'see' other people I've lost. Then this morning as I put on my lipstick there she was, in the mirror, looking back and smiling at me!
The sudden realisation that this woman, who gave me life – prematurely, as I was only 4.5oz when I arrived after an 8 months pregnancy, one of the baby boomers born after the 2nd World War ended – had loved and nurtured me so well – left herself in me, not somewhere else – not in the ground in a crematorium, not in the sky or 'heaven' but here – I am she, she is me. True, dad is there too and I hear his voice often, giving what was good advice, which I ignored until too late in life.
Her life had been difficult growing up in the 1920's and 30's, her father had worked for the Admiralty and on discharge had never found a real job, the family often had to move as he didn't pay the rent and my grandmother took in sewing to keep the family of five fed and clothed.
She left school at fourteen and worked in a shop so, when war came, newly engaged to my father who had joined the RAF in 1938 – she became a fire watch warden, scouring London's streets from a rooftop to send fire crews to bombed buildings – but she seemed to have had a 'good war', it was exciting and of course there were plenty of servicemen around to escort her and friends out dancing at the Ilford Palais.
Dad came home after his stint as a radio officer in Lancaster bombers, serving in Palestine, on Crete when the Nazis invaded, one of 'the few' who survived, he would only tell us that he was first in the trenches whenever there was danger! They married in 1944 and her dress, like many after that war, was made from an old silk parachute.
On demob dad resumed his job as a builder's estimator/surveyor for Taylor Woodrow, a large building firm, which turned out to be a good thing for our little family of five. Canvey had been badly flooded and the company were chosen, amongst other large building firms to help rebuild the island, so we moved to Leigh-on-Sea in 1953.
My two younger sisters and I benefitted from the sea air and rolling in the mud, which was purported to contain Iodine, very good for us? We loved it of course and our childhood was mostly happy, spent between the beach at Leigh and Belfairs Park, climbing trees and playing cowboys and Indians and Robin Hood with the other kids in our street – or cricket and football in the road – with no traffic to worry about in those 'good old days'. Mum would lean on the front gate chatting to the neighbours. With no television we played cards, Ludo, dominoes, charades and many other games during the long winter evenings as a family round the large oak dining table.
When we were unwell she was always there, tucking us into bed, bringing drinks, medicines, comics and comfort. She was a good cook utilising the 'war rations' efficiently and we always had lovely cakes, pies, tarts and puddings to look forward to, with apple trees in our garden, which I loved to climb, we were never short of fruit or scraped knees!
Looking back at her life I see she was very strong, dad had been affected by the war, he suffered depression and at times his mood swings were severe, he needed peace and quiet so she would take us out on picnics or send us to Sunday school from which we went on outings to Maldon and joined the Girls Life Brigade, giving mum and dad more peace one evening a week. Saturday morning cinema at the Corona in Leigh gave them another few hours to catch up with each other and get things done, – great fun for us as we usually saw at least two films with cartoons in between all for one shilling and sixpence.
Another sister had arrived when I was eight, she was disabled so life got much harder for mum, she wept often and kept so many 'balls in the air'; at age five my baby sister was taken away to live in an old mental institution, the heartache was immense, but we visited her every three weeks.
Money was always tight; she worked in a dress shop ironing and also took in seaweed to bunch and be sold in Leigh Old Town, or actually in one of the little cafe's there. Amazing now to think she managed to pay the fares to South Ockendon or even to give us pocket money at all.
As we grew older and found jobs her longing to travel grew stronger, dad was working for a local firm by then but poorly paid so it took ages for them to achieve her dream and coach travel was the best option visiting Scotland, Austria and Holland before her legs gradually disabled her and she grew too weak to travel, she had three strokes, the last of which took away her ability to walk and although three of us did our best to support them mum went to live a good residential home, dad stayed in their home but was hit by a car and died about a year later in a different home.
We said our goodbye's to her at the age of 91 – a good innings most would say, but of course losing a mum is one of life's hardest lessons – I will always miss her but keep looking in the mirror and there she'll be.