My English Aunt

Born in Pensnett, Brierley Hill, Where many buildings remain there still. To Mary Daisy and Alfred Lester, their first born, Hazel was followed by two sisters years later as she was born on a summer’s morn.

Peggy, the middle sister, beyond childhood did not survive, Sadly passing away in hospital, with peritonitis, when aged five. Dorothy Isabel, my late mother, was then the baby sister, Such sadness for the family, young Peggy they must so have missed her.

Of a quiet disposition and with patience her middle name, Hazel’s love of nature flourished, be it wild or tame. Migrating always to the animal kingdom, to her they would come first, In England she once fed a spider to death, till he dropped one day and burst.

Dachshund dogs, cats and frogs, plus Tinker a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, As far as Hazel was concerned the more animals the merrier. Years later when aged twenty-five, graceful and with glamour, She married American soldier Johnie Kephart who hailed from Alabama.

Her new home now in the USA, initially at Johnie’s family’s farm, where he had acquired much skill with the spanner, Later becoming a car mechanic at Warner Gear, Muncie, Indiana.

Every two years, as promised, she would make her journey ‘back home,’ To Staffordshire, in England, from where she had never far roamed. I had heard of my special aunt Hazel at quite an early age, Who sent us Air Mail letters and clothes that were all the rage.

We so looked forward to her visits, planning a full agenda, Re-living memories of yesteryear, now a further reunion to remember. As a young child she would take a flask of Horlicks down to the local school gate.

Such then was Hazel’s appetite for a lady who lived to be ninety-eight. Bird’s custard, Bournville’s cocoa, Fisherman’s Friend lozenges, Thornton’s chocolate and Milk Tray, These were just a few items, of which there was quite an array, Not then available in the USA.

Here was a corner of England in Hazel’s pantry store, A reminder of the family life she had left some years before. Hazel and Johnie took us to the Smoky Mountains, Gatlinburg, in 1981, On three occasions we had visited over the years, Now sadly those fun times are gone.

The Jazz Singer film was screened during our flight, Joe Scarbury’s ‘Believe it or Not’ played on the radio at night. So Mom and I had journeyed to America too, But the days we had spent there seemed far too few.

For another reunion we would always hope, On the axis of life’s kaleidoscope. Mom Dorothy passed away in 2015 when, for some years, Hazel we had not seen. Hazel was fortunate to have lived such a leisurely life, a treasured sister, aunt, and a loving wife.

So glad that I had made the journey to visit Hazel two years ago, When paths will next cross you never quite know. I am certain that she would wish to pay tribute to her adopted country and her friends, Who contributed to such an enjoyable life at her new beginning, her middle, and end.

A large piece of life’s jigsaw just is not the same, Without my family from England’s Tiled House Lane. This country of Darwin and Dickens, of Shakespeare and Keats, to name but a few, Ever patriotic, for it was your birthplace too.

It is said that someone comes to greet us and that we are never truly alone, When spirit departs the body on life’s transition home. This marks the end of a family era, but with many memories to treasure, Of a loved one who lived so far away who was loved beyond all measure.