She adored Spitfires and soldiers — no wonder mum said her war was ‘marvellous!’
WE’RE used to reading obituaries of the rich and famous. But the Mail believes Britain is full of unsung heroes and heroines who also deserve recognition. So we’ve launched a weekly obituary column with a difference — in which the moving and inspirational stories of ordinary people who have lived extraordinary lives are told by their loved ones . . .
My wonderful mum Joan had many strengths — she was feisty, daring and crazy. But she was also incredibly naughty and appalling at taking orders.
At her convent school in Pinner, Middlesex, with her younger sister Betty, she spent most of her time kneeling — not in prayer, but in punishment.
As a teenager, her first job as a Civil Service clerk in the Midlands lasted barely a week. She knew her mind and no one could change it.
And her five ( extremely eventful and frequently raucous) years of nursing in world war II were fraught with run-ins with the Sisters and Matrons, usually after she was caught squeezing back in through a dorm window having missed curfew, again.
for years, she talked on and on about her ‘marvellous war’. Partly, she loved it because she adored nursing — she was ferociously strict, but worshipped by her patients, who wrote her endless love poems.
But not quite as much as she loved Spitfire planes and handsome officers — both of which could make her go weak at the knees.
She used to say breezily: ‘It was the war, you didn’t waste time!’
She certainly didn’t. She lapped up every minute: dancing with the officers at Blackpool’s Tower Ballroom to Glenn Miller; train rides sitting on handsome soldiers’ laps; and icecreams on the seafront.
There were many boyfriends, including the nice Polish chap who asked if she’d look after his radio but, unfortunately, turned out to be a German spy. That came to an abrupt halt when she was summoned to london by MI5 and asked a few sharp questions.
Towards the end of the war, she met my dad — a dark and handsome engineer in the Home Guard. They fell for (and on top of) each other
on the ice rink at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. He was wearing a dashing blue overcoat, which he kept for the next 50 years. She was breathless with pink cheeks. again, she wasn’t one to hang about and they were married soon after, on april 14, 1945.
My brother Roger arrived in spring 1946. I followed two years later and our sister Sally was born in 1955.
Mum gave up nursing when she married, but some things, such as Milk of Magnesia, were embedded for life.
She was obsessed with the stuff. She’d dose us up for any ailment — sore throat, cold, cut knee, anything — and used to chase us round the garden with a bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other.
She even took a vast stock of it wherever she went —holidays, family reunions and day trips, ‘just in case of emergency’. Hospital corners on bedclothes were also embraced with a passion. Beds had to be correct, or else. and very, very tight. So tight that for years when we were young, we’d be tucked in so firmly we’d have to shout from our bedrooms: ‘Can I turn over, please?’
My parents weren’t an obvious match. They adored each other, quietly, but weren’t good at showing it.
Mum was extrovert, a force of nature and terribly impatient; dad was an introvert who worked in the motor trade, spent every hour he could playing golf and was prone to depression.
She ran everything (other than the family finances) and was in charge of us, our dad — particularly during his 80s when his sight failed — her grandchildren, but most of all
herself. any spare time was spent gardening (she prided herself on being green- f ingered and, when it came to taking cuttings from public gardens, lightfingered), doing tapestries and driving.
She was a wonderful driver. She only stopped when she was 94 and her legs weren’t strong enough for the emergency stop and we physically wrenched the car keys from her. She was furious, of course. a month before she died, she was still supervising all bed-making at home, still rejecting the walker and the hearing aid and still very much the boss.