Mum who smiled through everything life threw at her
NOT many people take up darts and join their local team in their 80s, and then go on to win a series of competitions. But my mum was always special.
She was also a battler — bravely soldiering on when life threw hardships at her, often working two jobs to provide for me and my brother.
Mum was born in Pontefract, West Yorks, in 1923, joined the WAAF when she was 18, and almost immediately met my dashing dad Norman, who was in the RAF.
They were soon married and my brother Pete was born in 1946. Money was tight and things weren’t easy after they moved in with Dad’s family in West Bromwich. But they eventually got a council house.
I was born in 1953 and we were such a happy family. Dad worked for an insurance company, Mum was a part-time office clerk who loved gardening. There was always a lot of laughter.
Then everything changed. One night in 1963 when I was ten, Dad went out for a drink, had a heart attack and died that night in hospital. He was just 40 years old.
It was a terrible shock. Mum was hundreds of miles from her own family, but somehow she kept cheerful, never made a fuss and just carried on. She had to work full time and even added a second catering job at the weekends. She did the cooking, cleaning, paid all the bills and only once cried in front of us — when she accidentally set the table for four instead of three. Her heart was broken but her only concession to grief was wearing a black cardigan.
In just one year she’d saved enough for a deposit to buy our council house — unheard of then. She didn’t stop there, refurbishing it from top to bottom, doing all the wallpapering and painting herself and transforming the garden.
She then sold it and bought our first ‘private’ house, doing the same all over again with four more houses until she was mortgage free. Mum retired at 60, but
hated being at home on her own all day. So she got a job at a local B&B, served meals, cleaned in the local pub and continued her home improvements.
She never met anyone else — she had married for life — and never went abroad on holiday. But she was happy with her lot, incredibly kind, could knit anything (including all her own cardigans) and was an amazing grandmother to her four grandsons. She wouldn’t think twice about a two-anda-half hour bus journey to see them.
It was in her final home, a bungalow in York near her sister that, aged 70, she finally relaxed, joined the WI and started having fun.
She found an old dart board in the garage and practised until she was good enough to join the local team. They won many competitions and she played well into her 80s.
Mum died peacefully in a fantastic care home. She was so modest, hated fuss and would be astonished that anyone thought she was anything out of the ordinary. But she was. I miss her every day and am so very proud of her.
Marjorie ‘marge’ Clarke, born July 9, 1923, died december 18, 2016, aged 93.