Discovering my mother’s secrets What one reader learned made her reassess her childhood
Helen Garlick’s mother had always been an enigmatic, secretive woman, but the revelations that emerged after her death made Helen reassess her whole childhood
‘I often had a feeling that something was going unsaid’
It was when my mum, Monica, went into a care home in December 2017, aged 86, that I stumbled upon an envelope in her belongings that would make my whole world tilt on its axis. Written on it were the words: ‘I am and will always be not the same, but different.’
My mother was indeed unlike anyone else. A reserved woman, she preferred her own company, always retreating into a book or escaping out into the garden of our Doncaster home. There wasn’t a lot of touching or hugging in our family, but I felt intensely close to Mum in an unusual way. Without exchanging words, we knew things about each other intuitively. For instance, if I had a headache, she would know, and I could often tell what she was thinking by the way her lips would tighten as she looked away. I learned to read her silences. Which makes it all the more incredible that I didn’t know my mother’s biggest secret of all.
My parents met in 1954 when my mum got a job as a typist at my grandfather’s office furniture shop. Dad would sometimes pop in to revise when he was studying law at
Cambridge, and within a year they were married. My dad,
Geoffrey, was a solicitor and president of The Yorkshire
Union of Law Societies. He and Mum were something of a power couple locally, with
Mum supporting Dad in his work by running his office.
As a couple, they were liberal and loved a party. When they hosted friends, Mum, who had been on a Cordon Bleu cookery course, would put on an amazing spread. Frequent visitors at all these events included our family friend, Gwen, and her female partner, Maud. Gwen had been a childhood school friend of my aunty Judy. I used to like it when Gwen came over because she made me laugh with her dry sense of humour.
I had a brother, David, who was two years younger than me and, as we got a bit older, we were allowed to stay up for these parties. My mother’s beauty was quite mesmerising. With high cheekbones, corn-gold hair and piercing blue eyes, she could put on lipstick pretty much with her eyes closed. But she was shy and a little aloof; an observant host who’d go round the room checking everyone had a drink and a plate of food. She’d rarely be first on the dancefloor.
HAVING SUSPICIONS
At these gatherings, I remember Gwen, another observer of the revelry, making wry comments. She was a heavy-set woman and a big character, and it was clear that there was a strong bond between her and Mum. They were in cahoots, in on each other’s jokes. Guests would play with a Ouija board and my father would hold forth, telling stories that brought raucous laughter.
However, away from the parties, storms simmered when my parents were together. They wouldn’t row, but there would be brooding silences and I would take David out to play when the
atmosphere got tense. I often had a feeling that something was going unsaid. I remember when I was four, running in from the garden and opening the heavy wooden door to the drawing room, surprised to see so many grown-ups behind it. Their laughter and chatter died as soon as they noticed me. That was not the only time. I knew there was something going on – a secret – I just didn’t know what it was.
My parents never hugged or held hands. In fact, they were never affectionate unless there was a camera. A glamorous couple, they loved to go out together, with visits to the theatre and many holidays and cruises. But at home, their relationship wasn’t happy.
LEAVING HOME
I was desperate to leave home and, after studying law at Bristol University, I never went back. Once I’d got my degree, I saved up and went travelling in America, only for tragedy to strike when David took his own life, aged 20. After that, my grief-stricken parents became very dependent on me and I visited frequently. I met the man who became my first husband when I was
27. We married in 1989 and settled in London, having three children, who brought so much joy to my parents.
Dad passed away in 2014. Then, in December 2017, just eight days after going into care, Mum died, too. By this point, I’d divorced and had been to visit Mum with my soon-to-be husband, Tim, only the day before. We’d stayed for lunch. It was roast lamb, Mum’s favourite, followed by plum crumble. Her last ➺
‘Mum had continued to have female lovers even after her marriage’
words to me that day were, ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.’
I’d spotted an envelope among a pile of papers as I helped Mum move into the care home, and, after I cleared her room, I opened and read it. There, I discovered her secret. ‘I don’t understand why I’m different,’ she had written. ‘It’s not a talked about subject…’ As I read on, I realised it was a confession – or at least a statement of fact. My mother was gay. I caught my breath. In an instant, my world changed.
FURTHER REVELATIONS
My first instinct was to show it to
Tim – and our initial shock surprisingly dissolved into giggles. We had no inkling. I couldn’t believe it. Or could I? The more I thought about it, the more things started to make sense. Her secretiveness and the years before she married my father had never been explained. At first, I felt upset that she’d never opened up to me, but Mum had always kept things to herself. And now she was gone, I had no idea how to process this revelation.
I called each of my three adult children, Unity, 30; Will, 27; and Lily, 21, to share this piece of news. ‘That’s so cool,’ came their response. ‘We had a gay granny!’ My mother hadn’t loved many people in her life, but she was a devoted grandmother – and my children had loved her dearly in return. Grief-stricken at losing her, they were unfazed by her revelation. ‘Poor Granny, it must have been really hard for her,’ said Will, while Unity said, ‘Granny did love secrets.’ My children’s generation don’t care about race or sexuality – it’s the true person inside that matters.
For me, there was a certain amount of denial. Mum had dementia in her final years and I wasn’t sure how much I could trust her confession. But when I reached out to our family friend, Gwen, she told me she had been waiting nearly all her life for my phone call.
Gwen told me that four years before my parents met, she, this dependable figure who I’d often leaned on as Mum and Dad had got older, had, in fact, been my mother’s lover. Gwen and Mum had even moved to London, found work and rented a flat as a couple until my grandmother had put a stop to it and ordered Mum home.
Mindful of the effect her words must be having, Gwen carefully shared the facts and I gasped for breath. But while it was a shock, I was grateful for her honesty.
More revelations were to come. Meeting up with Evelyn, another of my parents’ old friends, I discovered that Mum had continued having female lovers after her marriage, and had even encouraged her husband – my father – to have a relationship with Evelyn. She also suggested that Dad may have known Mum was gay.
I could barely comprehend what I was hearing; it was just extraordinary to me. No wonder there had been all this tension between my parents, which David and
I had sensed even as young children. Realising just how much my parents had been playing make-believe left me reeling. Luckily, I’ve had endless support from Tim, who’s been my rock through all this, helping me to process each part of the complicated web of family history.
TRYING TO UNDERSTAND
It’s now more than three years since
Mum died. In that time, through piecing together her story, I feel I finally know and understand her. She was an extraordinary woman, who taught me about the magic of the sun, travel and the arts. She always stayed curious and was full of wonder. I really wish she could have known how easy her coming out would have been for us. But then again, I can’t begin to understand how terribly difficult she must have believed it was for her.
When my mother was young, it was a very closeted world, and Gwen told me my mum had wanted the lifestyle, the position in society and the children that marriage afforded her. My own children’s hoots of joy at the thought of having a gay granny remind me that things would have been very different for Gwen and Mum if they’d been young in modern times. Because, ultimately, love is love.
While my mother may not have been perfect, she taught me to be a strong, independent woman, and to have self-belief and go for what I want in life. I love her all the more now
I can see her for who she really was.
• No Place To Lie (Whitefox, £9.99) by Helen Garlick is out now