Long Lost Family (a tribute)

It was my grandmother's funeral. This is not the first of my grandma's send offs that I've attended, not even the second but the third.  Not many people are lucky enough to have had three Nannies but with that luck and joy comes the eventual loss.  I was going to send my mum a sympathy card but I couldn't get past the idea of writing, "to lose one mum is unlucky but to lose two is just careless.  Hope you are OK.  Love you," and that seemed somehow insensitive.

My mum was brought up in a wonderful family.  Her mum, Doris was like the Queen to me. I have some memory that they shared a birthday (but I could be making that up).  Doris was moral and kind, with a Welsh accent and a sniff that let you know exactly what she disapproved of.  Mostly, this was my grandad and his drinking habits. We went to visit most Saturdays and had tea with sandwiches and milk jelly and watched her shout at the wrestling on the telly. Mum was the oldest and always knew that she was adopted. Doris and Ted had thought that they couldn't have children but were soon proved wrong (four times) after my mum went to live with them.  It was never a secret but Doris so desperately wished that my mum had been hers that it was only after her death that mum thought to search for the woman that had given birth to her.

Some of my late teenage years were spent in Somerset House, searching records.  Pulling big dusty books off shelves and applying for birth certificates. Mum would get briefly excited but none of the leads ever came to anything.  About 15 years ago she found the name of the unmarried mothers home  in Northampton that she was born in and her and my Dad took a nervous trip.  There had been a fire and no records had survived. Before giving up she decided to hire a specialist, who after another 5 or 6 years found a likely match. This woman had a different first name and had lived in a different area to one mum had believed she was in and, amazingly, at 82, was still alive, with the same surname and no other children (surprisingly, still being alive and never getting married made her harder to trace) A carefully worded letter was written and there was much joy, excitement and fear when the word came back that she had never forgotten the baby she had to give up and would love to meet. 

It was strange for me. My children found it easier than I did: they'd  never known any other great grandparents. The first time I met her she already had great hopes for me, having seen a photo. We had similar eyes, nose and smile. I recognised her immediately from the mirror but never quite managed to call her Nan.

She was an absolute fire-cracker of a woman. With one brother and six sisters she had a typical Eastend upbringing, although her father had been from a reasonably wealthy family and had been a driver in the twenties and thirties. When she was 14 war broke out and was evacuated to Norfolk but soon came home (for reasons I'll never know but would love to), staying in the Eastend.

This is where she developed her philosophy of, "God helps those what help themselves," which she later taught her nephews when helping them to build a brick wall, getting them to climb the fence of the builder's yard. She made a living at this time by stealing flowers from the cemetery and selling them back to the florists. I've never seen quite so many flowers at a funeral, as she insisted on giving other kids a chance to make a bit on the side.

Just before D-day she became pregnant

("All the nice girls love a sailor") and was sent to live with her oldest sister (in the area that my mum had been searching for records). The boyfriend never returned and the baby was given up for adoption.

Amazing women do amazing things and in those days you couldn't keep a baby if you were a single mum. If you were lucky and your parents were alive and young enough then your baby could become your sister but there was absolutely no chance of keeping the child without ruining your reputation. It is tempting to wonder what life would have been like if today's values had been in place then.

I have no doubt that she would have been a fantastic mother. She had doted on her little sister, been the wicked, fun Auntie to her nephews and was even childminding her great niece when we first met her (at 83). However, so many other lives would have been poorer, including hers.

She started work for a glass manufacturer, etching glass and cutting mirrors with diamonds. It was skilled, physical work and she was good at it. She organised parties and outings and became lifelong friends with one of her colleagues. 

This colleague had an argument with her boss and said she was going to leave. My amazing Grandmother told her, "If you're going I'm going too. Let's start up on our own," and so they did, running their business until they were well into their seventies. If you ever had a Yardleys compact set, then you had one of the mirrors they cut. It didn't make them rich but it gave them a good living so they could buy their own flats and my grandmother found a new hobby of foreign travel and holiday romances.

By the sixties her life was really swinging. She had a nice little side line going helping her boyfriend, the much quieter, gentler older brother of the infamous Kray twins, Charlie. These were the days of huge beehives, which she died pink to match her nicknames of Candy or Flossy; the days of pub lockdowns, sing-a-longs and alibis. 

One of her sisters had been in an abusive marriage and as soon as the children left home my grandmother brought her to live with her. She bought a sweet shop for her to run and cared for her for the rest of her life. For years, my sister worked with this nephew and we often wonder what would have happened if they had shared stories.

By the time we knew her she was retired but still having notorious Birthday BBQs. The whole street, her relations, friends from the Eastend all crammed into her West Essex garden. The George's flag waving proudly at the back and signs pronouncing that a 'wild woman gardens here' adding to the atmosphere. 

A year ago, her body began to fail. Her doctor recommended a daily gin and tonic; a prescription she was only too happy to double. Her friend and business partner cared for her until the end,  showing true love for an amazing woman. 

The funeral was presided over by a shocked looking vicar, whose eyes widened comically as the eulogy was read. When it was his turn to speak again his voice had risen several octaves and he sounded more like a children's TV presenter, as he tried to keep a light and happy tone.  The curtains closed and the congregation stood, jigging and singing along to, "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye..." He struggled to keep the twitch from the corners of his eyes, biting his top lip hard enough to drain the colour. 

It was an absolute privilege for me to have known this amazing woman and I am so glad my mum got to spend many hours every Wednesday with a special person that she will never forget.