Open Writing

We developed the habit of making Sunday calls after the service. First we would visit the Misses Dowse, two old maiden ladies who lived in a terrace house just below the Higher Grade School. It was this school that Mr. Asquith attended at the same time as Uncle Jack, who would often say "I was at school with Asquith." He was justly proud to have been a school-fellow of a future Prime Minister of England. In their day it was named The Huddersfield College.

Aunt Annie and Aunt Lily, as we called them, could not have been more different. Aunt Annie stooped slightly, wearing an anxious expression as though she were eternally searching for something around her feet. She was plain, her personality faded, and although she was always kind to us I never felt drawn to her.

By contrast, Aunt Lily was a picture of beautiful old age. Her skin was soft and clear and enhanced by the pastel shades of her gowns. But it was her expression which caught and held one's attention. I have seen the same expression, saintly, loving, but very human, on only three faces.

The other two I had not known personally but the memory will always remain. The most vivid is of the late Dr. Garbett, Archbishop of York. On a cold February day in 1952 Canon Frank Woods, the Vicar of Huddersfield, was consecrated Bishop of Middleton, in York Minster, and a great number of his parishioners were assembled there, for our Vicar had a vivid personality, and his brightness drew people to him.

The scene was one of colour and of grace. The glorious Minster - its pillars soaring to the vaulted roof the uncertain light from its ancient stained-glass windows the altar brought forward so that all could see, brightly lit, gold and red, and the organ pealing and rolling in a volume of praise.

After the service as the procession formed, I edged my way to the end of the row of chairs so that I could see it pass. As it approached, the Archbishop saw me standing there alone and gave me that same ineffably sweet smile, not entirely of this world, and I felt, and still feel, that I had received a benediction.

The other occasion I saw this beauty was in the face of one lying dead. We had a Help called Elsie Wilkinson while we were at "The Hollies" and one day she failed to arrive. I was sent to her home to find out the reason. Elsie invited me into the entrance and told me that her elder sister, who had been an invalid for many years, had passed away. She pleaded with me to see her. I was reluctant, I have not the desire to look upon the dead, but she was so persistent that I could not hurt her. She drew me to the bedside, and at once I was at peace, for there, shining clear, was the hand of God. I felt deeply thankful that I had shared that privilege.

We would take each Sunday in turn after calling at the Miss Dowses, to call either upon Granddad, or the aunts at "Edgefield".

At "Mount Royd" Granddad, now an old man and not in good health, was always pleased to see Mummy and Daddy, but we were entertained in the pantry to lemonade, poured into heavy, deep-cut glasses which I had great difficulty in holding and I always feared a disaster! I would marvel that we children should be allowed to use things of such beauty after our nursery crockery. We had plain biscuits, and were always welcomed by the housemaid and were quite content to munch and chatter until called away to return home.

One Sunday, I remember opening the door of the drawing-room, and standing poised on tiptoe in the opening. Granddad was sitting in an armchair by the fire, his heavy figure drooping and huddled, his down-turned moustache adding to his air of despondency. Suddenly my heart stirred and I longed for him to call me to him, so that I could cheer and brighten him. But looking up, with a peremptory wave of the hand he called out, "Run away child, go along to the pantry and have your lemonade" and the fleeting moment was gone for ever.

We loved going to the aunts' and Uncle Jack's on our way home. There was a cheery welcome for each one of us; a fine big rocking chair of green velvet which was a passion of ours. After the greetings were over, we made a concerted rush to seize it first, to the aunts' amusement, for so often the youngsters of their family made a dash for that chair! Rocking happily in my turn, I would listen to the grown-ups telling one another their latest news, all cheerful and lively, the room full and cosy.

One Sunday morning, however, there was no loving exuberant greeting. Auntie Flo met us with a solemn face and led us into the dining-room. There, pale and trembly on the couch under the window, sat Auntie Clare, both hands great billows of bandages. Daddy showed the utmost concern, but as Auntie told her story his concern changed to beaming pride, and striding up and down he told us again and again, "Your aunt is a heroine, a heroine, you are seeing a heroine." I gazed at her, wondering why no shining light was there to make her different from other people!

She had had a most alarming experience. During the week their maid arose early as was the custom and went downstairs to the basement to light the fire before she began her heavy day's work. It was sluggish that morning so the maid, impatient after her efforts to coax it had failed, resorted to the dangerous practice of pouring paraffin upon the reluctant coals. This time the great, searing rush of flame enveloped and hugged her, so that with wild shrieks she tore madly about the room.

The aunts, in their bedroom, were just thinking about getting up when these dreadful shrieks came to their ears. Auntie Clare knew at once it was fire, and seizing a blanket as the heaviest material near to hand, she flew down the two flights of stairs. Standing in the doorway, she was horrified to see the poor girl a blazing torch, and as Auntie tried to catch her, she was too quick, and was running round and round the room in her terror.

Auntie stood quite still, the blanket raised ready in her hand, and as the girl came round again she thrust out her foot, tripping her up, and swiftly had the blanket over her body, beating out the flames.

The maid was taken to hospital, very gravely burned, but she survived. Ever after that a rug was thrown over the couch in the hall, so that it was to hand for emergencies, as the blanket had proven to be of too light a material.

Auntie Clare, to brighten the atmosphere, told us that it was the second time she had gone into the basement in the early hours. Once, about 2 o'clock, she and Auntie Flo had been awakened by an extraordinary noise, neither a tapping nor a hammering, more a banging sound, very loud and frequent. They sprang up in bed, cogitating as to what this could mean.

Burglars they first thought, but they decided that burglars would not make a noise but just go stealthily about their nefarious business. It was very strange, but it was no good remaining where they were, so they had better investigate.

Passing very quietly down the stairs, just in case it was burglars after all, they peeped into the room. To their perturbation and also some amusement, they found that the cat had trapped its head in a stone jar, and was desperately banging the jar against the stone floor. We enjoyed this very much and were relieved to hear that the aunts, the one holding the cat, and the other twisting and tugging at the jar, managed after some time to release the poor creature.

Another Sunday morning, when we were nearing home, we met a couple, friends of Mummy and Daddy, and there and then I was drawn to their side to walk to their home to have dinner with them. I was aghast! This had happened once before; they had taken a fancy to the solemn, chubby little girl and had not realised, I think, how desperately shy was the child. I cast imploring glances at Mummy, who smiled brightly delighting that her offspring had become a favourite with her friends.

I think I have never been more stupid in all my life! I waded through the dinner with scarcely any response to their questions and talk. Afterwards, growing a little desperate I would imagine, they showed me how to play the pianola.

This was popular in many homes of the period. It looked like an ordinary piano, with pedals and a keyboard, above which was a roller punctured by a myriad of tiny dots. When the special roll of music was placed over this and the whole set in motion, melody came forth. This was controlled in volume, and the notes sustained by the finger control lever in front of, and below, the keys. The pedals were also brought into use. In this way people who could not play a note were able to experience good music, and an illusion that they themselves were actually playing the piano.

Even this novelty did not recall me out of my intense withdrawal, and I am sure that Mr and Mrs Moore must have felt relief when I was returned home at tea-time! I was never invited again.

It is distressing to be so shy. As a tiny I had refuge in Mummy's skirts, but none after infancy. It was difficult to understand for with people whom I knew well, I was lively as could be and called a "chatterbox".

Sunday dinner, at home, was a happy meal. We often had chicken and were allowed to pick the bones in our fingers, which meant a little procession upstairs to wash, first turning the door knob in one's palms, very gingerly, so as not to grease it. Mummy was always given the breast. "There is the breast for Mummy," Daddy would say, passing the plate along to the other end of the table, and wafting the carving knife in the air, "Mummy must always have the best."

That was his attitude towards her. He worshipped the ground she walked on, fussed over her and waited on her, happy to do this. Mummy accepted it all calmly and naturally. Where most women would have been spoiled, Mummy never was. She always remained good-tempered and cheerful. I sometimes thought it was a little hard on Daddy for he led a very strenuous life, and perhaps he would have enjoyed a little spoiling in his turn.

After dinner came the weekly winding of the old Grandfather clock, and when we were very young and the one weight and then the other dragged itself wearily up with a groaning noise, we chanted in unison:

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up theclock,
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock.