Open Writing

Mummy and Daddy were invited to spend a weekend at Southport with Daddy's eldest sister, Nellie, and her husband, Albert Wright. To my surprise the invitation also included me! I was only five years old at the time and it made me feel quite important to be the one chosen from the four of us. I failed to reflect that Auntie Nellie had made a natural choice, as I was her goddaughter.

Daddy had been travelling and was to join Mummy and me at a station somewhere en route. I hung out of the carriage window, my excitement quickening as I spied Daddy running along the platform, answering my energetic waving. He came bounding up, beaming, and greeting us enthusiastically, but alas! as the train drew away a sudden thought struck him.

"Give me the tickets, Flo. I'll keep them all together; it will be better so." Mummy's face fell. Had she the tickets? She could not remember and began to search her bag.

I sat opposite, deeply interested, and Daddy, who was still standing, watched her hopefully. Mummy rummaged for some time but the search produced no tickets.

"They must be there, Flo, you can't have forgotten them, look again," said Daddy, becoming a trifle uncertain.

Eventually Mummy emptied the contents of her handbag on to the seat, waving the bag upside down in the air, but no bit of cardboard trickled out.

"Well, really Flo," Daddy protested, "isn't it just like you? Here I come running up like a schoolboy, delighted to have this break, and now you go and spoil everything."

Mummy, who never, or hardly ever, became upset, was quite ruffled. "Well, Will, where did you leave the tickets? I'm sure you can't have placed them where I could see them or I would have picked them up; I thought I had done so."

"Thought," burst out Daddy, "you are always thinking. Why can't you ever remember?"

And they continued in this way.

I was dismayed. It was the first time I had heard heated words between my parents, and looking up I said in a small, lost voice, "Oh! please, please don't quarrel."

Daddy, touched by my distressed little face, leaned down and drawing me on to his knee comforted me. "We aren't really quarrelling, darling. I am only upset because Mummy has forgotten the tickets and now there'll be a bother seeing about them at the other end. It's disappointing, that's all," and he gave me a hug and Mummy a kind smile so that, at the time, the little episode was soon forgotten.

Many years later, when Uncle Albert was aged seventy, he met his death in an unusual manner. He was very keen on physical culture and one day when he and his friends were gathered together, Uncle began to brag of past prowess. He waxed enthusiastic and finding the little group interested was spurred on to further boasting.

One man, suddenly tiring of this tirade, interrupted. "Albert," said he, "you have told us a great many stories of your past achievements, but I bet you couldn't do anything like them today."

Uncle, his mouth open in the middle of a sentence, gaped at him. He was not going to stand for that. "See how fit I am," he exclaimed, pommelling his chest, "I feel very young and I think my physical powers are unabated."

"Well then," replied the other, aggressively, "if you are so fit, show us that you can jump over this table."

Uncle weighed up the measurements. It was large and wide, but he decided it was within his scope and made ready to jump. The others protested in chorus, "Don't be a fool, man, it's the height of folly."

"Stop him somebody."

"Albert, the table is far too wide, you can never do it."

"It isn't fit at your age."

Perhaps it was the last remark that settled the matter. "I'll do it, and I'll do it well," exclaimed Uncle, "just watch."

Measuring carefully with his eye, he took a running leap forward and up into the air. Falling awkwardly, and hitting the table edge, he tumbled headlong on to the floor, groaning with the sudden, sharp pain in his ribs.

His friends gathered anxiously about him, upset that the challenge had caused him harm. They escorted him home, explaining to Auntie Nellie what had happened. She was concerned and urged her husband to have a doctor.

"Have a doctor," protested the injured man, breathing uneasily, "how absurd! I shall soon be all right, don't worry so. I've had many a fall in my day."

Poor Uncle Albert. Unknown to him he had broken several ribs, three of which had pierced a lung, and he was soon beyond aid.

This was a tragedy for his wife, who had been spoiled by her husband and had enjoyed a pleasant life. Now this came to an end.

The many large, modern houses Uncle had built in Birkdale and Southport were sold at an uneconomic price by the trustees, thinking this was for the best as there was a slump at that time. Shortly afterwards, in the way these changes occurred, a boom began which would have made Auntie a wealthy woman, instead of which she had to scrimp and save for the remainder of her life.