The First Seventy Years: Chapter 60 - Dentdale And Brithdir
Eric Biddulph tells of the death of his mother.
To read earlier chapters of Eric’s autobiography please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/the_first_seventy_years/
The hot dry summers of 1975 and 1976 were reminiscent of my Malawi days still fresh in my memory. It was during this period that I discovered the two 'treasures' which I enjoy to this day; Dentdale and Brithdir. The former is in a beautiful location in the Yorkshire Dales and the other is to be found in central Wales. Both have provided enormous enjoyment on many occasions. In addition to family camping holidays,
Dentdale has served as a favourite location for an annual week of camping for Paul and an aspiring young cyclist, Andrew Whitworth. Paul never took to cycling for a number of years but Andrew blossomed out as an avid rider. Now in his early 40s he is the proud owner of a successful cycle shop. Brithdir provided numerous holidays for the whole family and in more recent years has been a nostalgic reminder when we camp as a couple in the same field as we did with Jane and Paul over thirty years ago.
Living in what we consider to be a beautiful location we decided in 1975 that we would offer our house to my parents during our own two weeks absence. This happened for a number of years. My mother once said "We think of it as going on holiday". Sadly, my father died on 5 October 1980. I am glad that I was able to give my parents some pleasure as a small return for their efforts in helping me along in the world. Following my father's death my mother was in limbo. She took a long time to get over it but continued to live in their ninth floor flat in Nottingham.
In 1981 she became ill and was admitted to hospital. I was told in confidence that she was suffering from stomach cancer and was not expected to live. My mother was under the impression that she was suffering an ulcer. She agreed to an operation to remove the 'ulcer' and came up to Huddersfield to stay with us during what she believed was her recuperation. Contrary to all medical predictions there was no evidence of her demise. Whilst Mary and myself constantly anticipated the worst she went from strength to strength. At no time during the remaining years did she ever suspect the life-threatening condition she had been through. In her innocence she became impatient to return to her Nottingham flat. A dilemma for us; she eventually went home where she remained for several weeks. I suggested that she might consider coming back to live in Huddersfield on a permanent basis if suitable accommodation could be found. She agreed and a formal application was lodged on compassionate grounds with Kirklees Council.
After eighteen months during which time she had all but given up hope of ever being re-housed, she was offered a one-bedroom bungalow within walking distance of our house. The move involved the disposal of a huge quantity of furniture. Never one for imposing herself on us she spent six years happily engaged on a range of activities in Huddersfield. The cheap bus travel facility available in West Yorkshire enabled her to move around at will. She took full advantage of it visiting many of the sights and attractions the area has to offer.
Friday night became a tradition for us to visit her, usually after having attended Huddersfield Star Wheelers clubnight to which she was an occasional visitor. The end came one evening in May 1989. I found her slumped in an armchair, She died from a brain haemorrhage not from the cancer which had afflicted her almost a decade earlier. It was a reminder of the uncertainty of life. At least she died fairly quickly without ever becoming aware of the Sword of Damocles which had hung over her for so long.
