Dedicated to Trevor

On Sunday I enjoyed a lovely afternoon with my dear Mum, and while we sat eating cakes and drinking coffee she handed me a pile of old notebooks. When I looked closer, I saw that my name was written on the covers. They were my old school books, both from England and from Australia, and she had kept them all these years.

Some had been damaged over time while in storage but most were thankfully salvaged. What a complete joy it was to sit with my Mum and my husband and daughter, sharing a hearty laugh over my handwriting, my spelling test results, teachers comments and especially my drawings and doodles. There were projects on Japan and Holland and reflective writing exercises about my holiays, along with many coloured-in pictures. How strange it felt to sit down and read those when my daughter has been doing the exact same thing at school, writing reflective pieces and drawing pictures to complement the story.

One such story which struck a chord with me was the one I wrote, titled:

My Two Days Holiday

On Thursday I went to my friends house for a little while. Then I went home with Mummy and Norman. I stayed up until 10 o'clock because I watched The Six Million Dollar Woman. And then I went to bed and read and wrote some letters until 10 to 10.

On Friday I went to work like I did Thursday morning and took my teaset and my doll and I played with my friend Trevor. He was Daddy and I was Mummy and my doll was baby. We played in the ballroom where ladies and gentlemen go in there for meetings and so on. 

When it was home time which is 12 o'clock Trevor and Mummy and me went home. When we got home we all had some dinner at 1 o'clock. Then we went outside playing with Josie our dog. Then at half past 3 we took Trevor back to the Kings Head and then did some shopping. Then we went home and had some tea. Then Grandad and we watched Gambit at 7 o'clock and had a cup of tea. Then Grandad went and I stayed up until half past 8.

Trevor and me

Trevor's life was tragically and painfully cut short when he became terminally ill in his late teens. Before he reached his twenty-third birthday he had passed away. I went to visit him shortly before he died, and we had some laughs together about the "old days" when we played at the Kings Head Hotel in Beccles (Trevor's Mum and my Mum both worked there as chambermaids and that was how Trevor and I became friends). We used to fight like mad some days and he followed me around a lot which used to irritate me, especially if I just wanted to go off wandering around by myself. I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams that my childhood friend's life would be cut short in such terrible circumstances.

I have written a novella which I have dedicated to my childhood friend Trevor and he also makes a very special posthumous cameo appearance as one of my characters.

Trevor with his beloved dog

Trevor's grave, 1993

Family Letters and Strange Dreams

Last night I had some very strange dreams, from leaving my daughter in the middle of the busy city to catch a train home on her own to finding letters that were written by my paternal grandmother. I just knew that I had to blog about the latter.

Freda wrote to me frequently when I left England in 1978 to live in Australia with my mother. She always wrote at least one page, even when she was in hospital (which was often) and she sent cards to my mother and I every year, without fail. I wish I had kept more of her letters to me but over time I threw many of them out (my way of downsizing during my frequent moves from house to house in my twenties). It was only the last letters that she wrote me, before her eyesight failed her completely, that I had the good sense to keep. What a relief, I did something right then.

My letters from Freda (1990-1993)

When my great-aunt Joan passed away in 2005, her son Terry sent me some letters and cards, written by my grandmother Freda to Joan and my great-uncle Billy, which he found amongst his mother's personal effects.

When I woke up from my dream this morning I had a strong sense that Freda was trying to communicate something to me. In the dream I opened a drawer and took out some papers. Among the handful of papers were letters and I immediately recognised the handwriting as my grandmother's and started to cry. My tears were of happiness and relief that I had found her letters but sadness as well because I really miss her. One of the letters I held in my hand was typed and was dated 1933. It talked of all sorts of historical facts about pre-war threats and her feelings on the subject. I folded it up and made a mental note to read it in greater detail later. The second letter is more vague in my waking memory but it was definitely her handwriting and on seeing it, I burst into tears. Then I woke up.

Freda, about 1933

Here is a transcript from a letter that my grandmother Freda wrote to my great-aunt Joan in 1961. My cousin Robert was a newborn and she was writing to send her congratulations:

Dear Joan & Billy,

Many Congratulations on the birth of your little Son. I am so glad it all went off well & that you are both well.

I am writing to your home address Joan, as I don't know how long you stay in Hospital. I bet you felt important being waited on, its nice for a change, but I expect you're like me you rather be up & about.

Julian [my cousin, who was eighteen at the time] seemed quite pleased to tell the news to everyone, you'll have plenty to think about now.

I'm sorry I haven't written before, but time flies & I haven't been too well with my legs, when it comes to tea-time I can't do another thing.

We shall look forward to seeing him now.

Love from us all,

Freda

On the subject of family letters, I also have a letter that was written to my great-aunt Muriel from my great-uncle Billy in 1941. Muriel's first husband died suddenly, aged 31, and the news was devastating to the say the least (They had only been married four years and they had no children).

Dear Muriel,

Very sorry to hear bad news received from Joan by telegram: it does seem so cruel after you being so very happy with Jack but I suppose God has a time for us all.

Well Muriel I will never forget the happy evenings we three had at No. 15 and I'm sure wherever Jack is he will never forget either. Now Muriel old girl if there is anything I can do for you anytime, don't be afraid to ask. Myself & Joan will willingly do anything, anytime. You don't forget that cause I mean it....If you feel like taking little Terry out on your own, Joan would only be too pleased. I know you like children & little Terry so don't be afraid to say so. (Now can you keep a secret Muriel, don't say anything to anybody, not a word. Don't even let Joan know. Promise? Well we are expecting an extra in the family. Sometime next June [1942, which would have been Julian]. Now promise not to breath a word...

I love his closing salutation:

Yours for always,

Your loving brother, 

Billy

xxxxxx

Brother and Sister: Billy & Muriel, 1935

I can't begin to express just how much I truly miss Freda. She was such a lovely woman and a fabulous grandmother to me and my sisters.

Family History Through The Alphabet Challenge : S is for...

For this week's Alphabet Challenge blog post I have chosen a topic which is close to my heart - Scrapbooking. Besides genealogy, reading and writing historical fiction, and collecting old postcards I love to play with photographs and create layouts in a scrapbook album.

 

 

 

For those who may not know, scrapbooking is a method for preserving personal and family history in the form of a scrapbook. Scrapbook albums usually contain memorabilia such as photographs, postcards, poems, letters, cards, recipes, and artwork. The first scrapbooks appeared as far back as the 15th century when it became popular in England to keep "commonplace books". I often wonder whether any of my ancestors kept scrapbooks and what happened to them. Did anybody keep them, pass them on, or were they destroyed by disinterested parties. My great-grandmother Nellie kept her precious memorabilia in an old biscuit tin and both of my grandmother's had an assortment of albums and leather-bound satchels for their photographs.

 

I began scrapbooking in earnest back in 2001 after I attend a Babies & Children's Expo. I still remember the "Creative Memories" display like it was yesterday. Layed out on tressel tables were rows of scrapbooks of all colours and sizes and the ideas flooded in my over-active mind. I wanted to create something unique and special for my then unborn child and in that moment, I was determined to ensure that all of my photographs would be lovingly displayed and preserved. Thus, my love of scrapbooking was born (pardon the pun).

 

Three generations of photograph albums
My grandmother Lilian's, My mother's and mine

To date I have made nine scrapbook albums. I would really like to say I have made ten if it included my intended heritage scrapbook but that is still on my "to-do" list. Why haven't I made it yet, I hear you ask? Simple, it's one word: fear. I confess that I am a perfectionist (eat your heart out Jim Cameron) and more especially when it comes to creating scrapbooks. I have all the necessary implements, papers (acid free, of course) and tons of photographs but I just cannot bring myself to sit down and actually do it. I am terrified of mucking the whole thing up. Crazy, I know.

 

I can proudly say that I have accumulated a lot of favourite scrapbook "how-to" books and these are a few of my absolute favourites, which I return to again and again:

 

The Complete Guide to Creating Heritage Scrapbooks (Memory Makers)
Scrapbook Journaling Made Simple (Memory Makers)

Scrapbooking Your Family History (Maureen A. Taylor)

Uncovering Your Ancestry Through Family Photographs (Maureen A. Taylor)

Scrapbooking Your Family History (Laura Best)

Scrapbooking Family in Historical Events (Laura Best)
'Good Housekeeping' Wartime Scrapbook (Barbara Dixon)

The Altered Book Scrapbook (Susan Ure)

A sample of some of my personal scrapbooks

My personal tips for scrapbooking: Don't ever use your original photographs. Always use copies; that way if you make a mistake during the cropping process you can always print off another. Always ensure that you use acid-free papers and scrapbooking materials. If you don't feel confident when it comes to journaling, practise on a separate sheet of paper and use the photograph as a narrative guide. Remember, every photograph tells a story.

 

Lastly, I picked up this invaluable tip and I want to pass it on to you. When you create a scrapbook or photograph/memorabilia album, include an "About the Author" and paste it on the inside front page and remember to include a small photograph of yourself. Write a brief introduction: tell the person who will be looking at your album who you are, why you made the album, what your hobbies are, what date it was when you made the album and where you were living at the time. Below is an example, taken from one of my personal scrapbooks that I made in 2003. Please, try not to laugh at my photo (it was the 1980s, come on!).

 

"About The Author"
Fom my personally made childhood scrapbook

My favourite websites to order my scrapbooking supplies from:

http://www.creativememories.com.au/ (Companies in Australia, New Zealand, United Kingdom, Germany, Austria, Canada, USA, Japan)

http://www.familytreefolk.co.uk/ (UK based, but overseas orders welcome)

http://www.gould.com.au/ (Australia based, but overseas orders welcome)

 



My Grandmother Lilian : 1920 - 1983

Lilian Katie Humphries abt 1940

I have just come home from the Antiques Fair and felt the strongest compulsion yet to write a blog. Admittedly I have wanted to start a blog for the longest time, and have even gone so far as to research different blog sites and sought advice from several people.

However, nerves won out and got the better of me; that, and a serious dose of self-doubt. There are so many topics I want to discuss, but at the end of the day, I kept going back to the same agonising question. Who would want to know, or care, what I have to say?

For as long as I have been alive I have had a passion for family history. As a child I loved to listen to my grandmothers when they talked about their childhoods, family stories, war stories and more importantly for me, showing me photographs and telling me who the photograph was of, where it was taken and the memory associated with that photograph, whether it be a family member, a holiday snap or a wedding portrait.

I thought about dedicating this first blog to both of my grandmothers but, to be quite honest, I don’t think that would be fair. They each deserve their own dedication, in their own right. As tomorrow will mark 28 years since my maternal grandmother passed away, I shall dedicate my very first family blog to her.

My grandmother was born Lilian Katie Humphries, on 26 November 1920. Her birth certificate says she was born in Bloomsbury Square in the district of St Giles, London. I went to visit her childhood home in 2007 and fell in love with both the Square and its surrounds.

Lilian was always known to me as “Nannie Buster” as her second husband (Alfred Sampson) was known to everyone as Buster. Others called her Lil and some of her nieces and nephews knew her as Lily.

Lilian was the seventh child of Albert Humphries and Elizabeth Dare. Before her were three brothers and three sisters, the eldest of which – Violet, or Vi as she was known - she was extremely close to. She would often spend two weeks holiday visiting her sister Vi in Sutton, where she lived with her husband Cyril Lang above the butcher's shop on the High Street.

When Lilian was just a child she was struck with asthma and bronchial ailments, inherited from her father’s side of the family who all suffered from it. When Lilian was eight she contracted Tuberculosis and the family had to leave their London home for the country air. They moved to Leigh-On-Sea and remained there until the 1930s, when the family moved again, to Sutton in county Surrey. They lived on Clyde Road.

Lilian and her sisters volunteered for the ATS when war broke out in 1939, but ill health plagued Lilian and eventually she had to give up several of her posts. It was in 1945, near war’s end in Europe, that she and her sister Stella were sent to clean ambulance trains in Epsom.

There she met my grandfather Percy Preston, who was stationed near Epsom with the Royal Army Medical Corps. Three short months later, Percy and Lilian were married at St Nicholas Church in Sutton. After the wedding, Percy was stationed back to Epsom and Lilian went, supposedly by rail, to county Suffolk to start married life, not with her husband but with her mother-in-law Nellie Preston who ran a boarding house for single working men, in the market town of Bungay.

After the war, Lilian gave birth to four children: Two girls (the eldest being my mother), followed by two boys. Percy held an Urban District Council job in the town for several years and Lilian worked in various shops and factories in Bungay and nearby Flixton. Then in 1962 they bought the Café in Cross Street, known then as Alfo’s. The tearooms are still there today, although it is now known as the Buttercross Tearooms, named after the infamous Butter Cross at the end of the street.

In May 1966 Percy passed away, of lung cancer. Two years later, Lilian met a local widower by the name of Alfred Sampson and they married in August 1968 at St Mary’s Church, Bungay. Lilian's family of four became a family of nine, as Alf had five children from his previous marriage to Jean Alden. She died of cancer in 1964, aged 35.

As a child I fondly remember visiting my Nannie and Grandad Buster where they lived at St Johns Road, in Bungay. I can still recall the rooms; the front parlour room (which I was never allowed into), the sitting room, the kitchen and walk-in pantry, the narrow staircase and the cupboard under the stairs, and each one of the pokey bedrooms. Whenever I stayed overnight, I loved to explore Nannie’s rooms upstairs, especially her wardrobe filled with flowing dresses and coats, her perfumes and cosmetics on her dressing table, and her endless book shelves crammed with Mills and Boon novels. I would have been around eight or nine years old when I first remember flicking through the pages, fervently looking for the passionate kiss on the last pages! I think she may have caught me out once or twice but I was never severely reprimanded. Perhaps she was mildly amused by my curiosity.

However, I do recall her chastising me for hiding in the cupboard under the stairs or in the kitchen pantry. This was a source of much chagrin between us, as she seemed to forever dislike my need for seeking solitude. She liked me to be where she could see me, not necessarily hear me though!



Lilian with her beloved dog Russ

Lilian loved her dog, a Jack Russell Terrier she named Russ. I shared her love for Russ, and whenever I visited or stayed at my grandparents, he was a delightful playmate for me. We would run amuck outside in the courtyard, or the garages out in the allotment area. Sometimes I would put him in my bicycle basket and wheel him around the yard. Nannie would knock on the kitchen window at me when she felt her poor “doggy woggy” Russ had been through enough torment!

When I was nine years old my grandparents emigrated to Western Australia. Alfred quickly found employment with the Alcoa group, which took him regularly to Dampier, for weeks at a time. Lilian, having been advised by her doctors that the warmer climates of Australia would help her bronchitis and asthma attacks, spent her days mostly indoors by the air conditioner watching the tennis, knitting, or baking. When a relative came to visit they would take her out shopping, which was one of her favourite pastimes.

Lilian was always proud of her London heritage. She always sang “Maybe It's Because I’m a Londoner” and if she was ever pulled up for something or feigned any sort of ignorance she would simply shrug her shoulders and say, “Well, you know it's just because I'm a Londoner”.

When my Nannie was ill, you knew about it the second you walked into her house. The atmosphere was electric when she was confined to her bed. An eerie silence hung on everything around you. Everywhere was deathly silent. There were no sounds of her singing or her slippered footsteps, the kettle wasn't whistling, and not a song could be heard. When she was well however, the atmosphere was the complete opposite. You could hear her bustling around, the washing machine going, the kettle boiling, the dog yapping nearby, her singing at the top of her lungs a tune by Roy Orbison, Bing Crosby or the Andrew Sisters. She would be cleaning, baking, making endless cups of tea or talking idly to Russ, making an absolute fuss over him. I found it funny whenever she threw open the kitchen window and shouted out to Grandad or my Uncle to come in for dinner or a pot of tea.

When my Nannie died, I was in my last year of high school. Her death was sudden and nobody in the family got to say goodbye to her. Lilian had suffered a massive heart attack at home and despite being rushed to Fremantle Hospital, she died on arrival. I was devastated, as was my mother who (understandably) took her mother’s death extremely hard. Losing my Nannie at that time in my life was so intensely shocking because I never had the chance to tell her all the things I would have wanted to. I never had the chance to ask her more about her life in London, and Surrey, or her war experiences. I never even knew her parents names, until 10 years ago when I started the family tree research in earnest.

I will always fondly remember my grandmother Lilian for:

“In the Mood” and Glen Miller Band : Lilian loved to sing this song more than any other I recall in my memory. She would saunter up to me and sing it in my ear or walk around the house with the carpet sweeper or broom.

When getting dressed to go out, Lilian would spend hours applying heated rollers, tweezing, curling her eyelashes, and "putting her face on". There was always singing and dancing involved, and I loved to sit and watch her in the mirror pulling various faces at me or throwing her head back in laughter.

Bourjois Cosmetics : Her rouge pots are still in the family today, and I also love to wear Bourjois products.

Chanel No. 5 perfume : Her most expensive and indulgent perfume, she wore this only for special occasions and always applied the smallest amount in order to make the bottle last!

Merely Musk Impulse : Her everyday perfume, or 4711 or, sometimes, the latest Avon perfumes.

Daphne du Maurier novels : in particular, Rebecca and it was one of her favourite movies of all time.

Engelbert Humperdinck : She was a lover of this "pop" singer.

Bing Crosby and the “White Christmas” movie : Her most passionate love was for all things Bing, for his musical talents and for his acting.

Roy Orbison : Another crooning voice she loved to sing along to whenever she was cooking or cleaning.

Despite her asthma and bronchial ailments. Lilian smoked cigarettes. I recall seeing her often using one of those long black cigarette holders, and I thought she looked just like a movie star! She used to smoke Du Maurier cigarettes or Benson & Hedges.

Her cooking and baking, but for me especially I will always miss her:

Rhurbarb Pie (usually always served hot with lashings of custard)

Apple Crumble (again made with lashings of custard)

Rice Pudding (the sweetest and softest I have ever tasted)

Shepherds Pie (made with any mince she found cheapest on the day)

Nannie's famous Sunday fry-ups: heaped up platefuls of soft runny eggs, oily bacon and grilled tomatoes

Roast dinners of chicken or lamb (mostly) served with lashings of sauce, gravy, peas, over-cooked cabbage, carrots and cauliflower, broad beans (she knew I hated them but she still put them on my plate and made me eat them!), runner beans, swede, and the best ever Yorkshire puddings.

Two weeks ago I found, amongst my mother’s rather extensive photograph and memorabilia boxes, a cassette tape with family members voices recorded onto it. It was recorded in January 1975 and it was intended for family that had recently emigrated to Australia. The very first voice you can hear is my grandmother Lilian. When her voice filled my living room on that day, two weeks ago, it was like having her back again. Hearing her accent, her laugh, her singing, was like I had stepped back into a room with her sitting there.

I cried like I have never cried before. For an instant I was grieving her loss all over again but then, a powerful sense of joy washed over me. Even though my sinuses flared up and my face swelled from excessive crying, I realised that I will always have a piece of her with me. I have some of her favourite things, I have my childhood memories to hold on to, and now I will always be able to hear her voice whenever I want to. All I have to do is press the play button and close my eyes.

“Mr What-you-call-it What you doing tonight?

I hope you’re in the mood cos I’m feeling just right…”

  

Enjoying a boat ride on the Swan River 1982