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Twenty years ago, we arrived in Woolacombe with our two little boys, having survived 15% interest rates and negative equity from our one and only house in Steeple Claydon. We had nothing and I was 40. A woman overheard us talking on the beach that we couldn’t find anywhere to live and led us to view a studio flat, opposite Marisco’s disco, that we subsequently rented for 6 months.
Harry, in a confused state and with an anxiety patch on his arm, on going to the launderette, asked if this was our new home. In fact, after we had taken him to the doctor’s about a minor fall, we had a visit from the social services! I took Jack for a visit to this wonderful school in such an idyllic beautiful setting, thinking there’s no way they’ll take someone out of the area. Inexplicably, he crawled under the headmistress’s desk and refused to come out while I was trying to convince her that he would be an asset to the school. Anyway, I think the boys made a better impression when Kris Winthorpe, the Year 1 teacher, came round for a home baseline visit and found a 3 year old and a 5 year old playing chess! To this day, I amuse myself that we rigged it. “OK, places everyone. Now remember your lines boys. Jack, you start with,’…aah I see you’ve employed the old Sicilian defense opening with the Scheveningen variation’. Harry, you push the pointy black one forward and don’t eat it this time”
Slowly and happily, we established ourselves. I had some business cards printed which I took round local schools, hoping to get some supply work, – John Walker B Ed (Hons) – ‘Have chalk, will talk’ ! A morning’s work here, a couple of days there. Meanwhile we soon came to end of our 6 month tenure and beachlady wanted us out. More anxiety pains. Cue Romy to talk to the local greengrocer who knows of a small flat in Lee. The elderly neighbours are initially wary of a couple with two noisy youngsters but it’s the start of us living at the Grange. After a while, Jill Beaumont, the owner inquires, if we are interested in buying the 3 bed-roomed wing of the Grange in which she lives. We tell her that, because neither of us have a permanent contract, we can’t see us getting a mortgage seeing how the housing market had just come out of a crisis where everyone had stretched themselves too much. She said nonsense, persuaded us to do it and the rest is history.
Fast forward twenty wonderful years of happiness to now. We are leaving our beautiful home in paradise because we love it so much. We can’t stay because we would sentimentally drown in blissful memories. I come from Ipswich, Suffolk and Romy from Tewkesbury but our boys come from a small village called Lee. “Have you heard of Woolacombe? – Well, it’s near there.”
Basically, we are very very sad to leave. We may come to our senses, and like Jerry, come back home from Bristol with our tails between our legs but until then goodbye and love to all our friends.
Richard’s Memories of Mum
To say that my mother was devoted to my father would be an understatement. Not only did she love, honour and obey him, as was the custom for her generation, but she also worshipped the ground he walked on. Her marriage was one of three things that defined her life, the other two being her children and the long years of widowhood that followed Dad’s untimely passing.
Mum and Dad’s marriage was a good one. They hardly ever quarreled, and when they did it was always about money, or, to be more precise, the dire lack of it. Dad always had a steady job, but he was by no means well paid for a man of his ability and experience. I know this because when I was 19 years old I was offered a trainee managerial position at the local yeast factory. I told Dad the salary they were offering and asked him what I should do. He said, “Son, that’s almost as much as I make, I’d take it if I were you.”. He was then a supply supervisor at Levington research station, and approaching retirement with over 20 years service to his company. Clearly, they did not pay him very well.
To make ends meet, Mum had to work part-time in addition to her traditional housekeeping role, and Dad had an evening job a few nights a week. It must have been hard for them both, but especially for Mum. Sometimes the housekeeping money ran out before the next family allowance could be drawn at the post office. When that happened we ate a lot of Irish stew, made with meat that was barely fit for human consumption, and seemingly endless plates of baked beans on toast… not Heinz baked beans, mind you… oh no, I’m talking about some seriously cheap and nasty baked beans here!
On one of these occasions… I was perhaps 8 or 9 years old at the time… I decided to take matters into my own hands. I went down to the seafront to look for returnable bottles in the promenade litter bins, and coins dropped by holiday-makers on the pebble beach. Amazingly, I found some of both, as well as a gold ring bearing the inscription “In thee we trust”. I returned home with my treasure and gave it to Mum saying, “Here, Mummy, we can buy some food with this.” She hugged and kissed me with tears in her eyes… just as there are tears in my eyes as I write this… because she knew that I loved her and wanted to help.
On another occasion a few years later, Mum and Dad had a terrible row about money, and I was sure she was going to leave him. We were living at 6 Sea Road by then, so I must have been about 12 years old. I said to John, “We’ve got to do something to make her happy.” So we cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom while she was at work. More tears of joy when she got home. I was very pleased with myself for saving their marriage.
Mum and Dad were good parents. Despite the lack of money, they were determined that we, their children, would have all the opportunities that they were deprived of. To that end, we all received a private education that they really could not afford, and in my case, because I was lazier and less inclined to study than Peter, they even hired a private tutor to get me through the Eleven Plus examination. That is how important they viewed the education of their children. They also made sure that the whole family went on holiday every summer. They were great holidays for us kids, but lots of work for Mum and Dad. I’m sure they must have been more exhausted than refreshed by these “breaks” from mundane working life. We were all loved and treated equally, especially by Mum, for whom this was a principle close to her own heart. The fact that we have all led useful, productive and happy lives is due primarily to the dutiful and self-sacrificing parenting that we received from them.
Dad’s passing while Mum was still in her late fifties was a terrible blow for her to bear. I once said to her that I would be totally okay with her finding a new partner. “Oh, no”, she said, “I couldn’t possibly do that to your father.” In accordance with her wishes, her ashes are to be placed as close as possible to his, because she loved him and missed him to the very end of her life. Sally, God bless her, more than anyone else, made those long lonely years bearable for Mum. We, her brothers, owe her much for being such a wonderful daughter. You are just like Mum, Sally, thank you for all you have done. I know that Dad would say the same.
There is much more that I remember… too much to tell on this occasion, but I’m sure others will remember too. Audrey Walker was a fine woman and the best mother a man could wish for. If Terry Wogan had been her son, he would have been a very lucky man. And she really didn’t care much for Terry Wogan…. nobody knows why! She deserved so much more than she got from life. Hopefully, I am wrong about what lies beyond the grave, and she is now reunited with the man she loved so dearly. She definitely deserves that.
Greetings to you all from Canada. I deeply regret that I am not able to be with you today. I know what Mum would say, “Oh, Richard, really!” And she’d be right, of course. But I know in my heart that she would forgive me, because I know she loved me and always forgave me for being her wayward son. I hope that we will be able to arrange a family reunion in the not-to-distant future, because I also know that, above all else, that is what she wanted.
Sally’s Memories of Mum
What can I say about Mum. She was my world. She’s been there for me all of my life and now there is an emptiness I cannot describe.
Although she was a trained secretary, from the time I was born until I started school, Mum worked as a nursing auxiliary. She worked nights so that she could be at home with me during the day. Her uniform I remember was pink stripes with a button on the collar, starched white hat and apron. To a five year old she looked very grand and I was so proud to tell my friends at school, ‘my mum’s a nurse.’ Seeing her in that uniform, from then on I knew I wanted to follow in her footsteps. I have now been nursing for 36 years.
At the age of 6, Mum taught me to knot and sew, a hobby I still do today. an asset I am deeply indebted to her for as I am able to make my daughter Francesca’s costumes for her theatrical performances.
Mum never learnt to drive, never wanted to either! The thought of driving frightened the life out of her. Dad tried to teach her once…. not a good idea. Frustration on Dad’s part and fear on Mum’s was not a good combination, so that was that. We kept up to our name and walked everywhere! We lived by the sea in Felixstowe, Suffolk. Our flat was a stone’s throw from the promenade. All of us siblings spent most of our time on the beach. Me playing with my friends from dawn to dusk and the boys working as deckchair attendants all through the summer. Peter and John also worked at our local theatre in the evenings as stagehands and Richard for a short while worked at the theatre car park. I do recall Mum commenting once on the fact that we treated home as a hotel….we only came home to eat and sleep! Yet she was content in our happiness.
As children, the seaside was all that we knew. We had daily long walks along the prom with our dog, evening paddles in the sea by moonlight and not forgetting the Christmas family walk along the prom to digest our dinner before round 2 with the evening festive eats.
I do remember when I was about 7 years old, I had a cold one Christmas. Snuffling and coughing, I was eager to open my Christmas presents. It came to the present from my maternal grandmother. I opened it to see the mortified look on Mum’s face to see that her mother had given me a packet of Lemsip and a string bag of oranges. Mum soon after bought me another present to compensate!
I was always close to Mum, being her only daughter but more so after Dad died in 1983. Suffolk held too many memories for her so she moved to be near me. Mum quickly learnt to live an independent life. She went on her annual holidays to Scotland with her friend Jean and coach trips back to Felixstowe to see her cousin Pauline. Even up until her mid-80’s, she would go shopping on the bus to Basingstoke and Reading. But I think the highlight was on her 90th birthday when the whole family were together again. We had lunch in Winchester where she walked the length of the high street, up and down the hill with her rollator only for help.
Although her illness these last few months was only very brief, mum wanted her independence and to stay in her home almost up to the end. She did this with the dedicated care and patience of the palliative care team nurses. They looked after her at home and she thought they were wonderful. Their experience showed when the time for mum to go to Ashbourne Court was needed. Although only a very short stay where she died peacefully, their care and compassion was second to none.
I found recently a poem in the pocket of my mother’s handbag. It reads:
When I must leave you for a little while,
Please do not grieve and shed wild tears
And hug your sorrow to you through the years,
But start out bravely with a gallant smile;
And for my sake and in my name,
Live on and do all things the same.
Feed not your loneliness on empty days,
but fill each wakening hour in useful ways.
Reach out your hand in comfort and in cheer
And I in turn will comfort you and hold you near;
And never be afraid to die,
For I am waiting for you in the sky.
Be happy Mum. I am proud and privileged to have known and loved you. Treasured memories until we meet again.
John’s Memories of Mum
This will be very random and personal as I try to draw together remaining fragments of memories and lasting thoughts of Mum. We have a problem because it is hard to remember things that happened 30 years ago and if you subtract 30 from 92 you’re left with 62 so many of our best recollections of Mum will be sadly of her as old.
I once had to give an assembly. If 2 or 3 hundred young people are going to gather to hear you speak, you should really choose a subject that’s important, that you believe in. The subject of my pearls of wisdom was ‘Heroes’. With a huge screen behind me and a wireless mouse, I proceeded to reveal four examples. Bjorn Borg – incredibly captivating winning consecutive titles with such panache. Nick Park – quiet reserved genius creator of Wallace and Gromit who when interviewed about the fire at the Aardvark Bristol studios that had destroyed most of the production’s history commented, “Well compared with the earthquake that has just happened in Pakistan, it all puts things into perspective.” Ken Beevers – Jack’s football coach who as a 60 year old saw this age group being disbanded through a lack of a coach. Already retired and done his ‘stint’, he had the attitude that this cannot be let to happen.’ Volunteers and community-centred people who are the backbone of society. ….. and last but not least ..my Mum. Four children in a small basement flat. No modern washing machine, tumble drier, microwave. A kitchen about the size of walk-in cupboard which up to 10:30pm never closed. We never saw mum. She never watched telly with us – too busy. Three boys playing football getting mud all over school trousers. “Mum, my rugby shorts are still damp!” – “John, John – It’s half past seven, I’ve overslept and you’re late for your paper round. Tell them it’s my fault.” – “No mum.” – The point I was trying to make to young people, was that if you’re looking for heroes, sometimes they’re right under your nose!
Mum lived solely for her children. At the height of this nasty infection that covered half her face and led to paulsey about two months before her death, she used to take about an hour to go to the toilet, one shuffle after another and crawl into bed, exhausted with the effort and concentration to do the simple things that we take for granted. On one of these occasions after I had put out her bedside light, all she could think of was, “Oh John, you won’t be able to see your way out of the room with the light off” – “I’ll manage Mum”
I’ve thought for years what I would like to say at my son Jack or Harry’s wedding. Seeing thankfully that is the privilege of the bride’s father, I’ll say it now. Jack – Harry – Your mother Romy and I have a wedding present for you both but you can’t wrap it up and you can’t see it. It’s 33 years of love and devoted partnership providing a safe and secure home. So when you read your cards that wish you a happy marriage together, I’d like to think that it won’t be entirely down to chance. Because that’s what my Mum and Dad gave to me. I was dealt a very good hand and I know it and I appreciate it. It’s not only your hairline, eye colour or medical conditions that you inherit from your parents. We may have survived on soup and dumplings but money is insignificant to the loving happy childhood we all had. Just finishing my fantasy, at the end of my rousing speech, Jack turns to me and says, ‘ Yeh, pretty words Dad, now give us the toaster, you cheapskate! (But he doesn’t though)
What a legacy though. Looking at these old photos which I haven’t seen for so long, we were a lovely family. And guess what lovely people beget lovely people. I’ve stood in the away football supporters section of my fellow suffolk countryman and I have witnessed the full spectrum of humanity and our family tree compares very favourably. Perhaps we owe a debt of gratitude to our grandparents too. – Naaah! The Victorians were very good for beards, railways and sewers but pretty useless at parenting skills. Churchill’s grandchild is said to have put his head round his drawing room’s door, and asked, “Is it true, grandad that you are the most famous man in England?” – “Yes, replied Churchill, now bugger off!!” Well that was just about what it was like for us. Children should be seen and not heard! Sorry Mum and Aunty Brenda. Only speaking as grandchildren, mind, the legacy starts with Mum and Dad.
If you were to ask me what is the ‘Rosebud’ memory of my childhood, it would be ….potatoes!! Mum never peeled enough potatoes. It’s where I learnt to divide. She brought them to the table, mumbling away that she didn’t know if she had done enough potatoes. Now let me see, 2o to go between 6 people. A quick scan around the table to see who’s paying attention, I reckon I could get away with helping myself to four here! We used to have a sack of potatoes in our shed which is also where we kept the paraffin for the heaters. One day, the potatoes tasted very strange. I complained to mum but she concealed the fact that she could taste any difference. (But Mum, look…you can actually light them!!) We ate those strangely flavoured potatoes because to discard them would have been a waste. They didn’t do me any harm.
This is Mum in Winchester hospital after Sally had done such a great job nursing her face back to normal. I took this film to show Sally how the paulsey was causing her to miss her mouth! As it was, she fully recovered and here’s the proof. When she came back from her CT scan, which was how they discovered the three tumours, she was babbling in tongues and did not know who I was. I was unaware, then, that the radiocontrast agents causes such an effect on the brain. I was very upset. I thought that this was it and so sad because Sally was not there due to having to work. After leaving her to eat, I returned and was determined to tell her that I loved her, just in case she was in any doubt. But, we’re a team and so I took her hand and said, “Mum, Peter, Richard, John and Sally, we all love you so very much.” And not thinking that I would get any coherent sense from her, she replied through her haze, “I know dear.” That, just about dots every i and crosses every t. Sleep peacefully, Dearest mummy.
Paul Nuttall has just been elected the leader of UKIP (Nov 2016). In 2013 on warning about the impending flood of Romanian and Bulgarian immigrants to the UK, Nuttall stated:
“Bulgarians need to ensure that the brightest and best people stay in Bulgaria and make it economically prosperous instead of coming to the UK to make tea and coffee”
This was the Stewart Lee’s brilliant response to that view of immigration.
Leonard Cohen wrote songs on themes of war, politics and social justice. He was prone to depression and spent most of the 1990s in retreat at a Zen Buddhist centre in California. On hearing that Donald Trump had been elected President, he passed away. His last words were “Well, that’s me done- happy to go now!” (Not true)
He was Romy’s favourite. She told me this romantic story about his love Marianne with whom, in 1960, he rented an apartment on a small greek island called Hydra. (This island was the first place we ever went to as a courting couple). The song “So Long, Marianne” was written to and about her. Their relationship lasted for most of the 1960s.
In July this year, when he heard that she was near to death, he wrote to her and the farewell letter was read out at her funeral, stating “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”
The world doesn’t work in straight lines anymore. HyperNormalisation contains a lot of persuasive imagery inclining you to adopt the usual conspiratorial stance about the superpowers’ strategems. Nevertheless it gives a convincing argument and explanation why the world’s gone fucking nuts!
“I followed a golden rule, whenever a new observation or thought came across me, which was opposed to my general results, to make a memorandum of it without fail and at once; for I had found by experience that such facts and thoughts were far more apt to escape from the memory than favourable ones.”
Charles Darwin
Most of us are shamelessly and ubiquitously only alert for evidence to support our underlying views and prejudices and dismissive of opinions and testimony contrary to them.
A Monkey in Manhattan 