During my childhood I suffered from a severe iron deficiency so I missed a lot of schooling. When I did attend I felt so tired that lessons didn’t interest me. In the playground at school were rows of discarded desks. I spent much time out there with my head on my arms on the desk, feeling alone and miserable, wondering why I was different from my sister who was never tired or ill. Friends were not easily made as I had no energy and nothing to contribute, so I was often very lonely. If we were late for school and I tried to run I always developed very bad stitch pain and had to sit on the kerb until I was able to continue. My father Edmund Westbrook was a Lighterman or Pilot on the river Thames. My mother Beatrice ran our Cornchandler shop as well as looking after the family and cooking, so we had a house girl and washerwoman who came in once a week. Often I was given to understand that my younger sister Elsie was much brighter than me, and when she was sent to a college to learn typing and shorthand I wanted to go too. But my mother said I would never be any good at that and that they only had enough for the fees for Elsie. So when people asked me if I was going to college too I said, “Oh no, I don’t want to go.” Thus I avoided feeling hurt each time, but I did feel inferior. So I grew up feeling ‘not good enough’ with a big inferiority complex. I liked to study people, their gestures, phrases, temperament etc. and then decide whether I liked them or not. I studied people on the trams, in our shop, and the friends who came to visit. Dusting and rearranging the shelves in the shop and helping mum was something I enjoyed, and I knew that mum felt I did a good job so that made me feel good. We had a talking parrot in the shop which regularly entertained the customers and kept us amused. I left school when I was thirteen years old although the school leaving age was fourteen, because my sister Beatrice died suddenly and I was needed to help at home. Beatrice had held a small thirteenth birthday party for me at her home in Wimbledon and I was very upset to see her face very red and swollen. She said she had seen a pimple on her temple which she had pricked with a needle. When I got home after the party I told my mother how ill Beatrice looked, so she went to see what was wrong. Beatrice was taken to hospital but as there was no penicillin or antibiotics in those days, she died a few days later. This was a terribly traumatic time for us all. We were devastated, particularly mum for whom we became very concerned. Beatrice was married with a little son about three years old, who was then brought up by my parents. My father was a kind man with a great sense of humour, always very popular and respected by everyone. He had disliked school as a child and refused to go. His eldest sister Janette whom we knew as Aunt Plump, was given the job of making sure he went to school. But this was impossible because when the School Board men came, dad ran to the river’s edge and got into the deep mud where nobody could reach him! Eventually they gave up and he never did attend school. He could read quite well but couldn’t write, so mum taught him how to write his name. My paternal grandparents I saw very rarely. Grandma was the daughter of a medical doctor who did not approve of his daughter seeing Grandad. So they eloped and married, but I understand that Grandma never saw her parents again because they disowned her. She was a happy, outgoing person who enjoyed people and being the centre of attention. Several times I remember, she came from her Chelsea home to visit us wearing a beautiful “Grandma bonnet.” The tram stopped a few blocks from our shop so she went into a nearby confectionery shop and asked for a chair - sixty years was considered old in those days and she certainly knew how to get help and sympathy! The shopowner sent a message to us that Grandma was waiting in his shop, so Elsie and I were sent with a cane wheelchair to collect her. Grandma entertained the folk in the shop who really enjoyed her company. When we arrived she was showing off all her beautiful red flannelette petticoats - I felt very embarrassed! On the way home we had to cross Pincott Road. Bumping down the kerb was fun and we had a good laugh, but getting up the kerb was difficult as we were very young and Grandma was heavy. We eventually managed it although we didn’t enjoy the exercise. I don’t ever remember meeting my Grandfather. My maternal grandparents I saw only once when they were ill in bed. Elsie and I didn’t enjoy the visit. The house was dark with the curtains drawn, and the room was much smaller than our bedroom. We thought they were very grumpy, probably because they were ill, and we were very pleased when dad arrived in the horse and trap to take us home. My husband Alf’s father was in the Police force and was a very fussy man. I remember being very surprised and amused when I saw him polish his boots until they shone, and then starting all over again because they were not shiny enough! Alf’s mother died before he and I met. I met Alf’s grandparents several times. They were a delightful couple, very old - early seventies I think - and they were looked after by Alf’s Aunt Bertha, a very caring lady. The first time I met my dearest husband Alf (short for Alfred after his father,) I was dressing a shop window for a friend. The boyfriend of my girlfriend Lena had brought his special friend Alf along to meet me. Lena and I were only fifteen years old and knew our parents would never allow us to go out alone with a boy, but we hoped they might consider that the four of us together would be safe. I cannot say it was love at first sight! He was very intelligent and loved to talk on subjects that I knew nothing about, so I said he was too uninteresting for me. My friend persuaded me to give it more time, and I’m very pleased that I did for we had a happy marriage of sixty years after being engaged for six years first. This was necessary because our combined wages at that time would not have been enough to support us, so we had to live with our families. Things didn’t run smoothly however, because my brother-in-law saw us together and told mum that I was with a man old enough to be my father! Actually, Alf was only one year older than me but was immaculately dressed in a long tailored coat and bowler hat - very fashionable in those days. I was forbidden to see Alf again which I thought was very unfair. So I went to Colliers Wood to see my married sister Violet to tell her my story. After asking many questions she said, “Well, if you do see him again keep to well lit areas and be very careful.” This made me feel better although I knew I should not disobey my mother, especially as she had said that she would tell dad if I did - and nobody ever disobeyed dad! Actually, dad was a very good father and we respected him. He liked to help the ‘down and outs,’ and he allowed them to sleep on his barges which were moored at Chelsea. They worked at breaking up one barge at a time, and dad paid them because nobody else would give them a job. The timber and iron were sold, and the men were very happy. The Police however, took a dim view of this and often came to tell dad that he was employing criminals and ex-convicts. At first dad was reasonably polite and said he felt someone should help the men and give them a chance to change. But when the Police kept coming he got irritated and told them to “leave the men to me and don’t call here again!” Dad often brought men home who hadn’t eaten for days, and mum provided a good meal. On one occasion I remember, the man left fleas in our home and mum certainly didn’t like that! The men would do anything for dad and were so grateful. Elsie and I liked to be in our shop when the Police called, just to enjoy the way dad handled them - in fact, we felt very proud. Dad thought the world of mum and I can still hear him singing ballads at parties addressed to her. Dad and mum both had very good singing voices. One of dad’s favourite songs was “My dear old Dutch,” and mum’s favourite was “As we go down the Vale.” They were such good times standing around the piano and singing. After Alf and I were married we bought a house in Chiswick, London, because Alf was employed in accountancy by the Hammersmith Borough Council which was only a walk away. One day after attending a Council social Alf said to me, “Why is it that you don’t get together with the other women - you always sit alone?” This remark hurt me but it changed my life because I decided then he would never have reason to say that again. So from that time I tackled my inferiority complex and became determined to beat it. There were, and still are, some times when I slip back into my old mode of feeling worthless, but I did eventually change into a very outgoing person, really enjoying life and tackling any challenge. Writing these stories has shown me how much I have achieved. My love of people has helped me tremendously and I have many friends. My wish is that we can help others to realise how good life can be. I’m sure that everyone has many interesting stories they could tell if they would just stop and remember happy times in their lives. Until I wrote these stories I had no idea of how much I had enjoyed in my life. This would not be complete without my thanks to my dearest daughter Sylvia who has given me so much support and included me in the work that she does in helping people. She has encouraged me so much and is always there for me. I can never thank you enough, Sylvia my love. Many thanks also to my dearest son Rodney for the excellent work that he has put into producing this book, and for his encouraging enthusiasm. Thanks too for all the happy times I have spent with him and his dear wife Lesley. I would also like to thank my dear friend Leonie Cavit, for all the help she gave me in typing many of my stories from my written drafts. Now in my eighty-ninth year, I believe love and appreciation for all living beings is the key to a good, healthy and enjoyable life. And do unto others as you would have them do to you! I have noted that we receive back some time in our life - with interest - whatever we have done to others. With love I offer this book to my descendents and to any who are interested in reading it. May it encourage and amuse you. Win Hilling |
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