Aspects of Life

By Valerie FitzGerald

Valerie FitzGerald retired from nursing nineteen years ago. She is married with three sons and four grandchildren. She joined Leigh Writers Group eighteen years ago and this book contains some of her short stories and articles written in response to homework set by the group leader.
The articles about Greyhounds reflect an important part of her retirement life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PB Software
• Release date: Mar 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781909685116

Book preview

ASPECTS OF LIFE

by

Valerie FitzGerald

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

MARION HOUGH, TUTOR AND MENTOR

AND LEIGH WRITERS GROUP

ASPECTS OF LIFE

by

Valerie FitzGerald

Copyright © 2015 Valerie FitzGerald

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized

in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording

or by any information storage and retrieval system

without permission in writing.

Published by

PB Software

3 Nelson Road

Ashingdon, Rochford

Essex SS4 3EJ

FIRST EDITION

First Printing March 2015

A CIP catalogue record of this book

is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-909685-11-6

Contents

UPHEAVAL

MY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

THREADS FROM THE PAST

TORCHLIGHT

COUNTING BLESSINGS

PERCEPTIONS

A GOOD IMPRESSION

RELATIVE JOY

A SOLDIER’S LOT

THE SHREDDER

BLOSSOMS

FAMILY DOGS

SALLY’S STORY

I KNEW I HAD BEEN HERE BEFORE

EVACUATION MEMORIES

BLACKFELL HOUSE

A NEW START

CLEARING THE WAY

THE BIG HOUSE DARE

ACT IN HASTE

A FAMILY AFFAIR

STUDENT NURSE IN 1950

SURPRISE INVITATION

CHANCE OPPORTUNITY

ALONE AT CHRISTMAS

PERFECTION

REJUVENATION

RECOVERING MEMORY

SEVEN DEADLY SINS

DISTRICT NURSE IN THE EARLY 1960’S

MY BABY SISTER

STORMY WATERS

A CERTAIN SMILE

WHAT’S IN A LIE

THE EDGE OF REASON

A SOMBRE TALE

HOME AT LAST

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

TIME FOR CHANGE

INSIGHT INTO STROKE

BROKEN BONDS

MY NIGHTMARE

OUR WONDERFUL GREYHOUNDS

LETTER FROM JOE

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

STOLEN GOODS

THE BEQUEST

STORM VISITOR

THE GIFT

MORNING GORY

A NEW BEGINNING

SAM’S LEGACY

RESOLUTION

UPHEAVAL

When I think about upheaval there’s two words I’d like to mention.

Words, which still can chill my blood, those words are ‘house extension’.

It started off quite smoothly with submitted plans accepted.

The recommended builder was not as we’d expected.

He was a friendly fellow, fond of tea and cookies.

From vantage point of garden chair he organised his rookies.

If rain was in the forecast then no builder would appear.

With our weather unpredictable this work would take a year.

A fitted kitchen and bathroom were included in our plan.

We chose the kitchen and the suite and discussed it with our man.

We talked of tiles then with a smile we learned his favourite words.

Ah that will be an extra. Was that really what I heard?

"If you’d wanted tiles included you should have spelt it out, ‘a fully fitted bathroom’ would have left me in no doubt."

Our three sons loved the builders and wanted them to stay.

‘Cos they were good at football and would like to play all day.

On wet days, it was Board Games, Monopoly being favourite, The frustration built up in me, I thought I’d have a fit.

But they were pleasant fellows, full of laughter, full of fun.

My Man and I we moaned and sighed Oh when will they be done?

The building work commenced in June, ‘twas January before they finished.

The dirt, the dust and upheaval left our finances much diminished.

MY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

I never remember my mother telling me she loved me. In fact early memories of her are very scant. I was the youngest of three children, my brother Terry was the eldest and five years older than me and my sister Mary was three years my senior. I remember spending time with my grandparents whom I loved dearly and spending time with my mother’s sister in Northampton. I was obviously under five because I was taken by my older cousin to a nursery every morning and collected on her way home from school. The nursery was situated in a park and we were taken in groups of three or four to see the peacocks and the flowerbeds.

My mum was a tall, very thin lady and my gran used to call her ‘keyhole Kate’. She was busy with three children to care for and we were well nourished and clothed even though money was tight. My mother was always working, making or mending our clothes, cleaning or cooking, she was a good cook. Mum was also a talented embroiderer and had a tablecloth she made exhibited in London.

When I started school at five the Second World War was underway. My dad had been invalided out of the Royal Navy and was working at the local hospital as their second engineer. My dad was definitely the head of the house and discipline was always metered out by him. I remember being sent to the bedroom to ‘wait until your father gets home’. I hated that long wait and the shame I felt when I had to admit my misdemeanour. He was strict but fair and I worshipped him.

For the last two years of the war I was evacuated to Blackburn and when I returned we had a new baby sister. It was my pleasure to rock her to sleep and sing her lullabies. She was quite a frail little baby being born during the Blitz on London and we lived in Charlton, which was not too far from the Woolwich Arsenal and a target for bombing runs. Mum of course was even more busy and always looked worn out.

I believe my mum was disappointed in me because I was not like my elder sister who everyone remarked was very pretty. My aunt always said I should have been a boy because I was always getting into mischief. Perhaps that was the problem. At night mum used to do my hair up in ‘rags’ so that I would have curly hair in the morning. I hated that and it was uncomfortable. I still didn’t look pretty.

I learned to read before I started school because my brother and sister taught me and mum complained ever after I always had my head stuck in a book. My baby sister loved me to read to her.

We did not have family holidays and on sunny summer days I used to meet up with my best friend Jeanne, who lived a short distance from us, and armed with a bottle of home-made lemonade and jam sandwiches, we would play in the local park until hunger drove us home. We never came to any harm and the freedom was normal. Jeanne and I used the play Dick Barton, Special Agent and Snowy White his assistant. This was a popular radio series to which we listened. Our imaginations took flight and our adventures seemed so real.

At school we played skipping games, hopscotch and chase screeching out ‘your it’ when we caught someone and then they became the pursuer. Simple games but such fun.

My father died when I was sixteen and my world fell apart. I had just started work as a shorthand typist and was so shocked by my Father’s death I did not believe my mother when she told me the news. I had visited him in hospital a couple of days before and had no idea I would never see his dear face again.

Whilst my father was alive my mother did not go out to work but after his death and with a mortgage still to pay on our house in Surrey, Mum had to find work. My wages and a widows pension would not pay the bills. She managed to get work in a baker’s shop. She was very good at figures and was quickly promoted. After a couple of years we were asked to vacate the flat we rented from the hospital meaning we had to return to Surrey to the house my parents bought before the war.

I was a student nurse at the local hospital and had taken holiday leave to help with the move. I remember the morning after we moved in to our home in Old Coulsdon waking to the sound of pouring rain. When I looked out of the window the pavements were strangely dry. The sound of pouring rain was water pouring through the hall ceiling and flooding the ground floor. The carpets were still in rolls as we had left them the previous night and were completely sodden. Our former tenants had been doing a deal with the lead pipes, used for plumbing in those days, and had replaced them all with hosepipes! Poor mum, it was such a shock, such a mess and no one to turn to.

After our return to Surrey, Mum managed to get a job working in an office for the Ministry of Transport. It was hard for her and my young sister. I continued with my Nurse Training and sent most my monthly wages home to help with the mortgage.

As I matured so, my mother seemed to blossom. I often wonder if my father, being such a personality, made my mother fade into insignificance. Although mum never said she loved I feel sure she did and as I matured I believe mum respected me and that is good enough for me.

THREADS FROM THE PAST

Clementine Moreaux looked with satisfaction at the finished garment. Putting aside the fine needle and silken thread, she removed the silver thimble and replaced them carefully in her sewing box. That would probably be the last time she would use them. She carefully covered the beautiful dress with a soft white cotton sheet, hiding it completely from view. After quickly making the room tidy, ready for her guests, she sipped a glass of red wine and waited.

Many years ago Clementine had worked as a seamstress in a small Paris fashion house. Then came the war; changing everything. Reflecting on those long distant events she smiled to herself. Her life had been a lie all these years. Should she now confess, tell all or let the past die with her.

Mother. We’re here. Hello? The voice of her daughter Fleur called from the hallway.

Where are you Nan? That was Nicole her beautiful granddaughter.

In here, in the sewing room, where else? she laughed. She heard them rushing up the stairs, Nicole’s voice full of laughter and excitement.

Have you finished it Nan? Is it ready? Nicole hugged and kissed Clementine.

I’m sorry Mother. Nicole you are impossible. Where are your manners? How are you Mother? You’re looking very tired. Oh dear, I was afraid this would be too much for you.

Nonsense. You worry far too much my love. Yes, the dress is ready. Clementine nodded to the shrouded dressmakers model. Remove the cover Fleur please.

May I? Fleur asked and then carefully removed the sheet.

Nan. Oh Nan. Breathed Nicole.

It is so beautiful Mother. It must be the very best thing you have ever made.

Can I try it on now?

I don’t see why not. It is yours after all.

Careful now Nicky. Don’t rush so. Fleur anxiously assisted her excited daughter. It’s a perfect fit! Look darling. Look in the mirror. Isn’t it stunning?

Oh Wow. Is that really me? staring at her reflection. The silk and chiffon ball gown was flame coloured and slim fitted. She twisted her long dark curls to a knot on top of her head. I shall wear my hair up for the Ball. Nan I cannot believe you made this fantastic gown just for me. Where did you get the pattern? Absolutely no one will have a gown as beautiful as this.

I needed no pattern. It is well established in my head.

Come on Mother. You promised when you unveiled it, you would tell us the story behind the dress.

Alright. Put it back on the stand Nicole, then whilst we have our coffee I’ll tell you its history. Clementine led the way downstairs where the coffee was brewing. Leaning back in her chair she began the story of so many years ago.

As you know. I lived and worked in Paris when I was young. The Moreaux family ran a Pension or small rooming house. One of the occupants was a beautiful young cabaret star called Yvette. Yvette had a Patron who purchased a dress, identical in design to this, from the Fashion house where I was a student. I helped with the design. It was a one off. Yvette’s dress was red in colour, but otherwise the same with the detailed embroidery across the bodice repeated in the flare of the hem. So although it was so many years ago, of course I remembered it. The materials now are lighter and easier to use, but basically it is the same. Yvette was such a bubbly, lively girl. We became friends. She kept us in food and other necessities during many of those difficult days. I doubt Madame Moreaux and I would have survived without her help.

What happened to Yvette Mother?

Sadly she became just another casualty of the war. She died.

And you married Pierre Moreaux, Nan. The only child of Madame Jeanne Moreaux. Mum is always going on about her French origins and how her mother lived in occupied France when she was born. She is so proud of you.

And I am proud of you both. Now off you go. I’ll have the dress ready for you to collect tomorrow.

When finally they left Clementine remonstrated with herself. ‘You are a coward. Now the secret must go with you to your grave. You missed the best opportunity to give them the truth and then let them decide if they could love you still despite the deceit.’

She felt exceptionally tired tonight. The excitement had been a little too much perhaps. This month she would be eighty-six and then would leave this little house and move in with Fleur, Duncan and Nicole. They had insisted. She was to have her own accommodation but they would be at hand. Such a lucky woman to have a loving family.

What good would it have done for Fleur to be told at this late stage that she had never married Pierre Moreaux. Had in fact met him briefly only once. She had never even been pregnant. No. Fleur did not need to know her real mother was poor Yvette, who entertained German Soldiers but was abandoned when her pregnancy was evident. No one had any idea who the father could be and no one cared. When she died in childbirth, Fleur became an orphan just as her mother had been. With Madame Moreaux’s help Clementine became Fleur’s Mother.

Finally when the war was over she applied to return to England, to her Mother and sisters. If her mother was surprised to learn her eldest daughter was apparently a young war widow, with an infant, she never said. To have a child out of wedlock was totally unacceptable. Few questions were asked, as there were many young widows in those years.

Perhaps she was a coward. Perhaps ‘least said soonest mended’. Maybe once settled in her new home the opportunity would come again. She owed so much to poor Yvette. Goodnight my friend. Thank you and God Bless.

TORCHLIGHT

Wake up Jimmy, come on quick.

Seven year old Jimmy groaned and turned away from Charlie. Leave me alone, I am tired.

Charlie, aged nine, was having none of that. Come on you idiot. Something exciting’s happening. I think it must have been a plane crash. We gotta go and see. Come on.

That roused him fast enough. What about old Grouser, is he up?

"Nah! I can hear him snoring. Come on be quick. This’ll be the most exciting thing that ’s happened since we were evacuated to this dump. Shh.

Don’t make any noise, we’ll slip out the back door."

They crept down the stairs in their bare feet and donned Wellington boots, which were by the back door.

Cor it ain’t half dark Charlie and cold. Where do you think it went down?

Dunno. I ‘eard a funny droning noise which suddenly stopped and then a sound as if something was crashing into the trees. Probably down at that little wood near our camp maybe. We’ll take a gander. Careful now.

The two boys had been evacuated from the East End