Eighty Years in the Making

By Rose Anna Crawford

Rose Anna Crawford was born and raised in Dundee, Scotland, where she graduated from Dundee Technical College and the Dundee College of Commerce. She later completed her B.A at York University in Toronto, Canada. A true storyteller, Rose Anna offers readers a glimpse of what life was like for her growing up in Scotland during and after World War II. Compiling these stories has been an enjoyable part of her retirement. Journeying with Rose Anna you hear about her amazing family adventures as she shares many of her life experiences: the happy, the sad, the tragic, the romantic. And along the way, you'll learn about some interesting historical events, such as the Blitz and Hess parachuting into Britain. Eighty Years in the Making is truly a refreshing read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228819325

Rose Anna Crawford

Rose Anna Crawford was born in Dundee, Scotland. Educated at St. Joseph's Primary, and St. John's High School, Technical College and College of Commerce Dundee Scotland. She graduated from York University, Canada, in 2007, where she earned a BA in Liberal Arts, majoring in Humanities. Rose is currently pursuing a master's degree at York University. She is presently in retirement and has a delightful apartment in the village of Beeton, Ontario. The following stories, and poems were written by Rose.

Book preview

Down to Earth

The steeple clock struck the hour as Mary Ann fought her way against the bitter, cold wind. Drawing her gray homespun shawl closer to her slender body, she hurried to the third -f loor flat at 10 North Tay Street, the home of Andrew and Agnes Craigie. Great urgency awaited the midwife at the Craigie residence, since Agnes was well into the third stage of labour. Mary Ann hoped she would arrive in time to deliver the woman’s baby.

In great anticipation, both Andrew and Agnes awaited the arrival of their second child. Thomas, their first child, was born in 1926 while Andrew was serving a five-year term in the British Army in India. Now that Andrew was demobbed, he was making sure not to miss this happy event! He had not left Agnes’s side all day. It was December the first in the year of our Lord 1931.

Meanwhile, in the heavens far above, a beautiful soul named Rose was preparing to make the long journey down to Earth. While Rose was apprehensive about leaving her soulmates, she knew it would only be for a relatively brief time. The reason for Rose’s visit to Earth was to improve her soul, so she consoled herself with that thought.

Then she heard her heavenly Father’s voice on the wind. Come now, Rose! It’s time to go! Now remember, there will be many challenges and many obstacles for you to overcome! I trust you will do the job well!

Wrapped in a bubble, and without further ado, at great speed, Rose accelerated through the universe, and arrived in her earthly home promptly at 7:30 pm.

Well, would you look at this beautiful baby girl? the midwife declared the moment I arrived. Tears of joy trickled down Mummy’s face, as she took me in her arms and snuggled me to her bosom!

Andrew, Andrew, Mummy called, overcome with excitement, come quickly! Come quickly and see your beautiful daughter!

Daddy, who had been shooed out of the bedroom by Mary Ann just prior to my arrival, leapt out of his chair and made a beeline for the bedroom, tripping over his feet. His face bursting with joy, and with a beaming smile, he took me in his arms. Ahhhh! he gasped. Ah, my beautiful little Rosebud! Kissing me on the brow, he proudly walked back and forth from bedroom to kitchen humming Sweet Molly Malone, his favourite song. From that second on there was a special bond between father and daughter that would never be broken.

The bright light in the room blinded me when I arrived, and the loud ticking of a clock somewhere deafened me. Bright lights and loud noises have always caused me grief!

Now, Agnes, said Mary Ann in an exacting voice, giving Mummy last-minute advice as she was leaving, no dummy tits and no rubber pants, and you’ll have a wonderful baby!

Come to think of it, I was a wonderful baby! However, I did cry a lot for the first few weeks, simply because I was frustrated being trapped in such a tiny body. After all, I was used to leaping about the universe and playing among the stars!

Mummy said to Daddy many times, I don’t know what in the name of heaven is wrong with her, Andrew. She’s been bathed, she’s been fed and she’s not wet . . . so God only knows why she cries so much.

Poor Mummy, how could she possibly know! No one could, that is, except Thomas. He had only been on this planet for a short time, so he knew exactly how I felt! Thomas comforted me. He made me feel safe by cradling me in his arms, while he rocked in the rocking chair, singing Tip Toe Through the Tulips with Me. I would snuggle in his arms and fall fast asleep. As time passed, I became accustomed to my new surroundings and finally settled in my new home.

I don’t remember a great deal about my early years, only what Mummy and Daddy have told me. Apparently, when I was six months old, my grandfather Crawford (Mummy’s Daddy) died. And since Mummy didn’t want to be far away from her mother, we moved to a one-bedroom flat at 157a Brook Street where Granny lived. The tenements (including ours) on either side of the Harp Bar were owned by Johnny Malloy, a gentleman with a beet-red face and a big beer belly. I remember him clearly, fist clenched, chasing down children who were playing on the road. His motive of course was to keep the children safe, but the children didn’t realize that. All they saw was a big, fat man shaking a fist and bawling, Get down the close! The children were terrified of him!

In hindsight, our family should never have moved to Brook Street. It was the biggest mistake my parents ever made. When we first moved in, Mummy allowed Thomas to sleepover at Granny’s, supposedly for a few days, while Mummy unpacked and got settled. Alas, a few nights turned into the rest of Thomas’s childhood and ultimately the remainder of his teenage life!

The situation caused a major rift between my parents. The only time they quarreled was over Thomas. I remember Daddy raising his voice more than once about it.

"It’s not right, Agnes, he would blast. Thomas should be here with us, not with your mother!" But Mummy always got her way, so Thomas remained at Granny’s. Daddy was right, Thomas should have been with us. Unfortunately, Granny thought Thomas belonged to her, since he and Mummy had stayed with her while Daddy was in India.

Another major rift between my parents happened when I was baptized. I will never forget that day! The sun was blasting down, and songbirds filled the morning air with romantic melody, as my granny, at the request of my mummy, marched me down to St. Andrews Cathedral on the Nethergate to get me baptized. I was two years old at the time. No one told me where I was going or why. Mummy dressed me in my Sunday clothes for the special occasion: a powder-blue coat, matching pokey bonnet, white lacy gloves, white ankle socks and black patent-leather shoes. Granny was appropriately dressed in her Sunday best: her classy navy-blue tweed coat that reached down to her ankles, a matching hat with a pretty peacock feather, black gloves, and the latest fashion in boots. I thought my granny was a tall, tall woman, but she was only five feet tall! Oh, how vividly I remember that stressful day. Daddy was Protestant and didn’t want his children baptized Catholic. Therefore, I was being baptized behind his back. I’m guessing so was Thomas!

When Granny and I entered the church that morning I was terribly frightened. We slowly made our way to the baptismal font, situated halfway down the right aisle, where the priest moved forward to greet us. To me, he seemed as tall as a giant, dressed in a long white robe trimmed with gold. As we approached, he smiled and offered Granny his hand.

Good morning, Mistress Crawford, he gushed. He was, in fact, a stout man with a round polished face framed by fluffy white hair. I felt intimidated by his presence! I feared I was about to be put to death, and I wanted to run as far away from this horrible place as possible. Fortunately, the sun blazing through the stained-glass windows in the sanctuary created a magnificent array of colour throughout the church, making the ordeal a little more bearable. Nevertheless, I was trembling. And I was as quiet as a mouse, just as Granny had told me to be.

The priest began to chant what sounded like a whole lot of gibberish to me. I stood aloof, absorbing my surroundings: gigantic statues of people I did not know looked down at me with sombre faces. At their feet, dozens of candles, set in red candleholders, were burning brightly. Since the church was so cold, I thought the candles were to keep their feet warm.

In due course, the priest spoke to me. Remove your bonnet, please! he instructed in a stern voice. Granny removed it. The priest then asked me to stand on a stool in front of the baptismal font. Bend your neck over, he ordered. Then he proceeded to pour a jug of freezing cold water on my head as he recited, I baptize you Rose, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen!

The cold water caught my breath; I thought I was drowning. I was so cold I began to shiver and shake and cry at the same time. It was the most frightening experience I have ever had! I could not wait to get out of that horrible church!

Hand in hand, Granny and I walked down the aisle to the massive oak doors and stepped out into the beautiful sunshine. The whole experience was terrifying! In retrospect, if someone had told me where I was going and what to expect, I may not have been so perplexed! Granny was in a joyful, happy mood when we emerged. I suppose she believed my soul now belonged to God. I could have told her my soul already belonged to God!

Let’s go for ice cream, she suggested as soon as we were outside. Hand in hand off we trotted to Valente’s Ice Cream Parlour at the West Port. I got a cuppy, which is what we called an ice cream cone, with raspberry sauce on top. Granny got a chocolate cuppy. Yummy!

Chapter 2

My Broken Heart

I was standing on a chair one morning, bent over the kitchen sink, scrubbing my dolly’s clothes, while the bright morning sun filtering through the trees cast a golden glow throughout the room. How proud I was that I had a scrubbing board just like my mummy’s. Through the open window, I could see the trees filled with songbirds. They were singing their love songs to the world. How beautiful they sounded! It was May 21 in the year of our Lord 1933. Though I was only eighteen months old, that date will remain in my memory for ever!

Mummy was occupied ironing Daddy’s shirts and simultaneously teaching me a new nursery rhyme: Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse. I repeated the words verbatim in my contented baby gibberish, while I happily scrubbed away.

A rap-a-tap-tap on the knocker prompted Mummy to answer the door. I wonder who that could be? she mumbled, crossing the room, rubbing her lower back with both hands. She opened the door to my cousin Pat, the son of Mummy’s sister, Eliza. Come in, Pat! Come in! she said, welcoming him with open arms and leading him by the elbow to the kitchen.

Pat entered the room with a smug look on his round, freckled face. The lapels of his green velvet jacket were covered in mother-of-pearl buttons, making him look like one of the Pearly Kings collecting money for charity. He removed his cap and proceeded to twirl it on his forefinger as he crossed the room.

And what’s this you’re doing, Rosie-Posie? he gushed in his high-pitched, squeaky voice. Your weekly wash, I see! he blurted sarcastically, tickling me in the ribs.

I hated people calling me Rosie-Posie. I edged away from him, ignoring his comment, and continued washing my dolly’s clothes.

Guess what, Rose? Pat’s going to take you to play in the park, Mummy said with a beaming smile, as she lifted me down off the chair. I was taken aback and tried to resist Mummy’s overtures, but she persisted. Drying my hands with the bottom of her apron, she proceeded to give my face a cat’s wash, saying, If you’re a good little girl, Pat will buy you a cuppy topped with your favourite raspberry sauce. Won’t you, Pat? Mummy smiled, raising her eyebrows.

I will if you give me the money! Pat rasped hotly.

Of course I’ll give you money! Why wouldn’t I? Stepping over to the sideboard, Mummy took a few coppers from her purse and gave them to Pat.

A cuppy? I gulped wide-eyed.

Perhaps a visit to Granny’s on the way back would be fun, Mummy suggested. She quickly ran a comb through my tousled hair. Then she slipped my arms into the sleeves of my coat, fastened the buttons, and popped a sun bonnet on my head. She tied the bonnet’s ribbons in a bow underneath my chin.

I wondered why Mummy was sending me to the park with Pat. She had never done that before! I attempted to defy her by stomping my feet and trying to undo the buttons on my coat. I don’t want to go to the park with Pat, Mummy, I bellowed. I don’t like Pat! I want to stay here and wash my dolly’s clothes!

Now, now, Rose, Mummy smiled coyly, ignoring my tantrum, be a good little girl. You’ll have lots of fun in the park! She hurriedly bundled me out the door, kissing me on the brow.

Pat was quite grown up for his thirteen years, but very much the bully. At least, that is how I saw him. He insisted on taking my hand. Of course, I protested and tried to pull my hand away, but he held firm. You’re hurting me, Pat! You’re hurting me! I whined. Ignoring me, he tightened his grip.

As we approached the park gates a bunch of boys and girls were gathered around a brightly painted ice cream cart. Ice cream cones in a variety of flavours decorated the cart. Excited, I tried to run to join the others, but Pat restrained me.

The ice cream man, a tall, stout fellow with a round jolly face, dressed in a three-quarter-length white coat, was joking with the children as he made them their special cuppies.

And what about you, Princess; what would you like?

I like raspberry sauce! I piped.

I thought he was going to fall into the cart, he seemed to reach down so far. Here you are Princess! he said at last, handing me my cuppy smothered in raspberry sauce. I’ve given you extra sauce since you were such a patient little girl.

My eyes sparkled with delight as I took the cuppy from him, running my tongue around the edge of the cone to catch the drips.

Pat and I sat on a park bench overlooking the town. The old steeple spire rose up amidst the smokestacks of the jute mills puffing grey smoke into the air, while we enjoyed our special treat. The silvery water of the River Tay sparkled in the sunlight as it hurried out to the North Sea. Across the river, on the Fife hillside, royal-blue flax flowers grew in abundance, making a spectacular backdrop.

As soon as I finished my cuppy, Pat took a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeks (pants) and wiped my mouth. Now go play with your dolly or have a swing or something, but don’t bother me, he bellowed. He then proceeded to kick his ball all over the place.

Forlorn, I put my dolly on a swing and gently swung her back and forth, as I hummed a lullaby. Then I tried to get on the merry-go-round but kept falling off! So, I toddled over to the animal cages on the opposite side of the castle, dragging my dolly by the hair. Before we had left home, Mummy had stuck a bag of peanuts in my coat pocket to feed the monkeys. I loved feeding the monkeys, and I was particularly looking forward to it that day, since it would take my mind off how miserable Pat was. In turn, I fed a peanut to the monkeys and a peanut to me! I then curled up on the sweet-smelling grass, cuddling my dolly, and fell fast asleep.

Rose! Rose! Wake up! Wake up! It’s time to go!

Pat’s piercing voice startled me. I pulled myself up to a sitting position, yawned and rubbed my eyes. I was very confused! Squinting in the bright sunlight, I peered aimlessly about, having no recollection of where I was. Then little by little, it all came back. Ach, I know where I am, I’m in the park. I struggled to my feet and proceeded to pick a bunch of white daisies and yellow buttercups for my granny.

What do you think you’re doing? Pat shouted, grabbing the flowers.

No! No, Pat! I protested. Those are for Granny!

"Granny doesn’t need wildflowers. She always has plenty of real ones!" he replied nastily and immediately threw the flowers over the fence.

Heartbroken, I began to sob.

Here, he snapped, shoving a handkerchief into my hand, wipe your eyes and blow your nose, and for the love of heaven, stop bubbling.

Granny’s flat was in close proximity to ours; it was in the building just across the courtyard. When we arrived at Granny’s, Pat lifted me up so I could pull the shiny brass pull bell. I was delighted. Oh, my goodness, what a lovely surprise, I thought. I loved to pull the bell.

Granny opened the door and greeted us with a beaming smile on her face and a hand to her heart! She gave us each a hug and a kiss the moment we stepped into the lobby. Her soft blue eyes were sparkling.

Come, sit by the fire! she said, motioning us toward the kitchen. You sit on the fender stool, Pat, she ordered, lifting me up and setting me down on the rocking chair by the hearth opposite Pat. How cosy it was in the room with the late afternoon sun shining through the window, creating dancing shadows on the wall.

Well now, Granny sighed, a little out of breath from lifting me. Her soft, white hair was neatly pulled back in a bun and her spectacles were teetering on the end of her pointy nose. This always amused me, and I thought all grannies looked like my granny! I suppose you two scallywags are as hungry as tatty-pickers? she smiled, rolling up her sleeves to make us a bite to eat.

I don’t know about her, Pat exclaimed, nodding his head in my direction, but I’m starving! Granny smiled as she poured