Sonnies Dearest

By Patricia Burns

This is the last of the words from a loving farmer to his second daughter. Will that ever be Folk’ followed by his daughter as a loving mother of three handsome sons Benjamin, Daniel and Scott she became the loving grandmother of six beautiful tall blonde granddaughters Sam, Megan, Susan, Amanda, Christie and Angel all of them the issue of blonde son Campbell, (Sonnie Dearest), spare her harsh words there is no malice intended.

My darling husband Captain Allan and I are still contented and happy together well into our eighties and hope to reach our nineties as we have suffered so much through youth ignorance and separations.

We were hard workers and as you are all farming stock you will be too. We wish you lots of love, happiness, a long life and comfort with a faithful partner if you want that.

“If you lie upon roses when young expect thorns later on”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728396750

Patricia Burns

Patricia “Pat” Burns retired from CBS Inc. in 1995 after thirty years with that company. In retirement, she devotes her time to blogging, travel and in pursuit of her avocation, writing. She and her husband of more than sixty years have lived the American dream. From simple roots, they worked, struggled, raised a family and dared to reach for the brass ring. This is the second in a series of books that recaps their life as they lived it. Book 1 shared the first forty-four years of their life pilgrimage. Book 2 is a continuation of their adventures that includes bareboat sailing in the Caribbean, a visit in the Canadian Maritimes, travel to Brazil, a cruise from Spain to Portugal, a tour of China and the opening acts of their adventures into domestic travel by RV. Ken’s full-time retirement has just begun. The best is yet to come.

Book preview

Sonnies

Dearest

PATRICIA BURNS

41460.png

AuthorHouse™ UK

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone] (Domestic TFN)

[phone] (International)

© 2020 Patricia Burns. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/10/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9676-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9675-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

39680.png

L ast night I dreamt of the Hiostorical House again.

My happy successful and hard working life came to an end in 2004 with the loss of our ultimate achievement, the ownership of the imposing Historical House and grounds on the beautiful Isle of Reese. I realised I had climbed my last mountain. No matter what I did or how much longer I would be here it would be downhill from now on. To compound my feeling of nothingness I had reached the milestone age of the promised three score years and ten. I guess I may survive for many more years in a twilight and haze sort of a no man’s land but the purpose for fighting has waned. Life will be filled with things that old folks do, not boring, but with very little purpose and no further achievement as time runs out and our days seem to become shorter. Then my recently diagnosed under active Thyroid condition encouraged me to not only wallow in an unaccustomed idleness but to actually be almost inactive enough to enjoy the lack of my accustomed Scottish Presbyterian work ethic which would have accompanied my enforced sloth in another time.

The upside of all this is that my husband Captain Allan (Papa) is still not only alive and well but we are still married so we can now enjoy our retirement together in whatever way we wish curtailed by our acquired encumbrance of a Doberman pincher puppy who will probably out live at least one of us. We are now free to go anywhere any time but only where dog is welcome or permissible (and where /when we have sufficient cash as our middle son continues to plunder our hard earned resources as if they were his). That precludes the train, ‘plane or coach travel but as we are both still competent car drivers and Allan has been round the world several times since 1952 and myself at least four times since the 1980’s we are interested in traversing only the length and breadth of the United Kingdom meeting up with friends and relatives where ‘dog’ presence is suffer-able.

This is the story of my life as I saw it encapsulating not only sadness but great happiness although this may include some raw truthfulness. I leave it to all my grandchildren, Sam, Megan, Susan, Amanda, Christie and Angel, in memory of your loving Grandi and Papa of Historical House. Isle of Reese, 1978 to 2004. (and Newcastle Hotel, Reese before then from 1971) I mention only these two residences at present as they are the places you know.

But I dedicate the book to the memory of my mother Maurice Buttler and my grandmother, Emily Jacks plus my father’s mother, Amanda Burns Daniel and of course my father who voiced such surprise and derision at his first sight of me.

My story dwells on and accentuates fathers as we mostly all knew/know our mother but many do not know and have never known their father and by today’s family formula we have no father or several fathers so father is most worthy of mention. Your father has six girls how lucky is that?

There is no point in me boring you with the chequered life I have led while I live as you would just yawn, lift your eyes skywards and hope the old dear would shut up so that you can play with you friends or plastic toys or watch your plasma screen or do your games on the computer, trampoline or swings. After you have all qualified as Lawyers, Doctors, I.T. technicians, hairdressers, musicians, schoolteachers and baby producers there will be boyfriends, fiancés, even husbands, no time for an elderly Grandi even yet so I have to write all my past hopes, dreams woes and disappointments so that they are all there for you when you are all over seventy years of age, like I am now. You may at sometime think about your ancestry. I can give you your father’s mother’s life. You have all four grandparents at present. All mine were dead before I was born.

Your mother’s mother was born on Reese, has lived on Reese all her life and married the Allan next door who was also born on Reese with even the same surname for heaven’s sake so not much change there. (Well there is an ‘e’ and an ‘I’ of a difference if you wish to split hairs.) They had lived all their lives in the same small area of Harlosh on the Isle of Reese. What their or even your thoughts are of that limited life boundary I have no knowledge and as I am now dead I shall never know. Perhaps Sam will stay on Reese with her uncle Alisdair as both of them will be clinging to their respective mothers!!

The story starts with my birth, would you know, closely followed by me being christened the family name Patricia Burns. The Patricia and the Burns come from my paternal grandmother. (her name was Amanda Burns Daniel I saw the initials A.B.C. on the corner of the double blankets during my childhood as I trampled the blankets with my bare feet in the warm soapy water in the "wally scullery sink on the blanket wash day) and of course Burns from my father and paternal grandfather, and their forebears who were all Lanarkshire dairy farmers although the Burns name originally came from Woods farmers in the 17th Century. I digress, names were most important as they had been carried down from forebears to sons and daughters thus giving an immediate genealogy usually catalogued in the Family Bible. (This was before the onslaught of the computer data- base).

Your name was carried proudly through life giving a certain feeling of belonging. As we were fortunate enough to have a long and good pedigree we were burdened with the need of making sure that we did not at any time blemish the family name. I guess this plus the good genes helped to keep us on the straight and narrow through life as I hope will be our legacy to you all. My entire name is from my father’s side of the family. None of you have any name from your father’s mother’s side except for Sam whose middle name is Burns and Rain whose first name is the same as my sister’s first name which was the pet name for my mother. I should be grateful; your daddy had my name incorporated in a third of a boat which has since been sold. That was the last of Patricia as a Mike son thankfully Patricia lives on proudly as a Burns or Burns Mike son or Mike son-Burns.

My mother’s name was Maurice Buttler. (Her pet name was Martha). My mother’s mother’s name was Emily Jacks so my mother was given her mother’s maiden name. Jacks is Irish but protestant which was very important one hundred years ago. The Scotland was an amalgamation of Scots, Picts and Vikings. I may as well mention although you may already know the indigenous inhabitants of the Isle of Reese are chiefly descended from the marauding Vikings from Norway and Denmark who came here to explore but were renowned for their rape and pillage and thence stayed on, produced off-spring and became natives.

Our lives all begin with our birth although none of us know anything about it. In my case I was told that it was a pleasant sunny summer’s day, June 1934, in one of the towns of in Scotland. My parents and their forebears on both sides as far back as records have been collated, (so far that is circa 1712), were quite well heeled dairy farmers or cow feeders and contractors or whatever terminology had been used to describe the owning of land and the milking of cows and feeding of followers in big numbers although my father’s mother’s father was a Hay Dealer in the county of Edinburgh in early to mid nineteenth century. (Still farming you could say.) I can give you only my quarter of the grandparent story so it is all about me perhaps your mother or father or both will give you their parent’s story so it can be all about them.

Back to me, I insisted on making my way out of the womb about two weeks earlier than calculated by the nurse and doctor thus my arrival into this world produced an untimely, unwelcome surprise and consequently early small baby. Jacks was Irish in origin I guess but I shall delve into that history later. Suffice to say that the Scots came from Ireland whilst the Picts were the indigenous inhabitants of the country we now call S.

Untimely ––-expectant mothers, who could afford the expense, booked their private nurse for the baby’s time of arrival but the nurse mother had booked for my birth was not available on June for my premature arrival date as 1st week of July was when I was due so mother, with me inside her tummy, was rushed into the nearest vacant maternity bed which just happened to be in town Hospital. The poorest joint in town where treatment of and facilities for pregnant mothers did verge on workhouse standards. Certainly there was no such thing as T.L.C. Mother was shocked as she had paid for her nurse and doctor to be in attendance and for the birth to take place at home.

One paid for the doctor’s visit and for all medicines prior to 1948 so when you were ill you tried to get better quickly. If you were unable to afford a doctor or nurse there were many elderly people who were well versed in natural birth procedure and herbal medications and cures who stepped into the breach in an emergency or for the impecunious.

However if there was a complication with the delivery of baby and no doctor or nurse were present there was a possibility of death of either or both the mother and baby. In the nineteenth century 40% of the new born babies died in this way and perhaps the same percentage of mothers.

Out town is now (in 2004) well documented as a tough town but in these days it was full of wonderful friendly people known far and wide as the Town Buddies. It had rich farming land, even an Abbey (the monks had come from Shropshire), industrious hard working mill workers in Coates Cotton Mills (The making of thread and cotton and the famous Town Pattern originated at this time and was renowned worldwide. Almost every household in Town had a Town Pattern Shawl and a wooden box, crafted by a carpenter, full of beautiful cotton threads of all colours which had been gifted by or bought from Lady Coates mill. (We were still using our boxes of coats threads in the 1960s).

Much employment and accommodation was guaranteed by Lady Coates for her mill workers. But people were poor because they had big families and the wages paid were minimal by today’s standards. There were no government handouts. In 1934 there was no family allowance, family credit or sickness or unemployment or invalidity benefit or government financial assistance such as there is today so if you were poor or sick or ill or unemployed and unable to work for and had no reserve of money in the bank you would just starve or beg from friends or relatives or go to the aforementioned workhouse To compound all the above conditions the country was in the middle of the great depression which you can read about in the 1930’s history. (The Wall Street Crash).

You can also read about the workhouse in Rob Copperfield by Charles Mike ens.

Mother, after her initial shock, was quite nonplussed about this harsh situation, she knew the drill about giving birth to a baby as I was her 2nd child added to that she was well versed in the calving of cows and the milking of cows. Baby Patricia, being before time, was small and dropped out like a pound of sausages expressed more quickly by the fact that the buxom nurse jumped on my mother’s stomach at the 1st push. As this strong nurse pulled me out she stretched my umbilical cord and nearly pulled my belly button out of my stomach thus for the next 5 or 6 years I had to wear a rubber belt to reinstate my belly button to its proper size and situation.

Another problem with a small baby and a mother who is a good milk producer is the fact that the mother makes too much milk and the small baby is quickly sated leaving the breasts still full thus they get hard and excruciatingly painful and milk fever can set in because the milk is not being drawn off. (If I remember correctly in the cow’s udder it is called mastitis).

Again Mother scored as she was an experienced hand milker and had the sense, ability, guile and know how to surreptitiously milk off this excess milk, secreted in her over full breasts, into the cloth and basin which was supplied morning and evening for the washing of her face and hands. (She had to wash sitting up in bed each morning and night with a basin of water balanced on her belly.) She was renowned as a ‘good milker’ of cows in real farming jargon.’

(This aptitude on her part to parallel the human body with that of the dairy milking cow was quite amazing considering that she was the youngest child of a gentleman farmer father who had a large Lanarkshire Farm and a car in 1910 and who had spoiled her shamelessly until his premature death of a tumour in the brain in his forty-fifth year when she was only 10).

In the hospital bed she had to hide behind her towel the fact that she was doing this dastardly milking feat of drawing off the excess milk from her painful breast or the duty nurse would have deprived her of this twice daily relief of the pain. Evidently the other mothers in the ward watched her and they knew what she was doing, They tried unsuccessfully to do the same and daily begged, pleaded and implored mother while crying with the pain from their bursting full hard breasts can you no milk me too missus? there was no help for them. Bear in mind mothers were totally at the mercy of the nurse. You or the baby could die at her behest. Further to that the mothers were not allowed out of bed at all, not even to put their feet on the floor or go to the toilet for at least 10 days after the birth. (They were supplied with bed pans like a potty with a long handle!!)

Blood and urine stained sheets would not be changed regularly enough thus the germs from soiling were allowed to multiply and many mothers died from bed fever brought on by dirty bed practises and lack of sterile treatment and being forced to lie there in the germs for 10 days. The nurses did their best and just did as they had always done through ignorance. NowRheays a new mother is asked to get up more or less at once, to bath in sterile water, to go to the toilet etc. and have daily linen changes.

After untimely comes unwelcome.

I was mothers 2nd child, the first was a girl (my sister Ellen). Farmers wanted sons so here was another daughter and a small, thin, premature piece of humanity at that. In fact when my Father first clapped eyes on me he looked in horror and amazement and said will that ever be folk?

Almost as bad as the Allan named Chloe which did I guess proceed to make me be tough. I was always small and thin like you Becky but I was strong.

Part 2 of the unwelcome! There were only 13 months between Rain and me and she resented me (just like Amanda resented Christie in the beginning if you remember Christie got Amanda’s cot and chair etc. and Amanda was not pleased and tried to pull her off or out of them if mummy was not there to stop her) Well that was how Rain was with me and really Rainwas just a baby herself and did not quite understand why this small thing should get so much attention and use her things so she pulled and tugged at me and blamed me for everything even to the soiling in her nappies the contents of which she was privy to plastering on the bedroom wall and then say that Patricia had done it.

Part 3 of the Unwelcome factor Mother said I was an accident as she had been led to believe that while one was breast feeding a child and while she had no monthly period she could not conceive. Well she was still breast feeding Martha, she had no menstruation and she became pregnant with me in spite of all these so called deterrents.

The final blow I dealt my mother at birth was the date and the day. This day was the Saturday of the beginning of the Scottish Highland Agricultural Show week. That year 1934 the Agricultural Show was in Hammond. All their friends, relatives, their whole known farmers world and his wife and children would have been there and not only was mother on the labour table but Rain was only 13 months and still in nappies and my father being no new age father resented the fact that his wife was not there to look after this demanding toddler while he was attending the show. He was amongst farmers and cows maybe even showing some beasts. Then when this was over he had to come back home (with this toddler) to all the farm and milking and dairy work while mother lay in bed he was a bit resentful. It was entirely my fault that Father was upset and mother missed the show totally.

I shall explain the Agricultural Show factor. In these days the Agricultural Show went to a different town each year just like the National Gaelic Mod does today (maybe that will change too) Nowadays the Agricultural Show is a permanent fixture at Ingliston a Field out side Edinburgh.

One did look forward to the year the Agricultural Show was in ones home town and it may be only once in 20 years or more that that did happen. Added to that remember that in 1934 the chief private mode of transport was the horse and cart or horse and trap or horse and dog cart or the bicycle or shanks pony all very slow compared to the car so one did not go a far place like Montpier. It would have taken two days to travel from Taunton to Historical. The only time you were sure you could attend the Agricultural Show was when it was on your doorstep as it were.

{My father could have had a car and my mother would have learned to drive BUT my father’s youngest sister Ashley was fatally knocked down by a car in 1911 while running across the road to meet her teacher, she was in her 7th Year. It was possibly the only car on the road for weeks but it killed his wee sister so from then on a car was a killing machine to my father and remained so till he died. Added to that his brother Harry died aged 4mths in 1900, his sister Patricia was 4yrs in 1901when she died, his brother James was 1 yr. in 1901 when he died then Ashley in 1911(and Oscarin 1918 in the 1st World War, The Great War and was buried in France) None of the latter deaths are car related but the pains of all these deaths of his brothers and sisters never left him or his mother (my grandmother) and all enhanced the ‘hatred factor’ of the car which they called the iron horse.

Ashley is buried in Hammond Abbey Cemetery Lair 58/59 So you see father would not have a car. He loved the horse. It was slow and safe}

During the 1st world war farmers and their sons were exempt but the government demanded the services of one token son from each farmer. My father, by dint of his order of birth was the token son but his brother Oscar offered to go in his place because he was taller and stronger I guess. In truth Oscar died in March 1918 that I and your father and all of you might have the chance to live.

I digressed a little there for effect. Are you still following the story girls?

My home at birth was a farm and a dairy shop sort of place. In other words not only did my father and mother own, feed, milk and calve the cows, look after all the animals including hens on the farm they had a house attached to their dairy from where mother sold some of the milk plus eggs, cream and butter etc. So she was very busy with the farm work, shop work and two babies particularly Rain who could run about and make mischief and a mess and blame it all on me this new, helpless, tiny unwanted baby.

I just lay there and slept and looked about. In fact I was a perfect baby the best ever and to get praise like that from my mother had to be not only true but well earned. Mother was not generous with superlatives but I managed to make her and my father overcome their resentment as I was no trouble.

Mother said she could leave me in the pram all day and I was a happy smiling child (I still am) she just breast fed me then topped and tailed me and put me down. If you just think back to the crying and screaming all your sisters did at the baby stage and toddler stage, Sam, and even when they were older you will understand how great it was for a farmer’s wife who was expected to do so much dairy and farm work plus sales in their dairy shop. (All with no electricity and no flush toilet or running water and no disposable nappies, no tins or jars of baby food.) I feel sure that if I had been a fractious baby my mother would have sent me back to the hospital. There were lots of nice families asking if they could adopt me. I know one was a Lady Hamilton. But mother refused. I often wondered!!!!

Well, actually it nearly did happen the first morning (while still in the Hospital) mother was handed a baby Allan at 6am feed time, she was tempted to say nothing (she knew my father would have been delighted to have a Allan but she did confess to the duty nurse that she had given birth to a girl. (Babies were often mixed up because the nurse took the new babies to a baby nursery ward during the night to let the mothers get some sleep. When the babies were not tagged or named mistakes could and did occur. My presence in the family was at last becoming secure.

My father’s first farm was Homestead, up the Oakdale Elm, Hammond. (It was where he was born in 1894 and