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| 3 Chestnut Grove as it looks today |
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| Maureen pushing me in the pram |
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
And so it begins . . . I was born.
In England in 1955 most babies were born at home. I was born two weeks late on Wednesday evening, July 14th, at 3 Chestnut Grove, Arnold, Nottingham, England. When Mam went into labor, Dad called the nurse and walked Maureen down to stay with Momma and Pop, his parents. By the time he walked back home, he heard my cry from the upstairs window. I finally made my appearance with the help of Nurse Greensmith; Mam was "chuffed to bits" and glad to have it over.
Maureen, 5 years old, is pushing me in the pram (perambulator), more commonly known in the US as a stroller, along Mapperley Plains, about a mile away from Arnold and overlooking Nottingham. Sadly this is the only photo I could find of me as an infant. That's my bit of head poking out from under the blanket. Prams were mostly for infants; the baby would lie down facing the pusher.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
We start and end with family.
Dear Erik,
You might be asking why I'm doing this. My motivation is really Dad's death in December 2008. I realized there were still many unanswered questions, many untold stories, and many things I needed to tell him . . . but, sadly, I ran out of time. That has left an ache in my heart.
This is not to say I didn't, through the years, try to reach out to him. I did, often. He didn't like to dwell on the past or reminisce. He didn't like to talk on the phone, and his letters seldom filled a single page. He liked to keep things superficial, which was quite frustrating for me. I think his reticence to speak of the past or to talk about his feelings had to do with his childhood.
He used to say, "No one should have a childhood like mine." More than once he told me that he'd had a dreadful childhood. I never found out, for sure, what made his childhood so grim, although I have a few ideas, gleaned from other family members and from little bits of "bread" that Dad let drop now and again. He wasn't an easy man to love, but still I did, and I always felt loved by him. He would end his letters and birthday and Christmas cards, "Love you, always have, always will."
He was "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma . . . . " I don't want to be a mystery to you. I don't want you to have unanswered questions, untold stories, and things you wished you'd said to me but didn't. I want you to know who you come from. As the title says, "We start and end with family."
And so it begins.
You might be asking why I'm doing this. My motivation is really Dad's death in December 2008. I realized there were still many unanswered questions, many untold stories, and many things I needed to tell him . . . but, sadly, I ran out of time. That has left an ache in my heart.
This is not to say I didn't, through the years, try to reach out to him. I did, often. He didn't like to dwell on the past or reminisce. He didn't like to talk on the phone, and his letters seldom filled a single page. He liked to keep things superficial, which was quite frustrating for me. I think his reticence to speak of the past or to talk about his feelings had to do with his childhood.
He used to say, "No one should have a childhood like mine." More than once he told me that he'd had a dreadful childhood. I never found out, for sure, what made his childhood so grim, although I have a few ideas, gleaned from other family members and from little bits of "bread" that Dad let drop now and again. He wasn't an easy man to love, but still I did, and I always felt loved by him. He would end his letters and birthday and Christmas cards, "Love you, always have, always will."
He was "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma . . . . " I don't want to be a mystery to you. I don't want you to have unanswered questions, untold stories, and things you wished you'd said to me but didn't. I want you to know who you come from. As the title says, "We start and end with family."
And so it begins.
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