“I would be most content if my children grew up to be . . .

. . .  the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     ― Anna Quindlen


     "When Maureen was about 2, Frank caught the immigration 'bug.'  He was working at Ericsson's, an engineering firm, and some employees had immigrated to Canada and were sending their pay stubs  back to Ericsson's.   When he saw what they were making, he left England with a group of men and went by ship to Canada, intending to send for me and Maureen when he got settled.   He came back after only three months,.  We weren't expecting him, and at the time I was living with Maureen at Nanna's house, not wanting to be alone in our big house.  He walked through the front door, and I screamed.  Thereafter, he was quite restless, so we thought maybe another baby would help him settle in England.
     July 14, 1955, began as a very warm, sunny summer day.  Since I was almost two weeks overdue with my second child, I was very uncomfortable in the heat.  My friend across the street was also pregnant in July, but her baby had come early.  My sister Doll was staying with me, waiting for something to happen, when she saw the midwife leave my friend's house.  She dashed out and asked Nurse/Midwife Greensmith to come in and take a look at me.  The nurse asked a few questions, gave me a two ounce bottle of castor oil, told me to take it in a glass of orange juice and call her if things began to start.

     The smell and taste of the castor oil made me gag, but I managed to keep it down.  To this day just the thought of it makes me feel sick.  That was in the late afternoon and things did start moving!  By 5 p.m. we were calling for Nurse to come back, and when she arrived I was well into labor.  Nurse joked about it, saying, "Well that sure got things moving!"
     You popped into the world between 6:30-7 p.m., making yourself heard loud and clear.  I guess you were objecting to being snatched away from your comfort zone.  You were a big baby, 8 and 1/2 pounds.
     In those days midwives did not measure the length of newborns.  The scales were a small hand held thing with a hook on the end.   The nurse would swaddle the baby, put it in a sling, hook the sling onto the scale and hold the scale aloft.  A needle at the top would register the baby's weight.
     You were beautiful with a round face and dark curly hair, and you were hungry.  Dad came home around 5:30 p.m., gathered up Maureen and took her down to Mamma Shelton's for the night.  When he was running back up Chestmut Grove he heard your first cry through the open windows.  He came in, took a quick look at you and raced back to Momma Shelton's on his bike to get Maureen.

Modern version of a weigh sling

   
                     

     Maureen was 5 1/2 when you were born on July 14, 1955--two weeks overdue.  She would hover over you protectively.  She loved to put her finger near your hand and watch you respond by grabbing it.  She would spend what seemed like hours doing that.   She loved to push you in the pram and would fuss over the covers.  There was a real bonding between the two of you right from the start.
     In those days the nurse/midwife made new mothers stay in bed for 14 days and would stop in most days and check on mother and baby.  As soon as the nurse left for the day, I would be up and downstairs.  Like any new baby, you wanted plenty of attention, and you surely did get it from Maureen and from visiting friends and family


   

Ostermilk

   








     I never breast fed my babies as my milk was sour, so we put you on a very good formula called Ostermilk (non-homoginzed).  You thrived on it.
     We got rid of the motorcycle and sidecar before you were born, and bought a brand new, black Standard car.  Dad borrowed money for it from Momma Shelton.  Pop was always game for a ride, but Momma was reluctant.  One time she watched your Dad drive down the street, and remarked, 'Oh, look, he managed to get around the corner okay.'  We'd only had the car a few months when petrol was rationed because of the Hungarian and Suez crisies in 1956, so Frank put kerosene in the gas tank.  The car caused a lot of jealousy amongst my sisters, and we felt compelled to take each sister and family out for rides, just to keep the peace.
     I would try to sit in the backseat and hold you, but you were such a live wire, pushing up and down on my lap and banging your hands on the window.  I felt worn out by the time we got home again.  Seat belts and safety car seats for babies and children were unheard of in those days.

Maureen pushing Barbara in the pram on
Mapperly Plain

     Pop would call you, "my little cock sparrow" and bounce you on his knee.  When you were able to walk, Maureen would take you by the hand and visit Aunty Mick, down the lane.  I would follow discreetly behind you both until you were safely in her house."
                         --Joan Shelton

Barbara and Maureen