By Christine Swan

This week would have been my late mother’s one hundredth birthday. Sadly this is not a milestone that she lived to see as she passed away two years ago. I couldn’t let this significant anniversary pass without reflection.

Mum (left) and her family

My mum was born in Chingford in 1924 at a time when it still had a semi-rural aspect, standing on the edge of Epping Forest. She was the youngest of seven children – five girls and two boys. My grandfather had been a bar manager, both on land and on board ships, crossing the Atlantic with the Canadian Pacific line. When he settled on dry land, he worked in various Hackney pubs, where he met my grandmother. My mum, told me that the family always had pets including a succession of cats and her particular favourite, an Airedale terrier called Jack. Unfortunately, Jack was hit by a car and broke his leg. The vet suggested that it might be kinder to…. but, my grandmother had none of it. Jack’s leg was set and he continued to hobble on into old age. He was replaced by a Jack Russell terrier called Spot who did little to endear himself to my mum by snapping and snarling.

In 1930, tragedy struck the family when my mum’s younger brother was hit by a car on the way to school, and died of his injuries. The family were poor and were unable even to raise the cost of the funeral. Kindly neighbours clubbed together to help in an extraordinary act of charity at such a terrible time for the family. Several years ago, I visited his grave in Chingford Mount Cemetery. The staff were very helpful and provided me with a detailed plan of the plot, even though there was no headstone, I managed to locate as close to the spot of his burial as I could. The day was cloudy and humid. I had purchased a miniature rosebush to plant. As I paced the area, striving to find the exact location, a shaft of sunlight broke through, illuminating a small patch under a conifer tree. All these years later, I am unable to explain this phenomenon. I recounted the whole incident to my mum on the phone. She burst into tears and told me that it was the kindest thing that I had ever done. I’m so pleased that I was able to pay my respects to a little boy who died aged just six years old.

My grandparents purchased a cafe in Wood Street, which is now a scout hut. They rented a house in nearby Barrett Road which enabled them almost to stand on their doorstep and see the cafe which I had not fully appreciated until I visited last year. My grandmother baked and made sandwiches as well as running the household, often still doing chores until after midnight.

Grandad in his cafe

War broke out when my mum was fifteen years old. She recounted to me what a terrifying time this was for all. A family in their street were killed in their Anderson shelter which resulted in her family being conflicted about using their own. Everyone had to play their part in the war effort. My grandfather joined the Home Guard and my mum faced the prospect of working in a munitions factory. Instead she joined the Territorial Army and undertook the required training. She demonstrated some aptitude and was promoted to the rank of sergeant. She carried out various roles which included driving a fork lift truck, manning an anti-aircraft gun, operating an early computing device called a predictor that performed ballistic calculations, and marshalling prisoners of war. The latter were mostly Italian and appeared to occupy themselves with flirting. My mum was having none of it.

Mum in the ATS

My mum met my dad via the Territorials and although there had been other suitors, including one fiance. My dad was a jealous man and so my mum gave her previous engagement ring to my cousin, and gave me a beautiful silver bracelet. My dad threatened to flush the latter down the toilet if ever he saw it. Consequently, I wore it constantly as a rebellious teenager and still smile when I wear it now, which I do frequently.

After leaving school without qualifications, Mum went to evening classes to learn the art of bookkeeping. She was always very adept with numbers and mathematics, and often was able to explain my mathematics homework to me when I was bamboozled with it. She would sometimes try to beat me using mental arithmetic when I lumbered along with a calculator, and very often succeeded.

She joined Barclay’s Bank clearing department in King William Street, frequenting Lyon’s Tearooms in her lunch break. She adored working in the bank but, regrettably, as was the policy of the day, she had to leave the job that she loved when she married in 1951.

Mum

After living on the Isle of Dogs in a prefabricated bungalow, also known as a prefab, my parents moved to a Peabody flat in Whitecross Street. This was mine and my sister’s first residence, in the heart of the City. Even in the sixties, Whitecross Street hosted a street market but now is a destination for lunchtime world food taste adventures. We then moved to Kent. Mum worked for various companies as a bookkeeper. While working for a builders’ merchant, she learned to operate her first computer. She wasn’t a fan and still considered that she could have performed calculations quicker. She had an office that overlooked the River Darent and delighted in watching kingfishers, water voles and dippers.

Peabody flats, Whitecross Street

Mum gave up work when she reached the age of sixty. They moved to the Kent coast she amused herself with walking, baking, gardening and shopping in Calais. My parents travelled widely and Mum had a particular affinity for Canada. She remained active into her eighties but after a traumatic burglary, no longer felt safe.

She and my dad, now suffering from dementia, moved to be closer to me, where I could better support them. Dad died in 2019 and Mum had two strokes in April 2020, not long after the first Covid lockdown. it was the worst combination – a clot and a bleed. The complete loss of her independence changed our lives completely. However, she seemed quite satisfied with her lot. After a lifetime of dashing about, she seemed quite happy to sit still, watch the birds and admire the flowers. We instructed all of our neighbours to wave whenever they passed the house. I think my mum was amazed how many people knew her! We had so many good conversations during the last two years. I felt that I really got to know my mum and we laughed about so many things. I was so blessed to have this extra time together. When mum died, it left a huge hole in my life, not just as a carer but because she was always good to talk to. Although profoundly deaf in later life, she learned to lip-read very well. She was always upset by people who either ignored her or would tell her that “it doesn’t matter”, if she did not hear them speak. It did matter and she was frustrated by people who did not understand the barrier of deafness. She was kind and patient, vulnerable and fragile. She told me that she missed her own mum every day. One hundred would have been a wonderful milestone and I wished that she could have seen it. Love you Mum, miss you every day.