Section 1
There are so many little things I can remember... the smell of Dad's pipe tobacco... his hands... he was a fine man... proud and immaculate in every way. He was strong and clean... spotless... a very handsome man in his youth... and as Irish as the day he left Ireland. He had the mostly beautiful blue eyes and red hair. I don't really know about my dad's childhood... I think he was the eldest of all his brothers and sisters... eight boys and two girls. When I look back I think he was a good man... a good husband... a good father... a good housekeeper and a good teacher... but he was a harsh man with small children... too harsh really... to quick with his belt... but such a polite and proud man... he always insisted on manners... I thought he was harsh but when I look back he could be lenient as well... and it must have been hard for him... he was fair... but remember one time getting such a bloody hiding that I said to him even then "I'll remember this all my life"... he said "Good"... but he was wrong and I do remember it... I'd been blamed for something I didn't do... he used to beat us with his belt across our backs but I wouldn't cry for him. My mother could just look at me and I'd be sobbing if I knew I'd done something wrong... if I'd let her down... but him... I never once cried for him and he couldn't understand it. I always knew Dad was clever but I've only recently found out how clever he was... I.C.I. had wanted him to go to Australia... to be involved with the construction of the Sydney Harbour Bridge... but he couldn't take his children... and he wouldn't leave us... it seems they asked him about twenty times... it eventually went to a younger man... but he came back in six months... he couldn't do it... and of course they'd made Dad redundant by then. I think he went on the dole in 1933 or 34... and he was never able to get a proper job after that... not of the type he wanted and not of the type to keep us from starving. When he had been working we really lived like royalty... but he was such a proud man that the dole became humiliating to him... and he wouldn't accept any kind of charity he'd give rather than take... I remember the nuns from the Nazareth House Orphanage used to come round the houses begging for a couple of coppers... bread... or anything... we always knew when they were coming because the bread would be baked and out ready for them... But times were hard and sometimes we were very, very poor... my older brother was brought up in Ireland by my Aunt... he'd gone over there to convalesce... my aunt looked after him to build up his strength... and every now and again dad would go over to bring him back and he would run away and hide in the hills... he didn't want to come back... eventually he didn't even know us... he was over in Ireland all his childhood... as far as I know of he had T.B. ... Tuberculosis... and he used to faint a lot... my mother had been very, very anxious about him... she didn't want to let him go... she eventually said he could go for a month or something like that... a month or two... she told the aunt that she would only let my dad take him over on the condition that they spoke of her... he had to be brought up knowing that the aunt wasn't his mother... he was only a baby when he went... he stayed all his life... he came over to Middlesborough when he was about seventeen or eighteen... just to meet us and see how we'd get on... but he really couldn't understand how we lived... the poverty... he said it was such a lovely clean little house but so poor. I mean times were hard... we never went hungry because of dad's allotment but we never had the right vitamins and minerals... when I was a kid I was skin and bone... they called me "Skinny Mac"... though I made up for that later... I was a very delicate child... but I'd fight my corner... I always said "You wait... you wait until I'm big"... well they paid ten times over before I was big... if there was fight I'd always get myself in to the corner... and I'd punch them with my skinny elbows... You never could say we went hungry but we didn't get all the right things... when people were poor then they were poor... poverty was poverty... no hand outs like they do today...
My mother had been ill for about 18 months before she died... I remember visiting her in the sanatorium when she was dieing of T.B... the grounds were surrounded by fences... wooden walls... well there were little tiny gaps in the wood in some parts and I remember standing with my face pressed against the wood to look through... we went up on the Sunday to see her... and it was a lovely bright and sunny day... and... I remember how I was dressed and everything... I had a dress with knickers to match which my sister made for me... and of course well I had to show Mummy them... including the knickers... so I'm in the sanatorium with my dress pulled right up... oh but it was so lovely to see her... maybe that was the last time I saw her... no that's wrong she came home on Christmas day... once more... she was determined to die in her own home... and she did... she did... Dad never slept when she came back... he'd sit in the armchair with her and doze for a while but he never slept... he must have been exhausted... on the Christmas Day myself and my twin wanted to take up our presents to show her and we were allowed up... both my Aunts were there and they'd propped her up on the bed and that Christmas would have been last day I saw her alive... and on the day my mother died my father came in and said, "The angels have taken mummy to heaven... and you sent her there... you sent her there"... well I said, "I didn't dad... I didn't send Mammy anywhere... I'm going into the bedroom to see her. She's still there". I remember him saying that... he said 'You'll stay where you are until I say you can get up'... poor man... it was awful to see him... it was awful to see him... he must have been in despair really... because he wouldn't have said that... her last words were look after the girl... I was the troublemaker... I was always delicate... in and out of hospitals and convalescent homes... I spent most of my early childhood in them... Jack and me were going on for seven... she died in the January and we were seven in the May... she lost her life's blood... but I remember her as if she were here yesterday... I remember her in the house... her body in the coffin... on the day of the funeral... our Jack opened the curtains to have peep... he was so excited about the caterers bringing the cakes... "The cakes are here... the cakes are here"... how sad it was... he didn't eat a single one... after everyone else we were allowed but he couldn't.
Section 2
I remember us going in the big Corpus Christi processions that were held in the town. They'd start from the Cathedral and go all the way round... must be about a mile and a half... to the convent... they walked and walked and walked... a long... a very long walk for little legs but we done it. There was I looking so angelic... with my little white dress... a beautiful dress as well... There'd be thousands walking in the procession... about twenty or thirty thousand walking and about the same amount watching... all along the pavements... I remember some neighbours standing in the crowd... Little Alec saying "Hi Mary, want a goose gog?" I can see Aunt Sissy's face now. She was furious. But it was a rare sight and a wonderful thing to see... and even the Salvation Army used to take part in it... they were very good and they were very helpful... they would go round picking the kids up if they'd fallen... or anything like that or if they'd seen that they were in distress... and they'd come so discreetly and get that child away... I remember that very clearly... I loved those processions and the last one I was in I was made May Queen... oh it was so special... and I had a very special dress then... I'd never seen that dress for years... but funnily enough it was only yesterday I was on the phone to my sister talking about it... "Oh", she said, "I gave that dress away years ago". It was a beautiful dress... a satin lace... short puff sleeves... and an Elizabethan collar... a ruff... May is the month dedicated to Mary... they have big processions in the church. At least they used to... and the May Queen would crown this statue... there was Hymn... 'Bring Flowers the Rarest'. Bring flowers the rarest Bring blossoms the fairest From garden and woodland and hillside and dale Our full hearts are swelling Our glad voices telling In praise of the loveliest flower of the vale Oh Mary we crown thee with blossoms today Queen of the angels and Queen of the May Oh Mary we crown thee with blossoms today Queen of the angels and Queen of the May.
It's a beautiful hymn really... when they sang Queen of the May that's when they crowned the statue with garlands of flowers... you can imagine who supplied the flowers... but what a sight... what a sight it was... a wonderful sight to see. They would sing 'Sweet Sacrament Devine'... an old English Hymn... and then they sing in Latin when they get to the Convent grounds. Both inside the grounds and out on the street the people would crowd for the benediction... they used to build a small Altar for the benediction on the wall...on the corner of Borough Road and Abingdon Road... It was so nice to see how people still believe... I think it was my happiest memory being the May Queen... my father said I wasn't to look at anyone unless I started laughing so I looked directly ahead... walking the whole way with two page boys... two identical twin boys both dressed alike and they had to be perfect... I remember the old nun saying, "Timmy I hope you haven't been fighting because if you have bruise on you now you'll have two later". She didn't want a mark on them but they were little sods... always fighting... beating each other up. I remember my father saying he'd seen me crown the statue... and why if I could be so good why was I usually so bad... and I asked the Bishop for his autograph... scribble... I told him to his face he was a lousy writer... terrible handwriting... but now my writing is worse than it was when I was in the infants... I can't read my own.
Section 3
I met the right man to marry but he was killed... in the war... not killed in battle... he was killed coming out of the barracks coming to see me... he was an American Air-force man... a nice lad... his father died... I'm not sure if it was six weeks before he was born or six weeks after... but he never knew his father... he had photographs and by God he was the image of him... we met when I fell over... I wasn't looking where I was going again and I fell... tripped over... and he came along and picked me up... it was the best trip I ever had... he was a lovely man... a lovely boy really... He was only 23. I was still working in Wimbledon... but I'd come into town most weekends to see friends in St John's Wood... well, as I say him and Bill Buckley... Texas Tom... a giant of a man... he must have been ten feet tall... and Little Bernhard... Bernard was a canny little lad... a little pet but my God did he swear... the others kept pulling him up about it. I never knew what Jim did... I never knew, it was very hush, hush whatever it was. I know he used to fly a lot. He'd just had his twenty-third birthday... he was just a boy. I was 21. On my 21 st birthday he came round and asked me where I'd like to go... I said well I'd love to go to the theatre... well most of the theatres were closed... closed down during the blitz... he said, "We'll go up to "The Rainbow'... I said, "o.k. I've not been there for a while". The Rainbow Club in Piccadilly... it was fantastic there... they danced the night away... it was coming on for about half past ten... I'd had to get special permission to stay out... we went and had a coffee... he said it was my day and I could have whatever I wanted... it's funny but his great Grandfather was Scot... and he was told he was the meanest man who ever lived... I'd said to him "I don't believe you"... because he was so generous... and kind... he'd have given me the moon if it was his to give... anyway soon after they were coming out of the barracks to see me... in the July... following my 21 st ... as there car was coming out the lorry was coming in... it smashed right into the car... Jim was killed... Bill Buckley wasn't there that night... Bill Buckley came to see me... "Hello Molly"... "Hello love", I said. "Where's Jim?" He said "Sit down, I've got something to tell you"... Oh my God... he told me what happened... I've never, never, never forgotten him and never looked at another man since. I could never meet one who could compare. He was an only child... 1818 Harrison St. Oakland's. California. Not far from San Francisco. I phoned his mother but she already knew... I sent the Engagement Ring to her... it was no good to me anymore... his beautiful ring... I'd known him two and a half years... long enough... after Jim there couldn't be another... his mother wrote to me for years... but she must be dead and gone many years herself now.
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