Watchet Marina - Williton below.

Our Vis a Vis


Journey's End

Peaceful countryside


Back in Minehead - North Hill in background

Misgivings and loss

Story contd.

Mary and I considered ourselves very fortunate to have created a business which fulfilled a service to mothers, many of whom were spending over the odds on their children’s education. It gave us an absorbing interest and a healthy financial return. We both officially worked in the shop two days a week, and put in as many extra hours as our various responsibilities required. On the whole our staff were excellent and seemed to enjoy working with us.

Mary and I had very different working backgrounds. She came from a well –off family, married and settled down to be a good housewife and mother. She had lots of hobbies, learning Italian, travelling, painting and photography – and was very talented at each of them. I felt the shop was one of her many interests and not necessarily a passion as it certainly was for me. I had been reared with a strong work ethic and the nursing training had imbued strict codes of behaviour.

For example: staff were staff and though we were friendly with them and took an interest in their lives and families, with a big get together once a year, there was a limit to how familiar one could be. In nursing it was frowned upon if we were friendly with any nurse in the sets above or below us. So when Mary started going on foreign holidays with Maud, a new member of staff and the only one I didn’t take to, I was a bit concerned. Maud herself had a sort of antique shop and at one time suggested she should use a corner of our shop to display some of her items. When Mary consulted me I gave a resounding ‘Not bloody likely!’ but of course, I had no say in choosing her holiday companions.

Sometimes it seemed there was a conspiracy to make life difficult: when we changed to decimalisation every garment in the shop (thousands and thousands) had to be re-labelled and our whole pricing system re- organised. Then Edward Heath brought in a 3- day week; we weren’t allowed to use electricity and sat at the desk in the freezing cold with just a candle for comfort. We were not allowed to work more that 3 days a week in our own shop. I came close to being a red hot anarchist.

Mary’s husband had retired and - at a loose end - offered to take over doing the books for us. But for me this was a labour of love, and also it was very much a time of women’s lib so I told Mary it was very kind of him to offer, but I preferred to continue doing it myself. I perfectly understood Mary’s wish to get her husband out of her hair (we married them for better or for worse – but not for lunch) but I didn’t want him in mine. Oh dear, I couldn’t help remembering Ellie’s words when she told us about the rift she had with her partner.

‘It works very well as long as you both want the same things but when you get successful and your ideas differ – that’s when the trouble starts.’

At the end of the summer # 1 son left for University and although I was proud and happy I also felt completely bereft and every time I went into his bedroom had a little weep. # 2 son was not academically inclined but was mad keen on music - guitars in particular. He valued his independence and planned to get a job and have his own place as soon as possible. The nest was getting emptier and William and I talked once more about having separate establishments.

Growing up and leaving home

Coincidence?

Aside

At present I am slowly reading ‘How to write your own Life Story’ by Lois Daniel. In the past she taught creative writing in Missouri and yesterday I turned the page and read the following. I can’t scan it satisfactorily so I’m typing it.

“The next story, which was written by a young black man in a community college in Chicago, is a civil rights story. It had nothing to do with party politics, bur it is a political story nonetheless, and a tragic one.

On a hot summer afternoon in 1968, when I was nine years old, Dr Martin Luther King was shot and killed. After the news had gotten on the streets that King was dead, both blacks and whites went wild and started acting with mass rage. Riots broke out all over the United States; people went crazy in cities, suburbs and even in the country.

In Chicago people shot and killed other people and started acting like a bunch of fools. Some were killed while trying to rob others and some were killed for just walking down the streets’

The governor of the state called in the National Guard and the guardsmen were told that anyone on the street was to be put in jail. I got the picture and ran home, but before I made it to my house, I saw a guard turn and fire a couple of rounds at people running down the street. After I saw that, I ran faster toward home.

When I got up to the door, I tried to open it but it was locked. I began to beat on the green wooden door and to cry because I was scared now. When the door finally opened, I saw my mother. She was on her knees and she quickly yanked me to the floor. After she pulled me down, she slammed the door and told me to be quiet.

I could hear all kinds of guns going off with loud booms and bangs and they seemed to grow louder as time went on, but my mother didn’t worry, she just said quietly and kept saying, “It will be all right when your father gets home.”

But this was not to be, because my father was shot in the head as he was coming home from work. It happened right outside our door.

We heard a very loud boom and then a scream. We heard moaning and groaning and then my mother’s name. At first she thought the call was for someone else and she didn’t move, but then she heard the voice again and it was calling her name. The next thing I knew she was up on her feet and heading for the door. She flung it open as if it were a little toy and ran out onto the porch and disappeared around the corner. I heard a scream, but was too afraid to see what had happened. My little brother ran out the door right behind me.

Then my mother started dragging my father into our house. At this time a neighbour lady named Miss Jones started to scream. She had seen what was going on. Without another word, she too was on her knees pulling my father toward the door. When they pulled him inside we were told to get some towels. When I looked up, I could see my little brother; he was bleeding from the chest. My sister grabbed him and held a towel over the blood.

Next came getting towels for my father. I couldn’t see where he was shot, but I knew it was bad because I could see all the blood.

Then Miss Jones ran out of the apartment to call an ambulance, but she came back and said they would not come into our neighbourhood, so my mother got on the phone and called a couple of my relatives. They were there within minutes, and they rushed my father and brother to hospital. My father was dead on arrival and my brother had a bullet wound in his chest. They got the bullet out of his chest, but kept him in the hospital for a while. When I heard the news, I started to cry and so did everyone in the house.

Later, after the news had spread and the shouting had died down, we received a letter from a man saying he was sorry about what had happened. He sent flowers to the funeral.

The more I think of what happened and how my father was taken away from me and almost my little brother too, it makes me feel so sad, and I just want to take a gun and kill the first white face I see, but that would only get me into trouble. I now have learned how to hide my feelings and not show my anger even though sometimes I feel like I could blow up the world.”

The Week that was

Aside

The family leave today and we go to an all day party tomorrow so no way can I concentrate to write the next episode of the story, that will have to wait till next week. The weather has been lovely, we haven’t wasted it and the time has flown. I’m hoping they will come again in July before they leave for OZ. They certainly want to.

It’s grand-daughter’s 16^th birthday in the summer and as a special treat and good-bye to her girl friends she is having a tea party at the Ritz ( even Sir Alan Sugar has got in on the act – the reward to the men’s team in last night’s programme) She bought a lovely tea party dress in Taunton (nothing ‘silly’ is to be worn, as the Ritz turn people away who are improperly dressed – even designer jeans) and she bought a prom dress here for the end of term. She looks lovely in both – well I would say that – but she really does. I offered to go to the Ritz as chaperone, but sadly was turned down. Doggy bags?

The wood photo is one my # 2 son took and I took the one of Karen – with her permission – my lady gardener - who is great and is giving my beds my longed for ‘edges’.