What If?

  What If?

  Alexandra Mather

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  What If?

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Copyright Information ©

  Acknowledgment

  Synopsis of My Book

  Chapter 1Childhood

  Chapter 2Mary

  Chapter 3Early Teenage

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5London

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7Mum

  Chapter 8Loughton

  Chapter 9Loughton, March 1978

  Chapter 10Basingstoke, the Early Years

  Chapter 11Katie, 1982

  Chapter 12Katie, Cancer and Sam

  Chapter 13Katie’s Poetry

  The Old Lie

  Boo

  Chapter 14Goodbye, Sam

  Chapter 15Katie, Teens and UniversitySeptember 2002.

  Chapter 16David

  Chapter 17Work LifeHeart

  Chapter 18Return to Cuba2012 Isle of Wight

  Chapter 19SomersetFlat

  March 2018

  2017–2018

  About the Author

  Alexandra was born and raised in Buxton, Derbyshire, which she still thinks of as her home, even though the memories of it are not good. She travelled all over Britain and Europe in late teens and early 20s. She has been through love affairs, marriage and death but believes that life is what we make it and eventually what goes around, comes around. She has just started writing and has found it to be very therapeutic and has now managed to lay some of the ghosts of the past.

  Dedication

  For Marta, the child who didn’t live long enough to share her mother’s dreams.

  Copyright Information ©

  Alexandra Mather (2020)

  The right of Alexandra Mather to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788787383 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781788789998 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2020)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Acknowledgment

  To everyone who has listened and also to Alexander Holiday of Austin Macauley, who made me believe in my ability to write and gave me this opportunity.

  Synopsis of My Book

  True story of my life; nothing is fabricated. I have written about my strange childhood, growing up in Derbyshire. Being kept at home, not being allowed to have friends outside or in the home. Grandmother’s strange behaviour towards me. About the death of my sister.

  My teenage years, college, university, determination to have a career.

  Meeting George and the decision to come to London.

  Life in hotels in London late ’60s.

  Never giving up regardless of what is thrown at me.

  My love of George and our son.

  Marrying Gareth moving to Hampshire.

  Death of my daughter.

  Birth of my second daughter and her subsequent cancer.

  My work for FSDS and the New Forest ponies.

  Death of my son’s wife.

  Heart trouble.

  Moving to the Isle of Wight, then Somerset then back to Basingstoke.

  Divorce and fighting back.

  My daughter’s betrayal.

  Meeting Danny and his betrayal.

  Chapter 1

  Childhood

  The one thing I remember about growing up in Derbyshire in the late ‘40s was the snow – it was so cold because there was no central heating, just two open fires on the ground floor of the house where I was born. One of them was in the ’sitting room’ which was never lit unless it was for a special occasion. In there was a lovely mahogany table and chairs, a cabinet full of china and the piano that sat proudly against the wall. No one was ever allowed to play that, which was a shame really. I understood my Aunt Elizabeth used to play in her youth but never actually saw her play it.

  The other means of heating the house was a range that heated the back boiler and my grandmother did all her cooking on it. That was in the dining room, and if you looked out of the window, you could see the view of the church and churchyard in the distance. The hill went down from our house to the railway sidings and then over the river and up through the field to the other side to the golf course. There was a farm at the back of the house where there were chickens. I never remember seeing any other animals as the ground was on a slope.

  I know that my grandmother had a kitchen with a gas cooker in it, but she obviously preferred to use the range in the dining room. She used to make lovely meals; she could certainly cook! The smells that used to emanate from that range were wonderful, very homely. She made her pastry on the dining room table, a pine one which was always being scrubbed clean.

  In the back garden, there were rows of vegetables and fruit trees. My grandmother loved gardening. Apparently, my grandfather, when he was alive, loved to be out in the garden as well. We had chickens there too until the night something got in the garden and killed them all. She never replaced them after that. She also had a lot of houseplants, mainly fuchsias and geraniums. The colours were very good; she used to attend to them quite often. I also remember an aspidistra plant that sat proudly on the stair windowsill.

  It would have seemed like a very happy home; had we have had many visitors apart from my family and the insurance man! No one was ever encouraged to step over the front door, apart from family.

  On reflection, the house must have been quite a big semi, it was built in the 1930’s. It had a very nice staircase with a stained-glass window at the top. I always loved that window.

  My grandmother had had nine children in all, four of whom had survived, my father and my Uncle James, my Aunt Elizabeth, who lived with us and, Aunt Georgina, who at this point was lodging with my parents. The other five children were buried just outside St Peters Church Fairfield. No one ever discussed these children.

  Upstairs, there were two more open fires, but they were never lit, the windows used to freeze up, making beautiful patterns inside as well as outside! It was very cold. I think it was 1947/1948 when we were snowed in; six feet drifts of snow on the road.

  I slept in a bed that was in my grandmother’s room. It was only a three-bed house, so I guess it made sense, but I often wondered why I couldn’t have shared a bedroom with my sister who was ten years older than me.

  My grandmother was a lady who had gone into mourning when her husband died in 1944. He apparently was a lovely man; I was told that he was very gentle and kind and would listen. He worked as a steam train driver that, in those days, was quite a respectable occupation. It was probably because of this that he died of bronchial pneumonia at a young age. My grandmother never got over it; she used to sit with her black Persian cat round her neck in a chair by the fire! The cat would spit at anyone who came near! She always wore black skirts and white blouses, but on closer inspection the blouses were beautiful, they had lovely embroidery and lace at the front. She always wore a cardigan with them. I remember her hair also; she had very thick dark hair. She used to wear it up in what she called a cott
age loaf. She could be quite elegant. At one point, I did see a fox fur stole that was in her wardrobe, a horrible thing it was too. I loved all animals, even at that age. My grandmother was just less than five foot in height; she was tiny.

  My aunt was divorced, but it wasn’t until my grandmother died in 1968 that it came to light that my grandmother had signed the divorce papers way back in 1948! My aunt thought she was separated for all those years. I presume, it was because of the fact that she wanted to keep Elizabeth at home with her, rather than her maybe reconciling with her husband.

  Elizabeth was a woman, who had dedicated her life to looking after her mother and son; she did everything in the house apart from cooking. She used to work at the local hotel and ran the laundry there. At this point, most large hotels had their own laundry.

  She also did knitting and would sit in the evenings and make lovely jumpers for the whole family. Aunt Elizabeth taught me to knit as well; even though I didn’t have the talents my sister had; I became quite proficient at it. Each day she came home at lunchtime to check if my grandmother was alright. This involved quite a walk, as the weather could be terrible, very cold and icy and difficult underfoot.

  Her son lived with us; he was a couple of years older than me. He could be a bit of a bully and was quite sly when he wanted to be.

  My sister, Mary, was very beautiful; everyone loved her. She was very artistic also. She had lovely clothes and used to wear her thick hair down. It just seemed as if she did nothing with it and it still looked wonderful. Her schoolbooks were decorated with drawings of flowers. She loved anything to do with the stars of the screen. I know this because I found books in the wardrobe of her room years later. Unfortunately, she also had a temper and did not suffer fools gladly. When she was in her teens, one of the boys upset her at school, she lashed out and he did the same. She ended up losing one of her front teeth because of it. I feel sure my grandmother encouraged her to be like that; she was very fiery. I always felt as if I didn’t quite measure up to her.

  My parents had originally lived with my grandmother when they married; my mother had had all the children at the house where I lived. For some unknown reason, my grandmother turned against her. Why? I never found out. So much was hidden from me; so much was not talked about. I did overhear certain conversations, but could never be sure what had gone on. As soon as I came into the room, there was silence.

  My mother and father moved next door in 1939 when my grandmother’s sister decided to sell her house. My mother was not allowed to see me or talk to me, in fact the only memory I have of her at that age is when one night I crept downstairs, pulled the stool towards the fire and my grandmother didn’t hear me and spilt a pan of boiling liquid over my head and back (still have the scars to prove it). I must have screamed because my mother came in from next door and eventually the doctor arrived and took me to the hospital. Remember, we had no car or phone in those days. The hospital wanted me to stay in, but my grandmother wouldn’t hear of it.

  She insisted that we had to walk two miles to the hospital every day to have my back dressed. It entailed a long journey as the hospital was at the other end of the town. It was a very hilly town, we had to walk down the road and up the other side several times before reaching the hospital. I was four years old at the time and distinctly remember that walk. It was a long way for a four-year-old but I had to do as I was told. My mother never took me, always my grandmother.

  The only other recollection I have of my mother when I was young is being taken to visit my other grandparents who lived in Chesterfield. We went by bus and I think we talked all the way. When we reached Chesterfield bus station, we had to change buses and then eventually arrived at No. 79. This was a Victorian terraced house and I can see us walking down the path, at the side of the house to go through to the back door. I remember going in and being greeted by a large imposing man with a beard, smoking a clay pipe, sitting in what looked to me like an enormous chair. This was my grandfather, Walter. There was a lovely big grandfather clock in one corner by a very large range. It was a warm house as I remember. On the wall, was a painting of a handsome young man that I know now was my grandfather when he was young. I know now that the house was very small, the toilet was in the garden and that my grandfather didn’t like the new electricity, he wouldn’t trust it and insisted that the house was lit by gaslight up until the day he died in 1963!

  My grandfather, Walter, had been married once before, but his wife called Charlotte had died. They had had a child; a boy called Walter after his father. He then married Florence, and she took on the young Walter and brought him up as her own. They then went on to have eight more children, seven of whom survived. Granddad had been a miner all his life but would do joinery etc. He helped the local undertaker make coffins. He worked into his ’80s.

  My grandmother didn’t seem to say very much; she could have been in pain though. She had had a hip operation in the ’50s that had gone wrong. From then on, she had taken to her bed in the front room of the house downstairs. My aunt Sally, had married and lived in Derby, but each day she would travel to Chesterfield to look after them both and she continued until they died. Uncle Reg, her husband, was in a wheelchair following an accident as I remember.

  That day was very pleasant. Aunt Sally cut the bread while holding it in her arm that I found to be fascinating! I got to know this aunt very well in later years. We travelled back home. After this visit, my mother was very quiet in the bus. At least it had given me a taste of what a real family was like.

  My grandmother was a strange lady, she never said much but somehow everyone always listened to her. In short, whatever she said had to be obeyed. I never remember having a long conversation with her apart from when I was being told off! I remember one day, coming home from junior school at lunchtime, which is what I had to do every day. It was a good half a mile walk home, over the field, down to the railway sidings and then up the other side. I sat on the settee and my nose started bleeding profusely. She screamed at me, “My clean washing; you are sitting on it!” I moved very quickly; she wasn’t interested in the fact that I was bleeding. I must have been about seven or eight years old then. One night, I had to scrub the hall floor and the insurance man arrived as I was doing it. He looked at me, taking it all in. I don’t think he could believe it. I was about nine or ten then.

  My Uncle James was a very kind man. He had married and moved away from the family house with his wife. I don’t know what he did for a living, I know he had been in the air force during the war but never discussed it. I know he was very involved with the local church. I think he was a rector there. He took me to the infant’s school on my first day. As I wasn’t used to other children around me, apart from family, I was very worried and clung to him. He told me he would be there outside, waiting on the wall all day! When we came out for a break, he was there, and when I came out at lunchtime, of course, he was there and during the afternoon. I, of course, believed he had waited there all day for me. It was so considerate of him

  I never remember having any friends and when I went to school, was never allowed by anyone in the house to play. I was also never allowed out to play in the street with other children. Thinking about it now, it was a very strange way to bring up a child. Almost as if I was hidden from general view. I have looked through old photos, and there are none of my parents and myself, the other children yes, but me – no. I do remember being well dressed and well fed; we never went without. I used to love making things, sewing, embroidery etc, as I had so many hours to fill.

  Chapter 2

  Mary

  Unfortunately, when she was in her late teens, Mary met someone who was married, whom she had an affair with.

  As a result of this union, Mary produced a boy, a ginger-haired bungle of fun. I know she had a terrible temper, but she was no match for my father. He stood at the door (I was on the stairs that night) and screamed at her, calling her all the names under the sun, telling her that she had disgraced the fam
ily name and that he never wanted to see her again. The man, concerned, moved away. My eldest brother told me years later that my father used to come in from work, take his leather belt off and put it over the back of his chair and if anyone upset him, they would suffer the consequences.

  After Michael was born, my sister met and married an ex-naval man. I was only ten years old at the time. They got married in the local church and what I remember of it; it was a very happy occasion. They went to live in Tom’s house in Denton. Nr Stockport. I only went there once, but remember Tom owned many relics from his days on board ship. He had joined the Merchant Navy as a boy; really, he was very young. They were always laughing; I think they would have been very happy together.

  Two weeks later, my sister either put something on the open fire to make it burn or there was gelignite in the coal – it was never proved what happened. She went alight, Tom was at work, and a neighbour heard her screams and scaled a fence, wrapped her in a blanket to put out the flames. She died 16 days later, nine days before her 21st birthday. When I consider they only married on the 12th October and she died on the 20th November the same year, they had such a short life together. Now I always think of her when it is the night of 4th November, as that was the night the policeman arrived at the house to inform us that she had been burned. I was not allowed to see her, but was told much later that the explosion hadn’t touched her beautiful face – all her injuries were on her body.