Aunt Bertha . . . Continued

When Auntie Bertha retired . . .
she went to live with her sister because she had no other home of her own. The two sisters moved back to Reading, and subsequently moved house at least twice – at Ethel’s instigation. Ethel had a lot to say about her experiences of running a boarding house in Slough, and her despisal of her tenants be they black, Irish, foreigners, vagabonds, and the rest. When Mummy told Auntie Bertha that Ann was going to marry a German gentleman, Ethel declaimed to her sister ‘If a German steps through my door, I’ll throw a bucket of boiling water over him’. JH doubts that this was said in front of her mother but was undoubtedly related to Mummy by Auntie Bertha: Mummy told her youngest daughter that she had said to Auntie Bertha ‘if that is so, then we are at the end of a long friendship’ . . .. JH has no recollection of Ann or Walter meeting Ethel but they certainly did visit Auntie Bertha, with their two eldest children, after her sister died. Daddy and JH visited Auntie Bertha when her sister was in hospital for a second time with respiratory problems. Auntie Bertha was watching the television – and completely unable to detach herself from thinking – and saying – ‘I think this is the last time that Ethel will go in to hospital and she will not be returning home!’ Death came.

JH’s mother was incensed that Ethel had left monies to the local Dog’s Home: certainly JH remembers there being a black Labrador in the sisters’ home at one time. ‘Bertha could have done with the money!’ was my mother’s assertion. Not long afterwards, Mummy bought Auntie Bertha’s terraced house in North Street, Caversham, so that Auntie Bertha could get some essential repairs done. JH does not know if AB paid M a peppercorn retention rent.

Auntie Bertha was a felixophile – like Auntie Gert. The Parkers had cats – or perhaps the cat in residence was Auntie’s. In any event, Mummy told me that Mr Parker had met Auntie Bertha at the door of Sandisplatt in the middle of a cold night, whilst only in her dressing gown: Mr Parker proclaimed an ultimatum – ‘If you insist on looking for the cat in the cold in the middle of the night – again – I will have the cat put down!’ So as time progressed, my mother took over Mr Parker’s ‘supervisory’ capacity and, after the cat - at home in North Street - had been put in a cattery the first time, and the second time when Auntie Bertha had been into hospital herself with vascular problems in her legs - and became frailer and frailer – the cat was rehoused in the cattery ‘for ever’. Auntie Bertha did undergo some invasive procedure to remove the clots lodging somewhere in the iliac arteries. She came home but, again, collapsed on the stairs and was in such pain, that she banged on the wall of the adjoining house: fortunately this business-like neighbour alerted the emergency services, and the Police had to break in, before Auntie Bertha was conveyed to hospital. Auntie died about a week later.

So sadly . . . the events leading up to Auntie Bertha’s death caused great distress to Ann. Ann was so upset when Mummy told her eldest daughter of her Aunt’s death and suffixed the remark . . . and I own the house’; my sister did not understand why my mother had not told her about the funeral – before it had happened; family events of any sort are most important to my sister and she would, of course, have sent a token of flowers to celebrate this dignified lady’s life, and was planning to come and visit Auntie Bertha whilst she was in hospital.

Even though the friendship between Auntie Bertha and Mrs Hipsey had never faltered, Auntie Bertha had more ‘understanding’ of my mother . . . than Mrs Hipsey ever realised! When she came to visit JH, for the first time after JH purchased Number 64, she expressed appreciation of JH’s management of her household ‘as you have never had to do it before’! Also, this delightful lady – who was taken out by the aforementioned gentleman friend whom JH taught to sail - for a trip in his car into the Devon Countryside observed that ‘. . . he is not the right person for you . . . as a permanent partner, although he is perfectly amenable.’ Furthermore . . . Auntie told me that she had had a beau, but her sister had sent him away because she disapproved of him . . . and Auntie added that she supposed it was for the best as there would have been sex, and that sort of thing . . .! JH was surprised, to say the least, but realised that Auntie Bertha was talking to her Goddaughter who was now ‘Her own Woman!


[[AE]]??Squatters in Nissen Huts?? JH had a conversation on the phone with Ann about this last entry in her letter of 27 October 2015: although I recollected that the families occupying the Nissen Huts in Waltham Road where in actual fact refugees from the Blitz in London, my sister had not remembered; furthermore, all the young children resident in Woodlands Park referred to the residents in the Nissen Huts as Squatters. Children can be very unkind sometimes but I do not think we realised that calling people 'Squatters' was a rude name.

JH has a few tales to tell. In the Village Hall, films were shown to the children. I went once or twice; I can remember quite distinctly a film about soldiers, fighting in the Desert, who had only drops of water to drink from a well (in fact, I think I have seen this film on television since). I found this film rather frightening and told my mother who, I think, was a bit surprised at the subject matter of a film which was shown to young children. I also recollect that two of the children - brother and sister with whom I used to play - tried to sneak in to the hall behind the gentleman's back . . . to avoid paying 3d . . . they were caught in the act. My sister subsequently told me that my friends were not nice, or something like that which actually amounted to a reprimand of her younger sister!

On another occasion, I went in to the Squatters Camp with these two friends to visit a girl whose father had been killed (so I was told). Children talk . . . and I was aware that the little girl's mother was very sad. One of the children (was it me?) mentioned 'Daddy being dead' to the little girl who looked bewildered. I was sad myself when another street-wise girl said 'It only means being covered with big white sheet' which I knew at the age of 9 was just not true.

I was to learn how cruel street-wise children can be. I was walking with Beatrice along the path by the side of the Aerodrome; we walked past one of the entrances to the Camp; three children - all younger than us - came across the road; they took my dolls out of my dolls' pram and threw them around onto the grass verge. Beatrice had a packet of sweets for her dolls but she gave the sweets to our bullies. I am sure that the children knew how frightened I was. No damage was done. Daddy came passed on his bicycle shortly afterwards and I told him what had happened . . . he was most sorry that he had not come passed minutes earlier. I did not cry.