Auntie Sally. . . continued

Auntie Sally lived with her sister, Nancy [1], who was the housewife, and the main carer for their mother who lived until well into her 90s. Regretfully mother lived to this ripe old-age without retaining a shadow of her former feistiness (not a word she would have used herself) and, for many years, was afflicted by dementia and – as Auntie Gert put it – ‘did everything under herself’: JH therefore saw the pieces of sheet hanging on the airer – or anywhere where these could be hung to dry – as ‘evidence’ of the two sisters’ commitment to looking after their mother. Auntie Gert said, more than once, to JH, that the sisters always called the doctor to attend to mother should she appear to be unwell – in other words – problems were manifesting themselves which were different to mother’s usual level of awareness. Furthermore, JH never heard any implication that the doctor was unwilling to attend.

JH remembers Nancy – in spite of only meeting her once or twice – as a cheerful lady who did not give any impression of being bowed down by troubles. As I got older, I learnt from Auntie Gert, that Auntie Sally and Nancy were two daughters out of a family of eight children. Auntie Gert only mentioned once [and it was never mentioned by anyone else] that two of the brothers were not able to live independent lives and so lived in an institution - at that time called an asylum - somewhere in the East of London. JH seems to vaguely recollect that she was told that – in earlier years – the brothers sometimes visited their home . . . or their siblings visited them in their asylum.

In the parlour of the terraced house was a small range, ‘let into’ the chimney breast, which was stoked with coke. The room seemed very full of chairs around a table, a dresser, a cupboard, and china – in fact, all the items necessary for just living in this cosy room. The door into the kitchen at the rear of the house was covered with a curtain to exclude the draught when shut, and when this door was open JH recollects seeing a trough sink, and also a spin dryer . . . or did I imagine this, perhaps it was a washing boiler. JH distinctly recollects – on seeing the front elevation of the property – that it was a mini version of Auntie Gert’s terraced house, in other words much less imposing, and probably having been built sometime in the late 19th century.

On occasions, when JH was at the Firm with Auntie Gert, Auntie Sally would take JH out to the local café where she had her lunch; she patronised this particular café because she was known so well there, and so she would be speedily served if she was in a hurry. On one occasion I recollect that the waitresses were hectically busy – and then, accidentally, a salad that had been put on a plate on the edge of the servery got spilt: a chair was put over the spillage; the loose bits were swept up with a dustpan and brush; and a saltcellar was grabbed and the floor liberally ‘dusted’ with salt. Needless to say, nobody slipped up, and service resumed speedily.

When I was an older teenager, I really did not want to be taken out to a restaurant to have a meal, as I really felt very anxious when in a social situation – however informal the setting. So, on this occasion when I went out to a local café with Auntie Sally, I chose a meal which I really felt sure I could ‘stomach’ – mushroom vol-au-vents, as I really loved mushrooms (and still do). I cannot remember what accompanied the vol-au-vents . . . but I recollect, distinctly, finding it difficult to swallow: I gave a bit of cough and said something about having something caught in my throat – whereupon Auntie Sally leaned across to the next table, and asked them for a glass of water out of their carafe, which they obligingly handed to her. Fortunately JH managed to get over her anxiety attack and eat her lunch.

But such moments were to be repeated until JH was almost 18 – and leaving home to go to the cloistered environment of a Student Nurse in a Nurses Home which is now a Hari Krishna Temple in Letchmore Heath: St Bartholomew’s Hospital had evacuated its Nurses Training School there during the war. JH’s mother was undoubtedly also socially inept, but embarrassed by her husband - as she recited to her younger daughter – when Daddy had a banana for ‘pudding’ in a restaurant and sat and ‘unzipped’ it instead of doing the proper thing and cutting it up on his dessert plate. Also my father used to wave away the drop of wine poured into a glass by the wine waiter for Daddy to taste! Furthermore . . JH distinctly remembers eating a meal in a large restaurant in Reading, with Daddy’s insurance colleague who took Mummy and I out for the meal. I probably was about 17 by then, but I declined a glass of sherry or any aperitif of that sort – in spite of my mother’s attempted persuasion – and she was heard to say that I always spoilt things (not quite sure what) by being so reluctant to drink alcohol: she was drinking sherry I seem to recollect. In any event . . . when said colleague went off with his secretary some years later, my mother was heard to say that she was glad that her daughters had not met a man like that!

JH can recollect being told by Auntie Gert that Auntie Sally had retired at the age of 67 – which must have been shortly after Auntie Gert’s own retirement. Apparently Auntie Sally’s departure after so many years service to the Firm was a happy event - insomuch as Lionel Jarvis did tell Auntie Gert that he was pleased the Sally had retired before she became aware that she was just beginning to make errors – only noticed by her Boss who was relieved that Sally went before he needed to point out these errors.

Auntie Gert did of course continue to keep in touch with her life-long friend. She visited the two sisters – not that long after the aged mother had died. Nancy was not well and resting in bed: Auntie Gert took a cup of tea up to the bedroom; Nancy was sitting up; but Nancy had died peacefully just then. Nancy was older than Auntie Sally - so Nancy was possibly in her 70s:– the post-mortem revealed that Nancy had suddenly died from a ruptured aortic aneurysm.

And so death came to Auntie Sally. As reported by Auntie Gert - Sally’s later years were spent alone for periods of time during which Sally had no incentive to look after herself domestically and physically. Both ladies smoked – although not heavily as far as JH could ascertain; Auntie Gert gave up smoking well before she went into the Residential Home – having already mentioned to her niece that she realised how much money she was spending on cigarettes. Apparently Sally continued to smoke more and more, and stopped eating adequately, and finally did not warm up the house adequately. So Auntie Gert told my mother and I that Auntie Sally was admitted to hospital from her home – having been discovered by some good Samaritan – almost ‘out of it’. She was found to be profoundly hypothermic – I seem to remember 92 degrees (Centigrade) being mentioned. Auntie Sally died about 48 hours after admission.

I remember Auntie Sally as a smart, well spoken, lady who, within the conventions of the time in 1941, had become JH’s Godmother, and – in no small way – gave JH affection and understanding during a war, and during the social changes immediately after the war that changed everything for all of us.

[1] JH has forgotten Auntie Sally’s sister’s forename

[2] TOWER HAMLETS LOCAL HISTORY LIBRARY & ARCHIVES
Dear Jeanette Thank you for your email enquiry dated 2 December 2015. The name derives from the native poplar trees.Natasha Luck Heritage Officer (Archives)

POSTSCRIPT

My Niece, Stefanie, visited me in September 2011; my Great niece Hanna, also came with her mother. Stefanie asked me if I could write an account of Ann's and my childhood; Ann had also made this request.

In October 2012 www.thehippoladv.co.uk was launched. In October 2013,1 added the Profiles of my two Godmothers, Auntie Bertha, and Auntie Sally; and of my maternal Aunt, Auntie Gert, to my website. These three ladies figured large during my childhood and schooldays.

Our Childhood Story is based upon actual events. However, NONE of the characters and incidents described, and NONE of the names are fictitious, and with respect to such characters and incidents, any similarity to the names, characters and history of any person living or dead, or any actual event, are NOT in the least co-incidental, and are fully intended - errors, omissions, and offence excepted.

Jeanette