MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 22

I’ve been sorting through piles of old photo albums. Some are mine, with photos of the family taken in the 1980s and 1990s, whilst others belonged to my parents and date back before the Second World War. It’s intriguing to look at these photos – there is my Dad, smart in his army uniform. His regiment was the Royal Welch Fusiliers, and he was involved in both the evacuation of Dunkirk and the D-Day Landings. Luckily, unlike so many others, he came back more-or-less sound – he had an ear injury and an eye problem, but was thankfully still in one piece.

During the War Mum worked at Cable and Wireless, and in some notes of hers that I found recently she said, ‘One day that stands out in my memory was the liberation of our servicemen from Japanese prisoner of war camps. They were allowed to send free telegrams to let their families know they were alive. The families were also allowed to send a free telegram back. Everyone worked feverishly to get the telegrams out. No-one wanted to leave their seat. We were so happy to have the privilege to pass on the news to wives, mothers and sweethearts that their menfolk were safe and would soon be home.’    

Dad and Mum did their courting by letter, as he had little leave, and they married in September 1945 in a church which, according Mum’s notes, had been bombed, but there was a small corner which had escaped the damage. There was no music, and the Vicar ‘whispered the words so softly’ that Dad couldn’t hear properly and just guessed at the responses. Mum borrowed a wedding dress from her sister, but because she washed it the lacy fabric went rather limp and so she had to wear a white satin nightdress underneath. Her white satin shoes were bought on Walthamstow market, and she didn’t have many clothing coupons, so ended up buying a ‘going away’ suit with a velvet collar on the black market. They were able to have a wedding cake with ‘proper’ icing rather than the cardboard that many wartime brides had to make do with, because she had an egg. Apparently, she optimistically invited fifty guests, but goodness knows what the wedding breakfast was like, given the meagre rations at the time.

Me as a baby with my grandmother who lived opposite us

Me as a toddler outside our house

Mum and Dad moved to a flat in an old house in Brixton, and I was born a couple of years after. It felt a safe, comforting place for me. My grandparents lived opposite, an aunt, uncle and cousins were in the same street, and another aunt, uncle and my other grandfather lived near, so I always had someone to visit and to care for me. Many of the photos in the albums depict London in the 1950s – my Dad was an enthusiastic amateur photographer, and each weekend we would visit the zoo, or walk along the embankment or go to one of the parks or museums. We lived there until the mid-1950s when we moved to a brand new house in Hertfordshire. I’ve set myself the task of scanning in some of these photos but it will be a long job. Luckily, because I looked at the pictures over and over as a young child, in most cases I have remembered the identity of the people shown in them – it’s useful, especially, that I can differentiate between baby photos of me, several cousins and children of family friends, so I will be able to label them up correctly.

Changing the subject – it won’t be long before Christmas is upon us, and a few days ago I had my first Christmas dinner of the year! I publish my own doll magazine, called Doll Showcase, and Warners, of Bourne, Lincolnshire, print it for me. After we collected the Christmas issue, we went to Waterside Garden Centre nearby, as we had decided to have lunch out. When we arrived they were serving their Christmas meals, and so we had turkey and all the trimmings followed by a delicious cherry-topped meringue. That was an unexpected treat – we thought we would be getting something more mundane, such as ham, egg and chips. So, I suppose I should think about Christmas shopping. As usual, I leave it all to the last minute, then panic!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 21

I was in such a daze the other day that I didn’t know where to look first. I was feasting my eyes on a dazzling array of paintings filling several rooms.  My daughter and I had tickets for the Pre-Raphaelite exhibition at the Tate Gallery, by the Thames in London. I have to admit that I am not a great fan of the underground, because the trains are noisy, grubby, crowded and, well, under the ground, but if I was to see those wonderful paintings, then I had to endure it. Endure it I did, though when we finally embarked at Pimlico it was a relief to be on ground level again!

Ophelia by John Everett Millais

It was wonderful to see all those paintings together in one a glorious display. Paintings such as 'Ophelia', 'Beata Beatrix', 'The Light of the World', 'Hireling Shepherd', 'The Blind Girl' and my favourite, 'The Scapegoat', filled five rooms. I was so excited and was pointing out details to my daughter, telling her about some of the models who posed for the paintings, and showing her what to look for in the paintings when I suddenly realised that I had attracted a small group, all listening in! I have loved the works of the Pre-Raphaelites ever since discovering them as a teen in the 1960s, and have read so many books about William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Gabriel Rossetti and the others, that to come face to face with the paintings was just like meeting up with friends, and quite an emotional experience.

It was the richness of the colours and the incredible detail that really fascinated me – the painstaking attention to a single leaf, flower or butterfly. Surely those artists were amongst the first of the true wildlife artists, even though the nature details just were the background to the main subjects. One of my favourites has always been ‘Ophelia’ by Millais; his painting of a young girl floating on her back in the river and singing before she drowns, though a sombre subject, is incredibly beautiful. The model for the painting was Elizabeth Siddall who posed for the work in a bathtub heated by lamps. When the lamps went out she didn’t like to complain and so later developed a bad cold and her father wrote to Millais demanding medical expenses. Ophelia is covered in a rainbow of flowers, and both they and the stunning riverbank behind her are a triumph of botanical beauty.  I was also thrilled to see my special favourite, Hunt’s ‘The Scapegoat’, which he painted by the Dead Sea. Later, Ford Maddox Brown wrote, ‘Hunt’s ‘Scapegoat’ requires to be seen to be believed in. Only then can it be understood how, by the might of genius, out of an old goat, and some saline encrustations, can be made one of the most tragic and impressive works in the annals of art.’ I loved it!

The Scapegoat by William Holman Hunt

However, what did let the Tate down was the inadequacy of its facilities. Considering the sheer volume of visitors the gallery attracts, both from Britain and abroad, I expected the catering facilities to be, at the very least, able to provide a decent snack and a comfortable place to eat it. There were just a few tiny, tatty chairs and tables, and it was difficult to see what sandwiches and cakes were for sale as they were at the back of the counter. Also, the toilets were not clean – in fact, those in the adjoining Turner gallery were disgusting. The staff at the information desks didn’t seem well-informed, either – we asked at two separate desks in different parts where the iconic statue of The Little Dancer by Degas could be seen. At one desk we were told it had never been in the Tate, even though my daughter said that she had seen it there a few years before. On another desk, they seemed not to have heard of ‘Degas’ and certainly couldn’t spell it. As the shop was selling postcards of the statue, this was rather a let-down. Later, looking at the website, it implied that the statue wasn’t on show at present –I’d have thought that the information staff would have been able to tell me that.

Lambeth Bridge

Afterwards, we had a walk along part of the embankment, which was nostalgic for me because when I was a child, I was taken there for a walk most weekends. In fact, I loved the place so much that I insisted there was always a teddy bear called ‘Embankment’ in the stories my mother told me each night! (Odd child!) Of course, when I was small the Thames was really busy with barges chugging up and down and all manner of craft, but now, there weren’t so many boats, so I contented myself by watching the gulls. It was a bit murky and misty, but good to see that old river again. We couldn’t spend much time there as we wanted to catch the train before the rush hour. Even so, we almost made it to Westminster Bridge which gave me the chance to quote from the special poem by William Wordsworth, ‘Upon Westminster Bridge’ :

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Westminster Bridge

 For those of you who have kindly enquired, the second volume of my book of short stories – mainly humorous – is now on kindle. Twisty Ends and Tangly Tales 2 can be found on Amazon at http://tiny.cc/lzqqmw