TALES OF MY PARENTS
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TALES OF MY FATHER
My Father ……. Jack-of-all-Trades, Master-of-None ……. an enigma
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TALE FIVE:
THE HONEYMOON ENDS
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As I have said earlier, my father was the type of man who ought not to have married and his discontent began to show after about six months of marriage. He came home drunk one evening and proceeded to argue with my mother. One thing led to another and he threw my mother out of the flat along with an empty suitcase along with her clothes. Unfortunately, he caught three of the fingers of her left hand in the front door as he attempted to slam it shut. She had to go to hospital and have the fingers sutured. I am not aware of all the details, such as the cause of the disagreement, what Miss Burfield had to say about the fracas, etc, but I do know that they had to present themselves before the Magistrate at Old Street Magistrates Court.
Old Street Magistrates Court
Both my mother and father stood before a Magistrate the following the day and my mother said that she was mortified and felt terribly ashamed. She said that she felt like a criminal! She had never been in any trouble with the police before, but had been in court before with her mother after she had been beaten by my mother’s stepfather during a drunken frenzy! Apparently my father stood before the Magistrate in silence and I am sure, with his special meek-sheepish look on his face that most people were taken-in-by and caused them to believe that he was an Angel-sent-from-Heaven and could never be guilty of anything bad!
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At a later time, I will describe how my mother convinced several doctors that I had thrown him out of our home and denied his entrance. I was fourteen years of age at the time!
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Pre-Second World War laws were still very much Victorian in interpretation. This meant that laws supported men in favour of women in most cases. I do not know if Family Court existed at this time, but regardless, the Magistrate spoke severely to both my mother and father and suggested that they sort-themselves-out, as he did not want to see them again before His Court(!) – hardly demonstrating empathy towards my mother and concern for her situation, let alone offering justice. Of course, nothing changed in my father’s behaviour.
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My father continued to work at the Pie ‘n’ Mash Shop after marriage, but my mother did not. I believe that she got a job along with her eldest half-sister at Meredith & Drew, the biscuit manufacturer, in their Shadwell Branch.
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My mother said that while living in Miss Burfield’s house, she suffered a miscarriage. Following this, my parents moved home soon after, as they managed to rent the lower floor of a little terraced house, in Royston Street in Bethnal Green, which is where I was born later in 1943.
Examples of Two Up Two Down Houses
My parents occupied the lower floor of what is known as a Two Up Two Down house. This consisted of long passage leading to a kitchen at the back together with a small Scullery. Off the passage on the right, was the front room, which served as a sitting room/lounge looking onto the street. A second door on the right opened into a large bedroom with a window looking onto a small Yard.
A door from the kitchen opened into the Yard where the outside toilet was found (first door on the right in the photograph above). The daily rubbish was stored in a metal bin, which had to be carried out to the road once a week for emptying.
An Example of a Small Yard of such Houses (borrowed from Alamy);
this is exactly how our backyard looked.
On the left side of the passage way was a flight of stairs to the upper floor, which was occupied by an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Beach. My mother said that they were very nice people and were always good neighbours. While my father was away, Mr. Beach would always take the rubbish bin out to the street to be emptied. Poor Mrs. Beach apparently did not enjoy good health died when she reached her late sixties. Mr. Beach did not do well and slowly developed mental illness and was eventually sent to a home where, it is hoped, he received the care that he needed.
In order to secure renting this house, my mother had to pay Key Money to the agent who came by each week to collect the rent. Key Money is just as the name implies: a bribe (or shall be say, an inducement) paid either to the Landlord or to the present tenant in order to have the right to the property. It is something quite separate from a Security Deposit etc, and if not paid, the rooms or house would be offered to others who were willing to pay this money. The concept of Key Money was not only once common in the U.K., but also in France, as I had to pay some money when I rented a flat in Paris on one occasion. Key Money is not refundable when the tenant vacates the property.
In those days, the Threshold Stone at the foot of the front door was general of a dark red colour. This was brought about by the application of some Red Ochre polish, which the lady of the house would apply weekly. The colour of Red Ochre comes from the presence of Ferric Oxide (Fe2O3), also known as Hematite, which is found in a variety of rocks and soils. The state of the Threshold Stone was a state of pride to the women of the area in those days.
Red Ochre
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Following the outbreak of the Second World War, my father was conscripted and received his call-up papers in 1940. Soon afterwards, he left for training somewhere in Yorkshire. Not long after this, my mother was also called up. Since she did not any children, she was told that she had to either work in a Munitions’ Factory or for British Railways. Since my mother knew a woman who had been killed when an explosion occurred in a Munition’s Factory, she chose to work for British Railways, which was also to prove dangerous (see later).
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