My relatives 3 :: My father's family

Jack and Edith, with companion 'Doddy' (left)

My father's parents had left Birmingham some time before we arrived there, and gone to live in the village of Tanworth-in-Arden, not far from our previous home in Henley-in-Arden. Sadly, Gampy Jack had died in 1922 when I was only two, and it surprises me to realise that I have a dim memory of him lying on the sofa in our sittingroom, feeling rather poorly. But I have no significant memory of him at all. At the time of his death, my grandmother's companion - Dora Dodd, whom we all loved and called 'Doddy' - was already installed in the household, and the two women lived on together for many more years, with Doddy acting as my grandmother's chauffeur as well.

My grandmother, whom I called 'Gandee', survived until 1943, and I clearly remember visits to her home, and also her visiting us during the war. At that time, much to my surprise, I discovered that she wore a wig, for her hair was rather thin. I fear me that I may have to follow her example before long. She also told me that she liked to see me with my hair parted in the middle, and that I should never change it. Not surprisingly I settled for a side parting eventually, but I hated to go against her.

My father's older sister Phyllis had married and had two daughters, Cordelia (Cordy) and Mirabel (Mira), and I used to meet these cousins when we all stayed at Longfield, Gandee's country home. Mirabel became my particular friend over the years, and rates second to my Aunt Fay in importance during my early life.

Mira was a year or two older than me, imaginative and daring (or should I say mischievous?), and would lead me in fine romps and fantasies which I enjoyed hugely. In our younger years we dressed up endlessly in the leftovers of our grandmothers' Edwardian underwear, and my mother's fancy frocks from her courting and dancing days in the 1920s. [Many of these would have been welcomed by costume museums, and I now rather regret the way we trailed them round the garden, treading on the hems, muddying and tearing them.]

As we grew up and entered upon adult life, Mira and I continued to spend time together from time to time, sometimes staying at each other's homes, sometimes going on a trip together, sometimes just meeting briefly for a catch-up on gossip. My Coz was my buddy, the one I could discuss pretty well anything with; the one with whom I could engage in lighthearted silliness, extravagant flights of fancy, and endless giggling.

She was also inclined to instigate extravagant pranks, such as the time in a Paris Hotel when she suggested capturing one of the young waiters by throwing a sheet over his head and bundling him into the lift. The embarrassing result of this undertaking was that the young man suddenly appeared in my hotel room at some late hour that night, and had to be firmly talked into leaving again.

As so often happens, marriage and families moved us apart, and our shared giggles became a thing of the past. But they continue to be glowing points of light in the landscape of my past.

Mirabel (left) and Judith at Longfield