The Aftermath of War

The main objective of many family researchers is to trace their genealogical tree as far back as possible.  Others would rather study more in detail rather than in depth. That’s certainly my preference. I’d rather learn more about my recent kinsfolk, who’ve played a major part in shaping my life and destiny, than discover the mere names and birth dates of ancestors who are far more remote in lifestyle and genetic profile. This psychological profiling is best done by recording the early memories of elderly relatives, and studying whatever remains of family letters and diaries.

In my last report I used these techniques to reveal how my parent’s generation coped with the physical impact of WWI.  This time I’ll be using them again to trace how my father coped with the emotional traumas that faced him on his return from military service. At the start of the conflict his sister Constance was free of cares. She had escaped the poverty trap, made a successful marriage, and given birth to a longed-for baby daughter. A few years later that blissful world was shattered when her husband was killed on active service. That event destroyed her life. She suffered a nervous breakdown, took to drink and indulged in what an aunt has described as ‘coarse and raucous living.’  My father visited her from time to time out of a sense of duty, but never invited her home for fear she might corrupt the youngsters in the family.

He found it easier to handle the problems left by his eldest sister, Agnes, who had died soon after giving birth to an illegitimate daughter. At that time workers in the East End of London were tough, but maintained high standards of sexual morality.  Any unmarried mother was stigmatised as a ‘fallen woman’, a punishment that was accentuated in Agnes’ case because she was a devout Christian and damned herself for her unpardonable sin. Her mental turmoil can be judged from the agonised notes she scribbled in the margins of her Book of Common Prayer, where she refers to her ‘filthy sins’ and her desperate search for God’s forgiveness. Eventually her health was undermined by her burden of guilt. The family claimed she died of a broken heart, but her doctor reported that she had simply lost the will to live.

The family did their best to give her a ‘decent’ funeral, scraping together the money to print and distribute memorial cards, which were then highly fashionable. Mary, her baby, was cared for by the family.  Her youthful aunts were happy to take her for jaunts in her pram, since that gave them the opportunity to dress in their prettiest clothes and parade their maternal skills before the young beaux in the area. This idyllic state ended with the sudden death of both the family bread-winners, which forced the young folk into paid employment. Mary was placed in an orphanage, where she was taught cooking and housekeeping, so she could eventually take a job in domestic service.

When WW1 ended my father brought her back within the family fold and found her a job as housekeeper to the headmistress of a local school. Here she spent her entire working life, serving more as a personal companion than a hired help. To the outside world she appeared perennially cheerful, but throughout her life she harboured a secret grudge against her mother, whom she occasionally described to close friends as a ‘slut’ or ‘whore’, which was a cruel and totally false depiction. When she was in her late forties she found herself cooking meals for a recently widowed headmaster, who started to make regular, and increasingly frequent, house calls. Her mistress was quite convinced that his interest was in her, since they had so much in common as retired head teachers of local schools. She liked his company, and hoped that their growing friendship would eventually bring an end to her personal spinsterhood. But when the guest finally made his intentions clear, his proposal was not to the lady of the house but to her employee, whose cooking and sense of fun he had grown to value.  So Mary’s life ended, not in poverty as it had begun, but as the chatelaine of an elegant house on the edge of the Epping Forest, Essex.  Mary was too old to have children,  but was constantly buying presents, and cooking food, for the younger members of the extended Norfolk family. I was a regular recipient of her generosity, and now treasure her husband’s gold, half hunter watch, which she gave me when he died.

© Donald Norfolk 2010

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