Jellied Eels and Zeppelins Page 9

  It was soon after the war, that Jimmy asked Joe and I if we would like to keep Bill, as he couldn’t any longer. So we took him in and, as he had been so frightened of the bombs, we would bring him to Doddinghurst every Guy Fawkes night, to escape the fireworks.

  Ethel and Joe’s dog ‘Bill’

  There was a paper shop next to the ironmonger’s in Walthamstow. One morning, I was walking Bill past the shops, when a man, parking his car close to the kerb, drove straight over a milk bottle. The bottle exploded, scattering glass everywhere. One piece just missed my lower leg, but another shard shot straight in Bill’s right eye. There was blood everywhere. The car driver took him to the PDSA practice at Hoe Street, but the next day he was referred to their hospital at Woodford Green, where Doctor White advised that Nelson, as he called him (!), be kept in. He stayed for a fortnight. Fortunately, his eye was saved, but he did have a big white scar and lost some sight in that eye. I brought ‘im home on the bus, which was a bit of consolation for ‘im, because he loved buses. We found out that his original owner had been a bus driver.

  Every other Tuesday, I would take Bill by bus to visit a cousin of Joe’s. The bus driver and conductress were husband and wife and we got to know them quite well.

  Once, we were a bit late and I thought that we’d missed the bus but, do you know, they waited for us as they said ‘We couldn’t leave without Bill!’

  It was because of his poor eyesight, that Bill grabbed a milkman’s leg thinking it was a marrowbone! But the milkman was all right about it and in fact made a point of coming in to see ‘im every day, he thought he was so lovely.

  It was probably Bill’s eyesight that was to blame again when he grabbed a workman’s ear. He didn’t bite though - he was just a bit wary because of his sight and, when he realised who it was, he went and sat on his lap! Bill loved children too, but once nicked a child’s ice cream outside Woolworth’s in Ilford High Street and I had to go and buy the child another one!

  Bill was about 15 when he died. It broke our hearts when that dog died. He was so intelligent and loving. We buried him in the front garden of our house in Doddinghurst.’

  Twenty-Three

  Collections, Councils and Clubs

  ‘Dad and I started collecting for the PDSA before the last world war. We would often go out at five in the morning to sell flags. Dad would never hurt an animal. Before the war, my Dad used to do canvassing for Allied Supplies and Lipton’s at Christmas time. We used to take a form round to the shops and say ‘Come on, give us some money for the PDSA!’ One year we collected £100 for the animals and they were so pleased with us that they sent us an invitation to tour the animal hospital at Woodford Green, where Bill had been treated. It was wonderful.’

  In 1939, after numerous fund-raising efforts including whist drives and selling books and other items from a trolley which she pushed from ward to ward, and collecting in the Walthamstow carnival for a few years, Ethel was elected a Life Governor of Connaught Hospital. For many years too, despite managing the smallholding and looking after her father (Edwin Turner died aged 91 in 1975), Ethel helped a lot in the parish council:

  ‘I used to go to the parish council meetings every month. They wanted to make me a parish councillor, but I couldn’t have given it the commitment it deserved. I wouldn’t have been able to do all the running around. I had too much to do at home and would have had to rely on other people to help me and I couldn’t do that. They used to call me ‘The Councillor’. I used to love it and learnt more about the village and other things than I would have done if I hadn’t have gone out.

  I also helped run an Over 50’s Club in Doddinghurst. I got involved when I saw an advertisement in the Brentwood Gazette and went along - without Joe. A Mr and Mrs Rushton ran the club. It started off in the large village hall in Doddinghurst then, as the number of members dropped, we moved into the small hall or priest house. We ended up eventually at the Rushtons’ bungalow every Monday afternoon. When they got ill, I helped to look after Mrs Rushton and took over the running of the club for a couple of years until they died. They were lovely people.

  I joined the Horticultural Society as well. I made jam with me Dad. I won prizes - I’ve got all the show cards. I won first prize with my flowers. I had a big spray of carnations one year that I won with.’ (In 2002, Ethel was made an Honorary Member of Doddinghurst Horticultural Society. At the time of writing, she is the oldest member.)

  2002: an honorary member of the Horticultural Society

  Twenty-Four

  Eating ‘Ats and Highway Codes

  After years of having to rely on her husband and father to drive her, Ethel passed her driving test at the third attempt aged 63 and continued to drive until she was 88:

  ‘I’d never even sat behind the wheel of a car before. Joe said that if I ever passed my driving test, he would eat his hat!

  A friend taught me for a while and Dad paid for me to have some lessons too. When I passed, I took off the ‘L’ plates and drove my friend home. Joe was mucking out the pigs when we got there. My friend and I had a glass of sherry each, then she went up to Joe and asked him ‘So when are you going to eat yer ‘at then?’

  Joe never congratulated me or nothing, but I used to drive him backwards and forwards to Harold Wood Hospital when he broke his arm and later, when he was very ill, took him to the doctor’s surgery three times a week. He said to me one day, ‘wasn’t it lucky that you learnt to drive?’ I replied ‘Yes, and you were the one who didn’t really want me to!’

  I failed my first test, because I spoke to the examiner when I wasn’t supposed to. The second test I failed, because the examiner got his coat caught around the handbrake and I couldn’t get away quick enough at the traffic lights. The night before my third test, I sat down and wrote out everything in the Highway Code word for word to make it sink in. During the test, the examiner hardly spoke to me at all until he asked me questions on the Highway Code. Afterwards he said ‘That’s strange - you’ve answered all those questions word for word!’ We stopped by the station in Brentwood and he asked me to read out a car number plate nearby, then he said ‘Congratulations and well done - you’ve passed with flying colours. I couldn’t fault you on anything. I don’t know why you haven’t passed before.’

  A few years before I gave up driving though, I had a conviction concerning what I’ve since called ‘The Bum Man.’ Cousin Flo was paying me a visit. Well, she’d been down here for a week and we decided to go shopping in Brentwood. We were driving along, when Flo, seeing a man bending with his bottom towards the road, leant forward and yelled ‘Look at that silly bloke sticking his backside out!’ I couldn’t see anything, because Flo was in the way, but heard someone shout, so I stopped and backed the car up. A woman told me that I’d just caught her husband on the bottom with the car and that she’d taken my number. By the time we reached home, there were two policemen on my doorstep. I couldn’t prove that I hadn’t hit the man, even though there was no mark on my car. I even had letters from my optician and doctor saying that I was okay to drive, but I was done for ‘driving without due care and attention’ and was fined and my license endorsed.

  I used to drive Dad’s Morris Traveller. When he died, with the money he left me, I bought a Datsun. I decided it was time to call it a day when I had a minor accident and knocked someone’s headlamp. The man drove me home. It was the last time I sat in the car.’

  Twenty-Five

  Dutch Flowers and Scottish Lochs

  When the last of the animals and poultry were sold off, the Elvins were able to go on their first holiday in years ‘with the couple of hundred pounds we had left and our savings.’ Ethel had never been abroad, but in April 1980, when she was 70, she went to Holland:

  ‘We travelled to the Hook of Holland by boat and the sea was ever so rough. During the crossing, which took several hours, we sat and played cards and drank tea, but loads of people were sick. I wasn’t. The trip was organised through the church at Doddinghurst and w
e went to see all the flowers and the carnivals - there were motor bikes with Birds of Paradise all over them. I thought that the people were wonderful, the food marvellous and the markets were gorgeous - we had a lovely time. The hotel was really good. We came back by coach through Belgium and saw all the lovely lace.

  Joe and I also went to Calais for the day for our 40th wedding anniversary. On the coach to Dover, someone gave us a great big apple tart that they’d made for us and we didn’t even realise that anyone knew that it was our anniversary.

  When we retired, we used to go to Norfolk by car to stay with friends and we went to Wales too and had quite a few holidays in Scotland - one year, we had two holidays in April and September. Four of us used to go - my friend Dorothy, who taught me to drive and her husband, Joe and I.

  Fort William was the first one in 1981. The Scottish scenery was gorgeous, especially around Loch Lomond, where our hotel was. I’ve never seen such lovely countryside in all my life - you don’t want to go abroad, you want to go to Scotland - it’s beautiful. At Loch Lomond, when you’re up the top, you look down and you can see all the trees growing up the sides of the mountains. But, if you’re frightened of heights, you wouldn’t like it. The coach is at the top and there’s only a little road - oh, it’s lovely! I thoroughly enjoyed it. The sun would be shining when we went up the mountain, but by the time we got to the top, it would be snowing.

  We took hot water in a flask and teabags with us, so we could have a cup of tea when we was out. We used to go from Brentwood and change coaches at Wembley. We stopped overnight at Carlisle. We had trolleys for our luggage and our own seat numbers and we were insured too. Once, an old chap on board was taken ill. The coach driver took him to hospital and made sure he was all right. He was in hospital for a fortnight. Afterwards, the Eastern National gave him and his wife a fortnight’s holiday and it never cost them a penny.’

  Twenty-Six

  Secrets and Reflections

  Joe died from prostrate cancer in January 1992. He was 88 and Ethel had nursed him for two years at home as she had nursed her parents.

  ‘Joe didn’t want to go into hospital even though doctors advised it. So, I made up beds for us downstairs, but hardly got any sleep. He did go into hospital at the very end and, just before he died, he told me what a wonderful wife I had been to him.’

  At the tender age of 87 and about five years after Joe’s death, Ethel received a proposal of marriage from an old friend, who actually got down on his knees to ask for her hand:

  ‘I told him that I had a good many years with my hubby, was perfectly happy on my own and didn’t want no changes. He took it all in good faith and there was no ill feeling between us, but I couldn’t believe me ears. They couldn’t believe it at the hairdresser’s - ‘Fancy, at your age, getting a proposal!’ they said.

  I think that the secret to a long life is to work hard and to make the best of what you’ve got. Being jealous and envious of other people doesn’t get you anywhere. You should also make sure that you eat all the right foods - I love the good old-fashioned wholesome food and lovely fruit and veg.

  I think that it also helps if you pick the right partner. Although Joe and I didn’t always get on and sometimes, when he was in one of his moods and wouldn’t talk to me, I did think about divorce, I thought ‘Well, I’m his wife and he is my husband.’ When we first got married, I thought that there was no one better. Mum said to me once after we were married ‘You didn’t get much when you were young and you’re not gettin’ much now!’ I never had a row with Joe - I just used to keep quiet. But he was clean living (he said once ‘I don’t allow any rude jokes in my place!’), a good worker and didn’t like wasting his money on drink. I’m not keen on people who drink. It breaks your home up and your money goes when you drink. We had a few laughs, especially when we went out together, but we never went out much when we came down ‘ere, ‘cos there was always too much to do.

  It’s better to turn the other cheek, that’s the way I’ve always been. I used to say to my friend, who wasn’t very patient and who I used to work with during the war making bullets in the factory: ‘Now look here Jean, don’t do that. Count to ten.’ That’s what I generally did - count to ten. I was very patient, but I’m not always now.

  When I was a girl, mostly the men ruled the family and set the rules and boundaries and everyone had to abide by these, or face the consequences. Strict discipline had to be adhered to. In the main, because we were brought up to respect our elders, we very rarely strayed and always did as we were told. My father was very strict, but I believe that on the whole he was fair.

  Today, the younger generations do not have enough discipline, home rules and boundaries to abide by and so the respect for elders and their property is no longer there. Years ago, if we were told not to do something, we didn’t do it. Today, if many youngsters are told the same thing, they do just the opposite as they think they know it all and that there will be no consequences for them. If anyone nowadays tries to check a young person in the street for something he or she is doing wrong - no matter what their age - they just get a lot of abuse or worse.

  I think that things have gone too far and respect, discipline and manners will never come back. I agree, there has been a lot of progress with all sorts of things, to make life easier - health, travel, communication, general standards of living. If only we could get back respect, things would be better all round.

  The war years were very sad years, because you lost so many people you loved. But, that was one thing about it - everyone pulled together and you always knew that you’d get help from somewhere. I’ve got lovely neighbours, but many people nowadays are just out for themselves. If you got bombed, someone would always come to help you. You could leave any doors open and you knew that no one would pinch anything. Nowadays, you’ve only got to blow your nose and someone comes in.

  To a certain extent, I suppose the world wars were experiences that I’m glad I went through, because it certainly made me think and I never take anything for granted.

  And I do think that they were right to have wanted to get rid of Saddam Hussein. But when you think to yourself of all those people who died, that’s what upsets you, don’t it?

  I don’t have any regrets about my life, but I would have liked to have become a proper hairdresser - I would have loved that. Now, I just wish that I could walk better - I used to love walking. Still, mustn’t grumble.

  There’s a lot of people living in this age, who have gone through it all and you never forget it. I can talk, but I can’t write. I can explain.’