Auntie Dot & Uncle Moss

 

Auntie Dot and Uncle Moss.

Auntie Dot and Uncle Moss met through work. They both worked on the buses. Uncle Moss was a driver and Auntie Dot was a conductress. They had no children. I don't know what the arrangements were ie if Auntie Dot stopped working in order to look after me, or if she had all ready stopped work. But she was there for me whilst mum worked. From the age of 5 I would get up on a morning for breakfast, go to school and after school I would have my tea and then watch television whilst waiting for mum. Mum would collect me and I would spend a few hours with her at our own house, 61 West Street. Around 9pm, Mum would take me back to 57 William Street where I would have a wash or bath and then go to bed. On a weekend Mum collected me on a Friday evening and I spent the entire weekend with her, returning on a Sunday evening ready for school. When mum had holidays I would stay with her. The arrangements stayed like this and we were all happy. here were times when I missed my mum and let it be known, but on the whole everybody had my best interests at heart and we soldiered on.

Family Fortunes

 F is for family Fortunes...Dream On!

Junk mail is a common place in the everyday life in the Nesbitt household. This day was no different.
The letter arrived, addressed to me and I glanced over the contents before tossing it to one side.
Did they think I was stupid?
They were after my money, that wasall!
Well dream on soldier, you’ve picked the wrong one here.
I had visions of people all over the UK getting similar letters.
Watchdog would be featuring it as the latest scam…hey I may even be on TV!
The letter was left on the work surface and I carried on with my morning jobs.
Jon came home at lunch time and as we had a cup of tea I remembered the letter.
I showed it to him and we both laughed.
Sure, somebody was trying to trace a Denise Nesbitt! LOL!
There was a number to call…yes right!
No doubt premium rate…yes yes, heard it all before.
Seemed a normal number,
I called.
Answer machine……
I left a message.
Went to the shops.

On my return Jon said there had been a phone call….could I phone again!

Asked for the name on the bottom of the letter…..

A conversation followed, mentioning certain names, dates and circumstances…..I indeed was the Denise Nesbitt somebody was trying to trace.

There have been only a few moments in my life which has deemed me speechless….but this was certainly one of them.

It would seem the family of my biological male parent were wanting to contact me.

I use the words biological male parent with particular care and deliberation. Notice I do not use the words natural father, because he could never be that! People often use the word “natural” as a compliment, as in being a “natural teacher” or “She’s a natural you know!”


NO, certainly not a natural father, he never knew what it meant as he never owned up to the responsibility, choosing instead a life of drink and violence, having several affairs bringing about his business going bankrupt.

I do remember however his mother, my nana from Hull. I also remember her grand daughter; my cousin I suppose called Pattie.

Silence.

I didn’t know what to say.

Panic!

There was a phone number given to me.
I wrote it down.


Eventually I drummed up the courage to make the phone call.

Pattie’s mum. Brenda.

Apparently nana from Hull had always wanted to know how I was getting on and in deed wanted to get in touch.

Following a re-union on some programme or other she had written a letter to the BBC asking them to find me.
The letter was never delivered as she was involved in a traffic accident on route to the post box.
She died with the letter still on her person.

Her daughter, Pattie’s mother was now finishing the quest her own mother had set out to achieve.

When I spoke she cried.
I have that effect on some people, but I did find myself with a lump in my throat.

All these years, people had been thinking about me.



Then she told me….he was still alive.

Well, they say the good die young and this could not have been so true.
When I think of all the lovely family and friends who we have lost and to think HE was still alive beggars belief.

“Your Dad…”
“No, he’s not my Dad” I spoke quickly, didn’t want to utter the words.

Apparently HE has a photo of me as a young child!
Big Deal eh!

I thought of MY DAD, Jack, who had looked after mum and I, helping mum to build a life following the dreadful divorce and nervous breakdown…….I felt I was betraying him, by having this conversation.
Panic again!

Sensing my rising hysteria Brenda assured me she was doing this for her mum, nana from Hull, HE didn’t feature.
“Let’s keep it that way!” I insisted.

Phew!

She was overjoyed, ecstatic, thrilled and emotional.

I was miffed.
Touched yes, people had been thinking and wondering about me.

Brenda gave me Pattie’s number.
“She’d love to hear from you Denise.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

I called….
Tears again, Denise, it’s you…it’s you!

There followed some moments of recollection, memories remembered and shared.


She asked me if there was anything she could do.

Yes….never ever let HIM know you have spoken to me.

I begged.

This was scary!

She assured me.

“Do you have any photographs?” I asked.

She said she would have a look.

I left her my phone number.

To have all of this unfolding was all too much for me to deal with.

That night I talked extensively with Jon…….
What I intended to do…..was it confrontation? Humiliation? Annihilation?

I needed some time to think.

A couple of weeks later Pattie phoned me.
“Pattie, Pattie who?”
I had completely forgotten.
“Your long lost cousin Pattie!”

Oh yes,it all came flooding back.

I explained how, in my own heart and conscience I could never ever have any contact with “him” How, I had a Dad, a proper Dad my own Dad who I had loved, respected, adored and now sorely missed.
I didn’t want to know of “him” how he was, how he had been, I wasn’t in the least bit moved by the fact he had a photograph of me, it meant nothing.
Keeping a photograph in a pocket does not display any great parental quality, it meant absolutely nothing, I wasn’t touched, moved or even bothered,.





The opportunity to reflect came in the form of our wonderful holiday.
In my mind, in my own little world, as we travelled around on the motorbike I pieced together bits and pieces, trying to comprehend the situation, planning how to deal with it all.

I guess a bit like osmosis the important bits filtered through, the rest has simply washed away.

Nothing has changed.

One thing I did realise was the fact that I am Denise Nesbitt. I have no part of any of His name anymore. As a child I just had the name of a person I never knew, only feared. The name stayed until I was married, when I had a choice, when I embraced the name of Mrs Nesbitt. I remember my class of 7 year olds practising, on the first registration following our wedding they all said together, “Good Morning Mrs. Nesbitt!” It brought a lump in my throat.

There may be the odd phone call from Pattie, but that is it. That’s all there will ever be.

I have got this far with those who are with me and have loved me.
I don’t need anything else.

"May the East fling open your windows,
and fill your rooms with air;
May the South send you strong sunshine,
and give you the strength to dare;
May the West wash rivers into your heart,
and oceans into your soul;
May the North share the secrets and gifts of the earth,
to heal and make you whole."
M. Flanders

Nana

 E is for Elizabeth, Elizabeth Elen to be precise, my nana, or grandma a term many of you will use more frequently. My middle name was after nana and our middle goose, Dolly was named again in memory of this great person.

My mum's mum, (my nana) was a Schumacher.
ie, her maiden name was Schumacher before she married my grandad, a farmer from Thetford in Norfolk, when her name changed to "Self"
Her dad was german and moved to England when the unrest in Germany started.
He was a clockmaker.
He moved his family to York, where he had a clockmaking shop.

When the war started he had his shop windows smashed repeatedly, so he moved his family.

I wonder if I am related to the legend F1 driver?

As I explained , mum secured a job as a secretary at ICI Wilton when I was a child. Whilst she was there she met Jack, a great friend who took a shine to mum and wanted to help her get the house sorted. As electronics was his speciality he helped with the re-wiring and other electrical stuff!

Mum eventually introduced him to her own parents.
My Grandad, a man of few words took him out for a walk!
He wanted to know his intentions as Mum had been through so much.
Jack assured him he had her and mine best interests at heart.
Grandad was re-assured and a great friendship was kindled between them.


My Nana really took a shine to Jack.
He would sit with her and talk about this that and the other.
Nana was ill and as her health deteriorated in 1970 we kew she was gravely ill.
On one of his visits as jack sat with Nana she drew him close and asked him to promise he would look after Madge and Denise....he promised.
On June 17th, 1970, Nana died.

I rember nana quite vividly. The storiesour family recall show a family, who, although surrounded by adversity and limited funds had a rich dialogue of their exploits which remain with me to this day. I guess this is where I get my love of story telling from. Tears would flow down our cheeks as each family member recalled events, which however sad were always laughed through, with great understanding.

I remember nana always in the kitchen cooking, fatty cakes, a very basic scone mixture served with gravy.

I still use her green gravy jug which has been used for the same purpose for 3 generations.

I guess I have to keep to some chronological format and write more about my early years.I am going to have to set the scene and this means I have to tackle F for Father.