I visited a side of the family I knew only through the family grapevine of gossip and news.
Years ago accounts of their exploits would reach me and my brother through letters, sometimes word of mouth, if a relative had been to visit, occasionally by telephone.
Today Facebook has kept everyone current and when I visited with cousins whom I only knew by name and reputation, I was surprised that they had news of my dancer daughter who connects with a few of them through this social network.
Why do families divide and separate? We all have our particular reasons. This branch of my mother’s side of the family moved out of London before she or any of her other brothers and the distance they put between them may as well have been 1000 not the 1oo miles it was. The inadequate network of roadways and railway connections in the early 50’s meant this part of the family kept its distance.
This week when I investigated the journey by train I discovered that the main railway station in Rugby, was a twenty minute drive to the small village of Long Itchington where 60 or more of my cousins, once, twice and thrice removed by genes and geography, resided.
We were attending my Aunt’s funeral. She and my mother’s younger brother stayed true to the Catholic faith and had a large family; poor Aunty Vera fell victim to the wrath of my Catholic grandmother every time she fell pregnant. Nana, who had a terrific business head on her, was said to habitually caution her daughters-in-law to,
“Only have children when you can afford them!”
She was canny enough to recognise that post war women had an opportunity to take more control of their lives. She believed children to be a cause of hardship and poverty, which judging by this branch of the family was true enough, but the love abounding from the hardship and poverty was evident in the turn out of loved ones and the tear soaked handkerchieves, at her funeral.
They lived in a small caravan before moving to a council house with a cooker, running water and an inside lavatory. Here they all grew up a happy, burgeoning family undergoing their share of health issues and crises together, providing support and love to each other. My Aunt died in the family home 54 years after moving in. The property was never bought, my Aunt would not hear of her children spending the money. They had to have it cleared out by the end of the week following the funeral to be handed back to the council and let to another family in need.
My Uncle, it was later discovered, was an epileptic. As a child his mother, my Nana, had always thought he was careless for had dreadful accidents, falling down stairs, off his bike and even from building roofs where he and his friends would play dangerous, daring games for a lark. When epilepsy was diagnosed in his forties everyone put two and two together; he still remained the daredevil hero of his brothers and sister, sons and daughters, nieces and nephews!
His work record was unreliable because when he had an accident at work he lost his job. He was constantly looking for work. This financial instability threw my grandmother into a paroxysm of worry over the increasing production of offspring. When the National Health doctors finally came to their senses he was put on disability and their income became steady.
Most of the 60 family members at the funeral were directly descended from Aunty Vera and Uncle Albert, of the six children, five are still alive (one of the daughters, younger than me, died when she was 40 of cancer; she had one girl). There were also grandchildren, great and great great grandchildren. The rest were friends and co-workers and staff from the Day Care centre she attended.
My brother and I looked at each other as we were packed into the village parish church,
No words were needed. The stark contrast between our parents’ funeral and this one said it all.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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