Old Papers…

There is a shelf in Malia’s cupboard that I hadn’t got to yet.

Today I conquered it.  She was at work so I just pulled up a chair and unloaded everything onto her bed and sorted most of it in situ.  It went into three easy piles, keep, throw away, or leave for Vincent to decide.

There were lots of framed pieces of art that brought back memories of walls!  The pictures were the kind bought in department stores like Arding and Hobbs in Clapham Junction.  There was no nostaligic value except for the wallspace they immediately conjured up.  Of these pictures I kept three Hummel prints that used to be on the stairway, a self portrait of Van Gogh that hung in the lounge and an icon-type print of Mary which used to be in their bedroom.  Also in this keep category was a painting I am convinced is an unsigned Barnes; I have it safely stashed away until I can ask the suspected artist on our next trip to Canterbury! The rest are in a pile for my brother to throw away, or give to charity.

I found two very heavy, metal, file boxes and methodically went through them just in case there was any cash lurking between the papers.  No pounds, but I did find evidence of a careful saver and responsible steward of treasure in my father.  His saving habit began as a child with a post office savings book and ended with shares in The National Grid, British Gas and many  other companies that enjoyed the use of his money for decades.  His records were meticulous and I shredded fifty years’ worth of bank statements, receipts and house repairs.  I found the blue print for the bungalow in Broadstairs that caused my brother to comment,

“It’s tiny, what if Vivienne wants to visit?”  I was a newly wed in America with a baby on the way.  They replied,

“We’re not worried about Vivienne.” I left it in his pile to keep as a visual aid to accompany his story…or discard.

There was the rental agreement and inventory for the house in London which they let while they were in Iran.  It had been painstakingly typed by my father, I recognised the typing (!!) and ran to more than a dozen pages.  He was detail oriented and greatly valued at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office where he worked.

In a brown envelope was my maternal grandmother’s birth certificate; her birthday was officially recorded to be on May 10th 1896.  She had always been up in the air about the exact date and we used to celebrate it around April 27th, so…close enough.  I found her second marriage certificate  when she wed my mother’s father, Leopold Henry Barnes, in 1920, both had been widowed.  This moves me to want to apply for her first marriage certificate when she married Mr. Plumb who died from exposure to mustard gas during World War I.  I also found her will which speaks volumes about her responsibility as a matriarch and reveals some early feminist tendencies.

I was humbled by the planning that went into my forbearers’ desire to ensure their offspring would have a secure future.  The older generation did that, they scrimped and saved for their children’s future and I am grateful for that.

Today was a day filled with memories and tears.  A day when I found my parents did care, in their own way.  They struggled to give my brother and me a better life than they had; and while so doing they succeeded in lifting themselves above the snare of the working class.

May they both rest in peace together.

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