Nella Last's Peace

by Patricia Malcolmson

  Wednesday, 9 June. Lucky it was I had tea ready early – tinned chopped ham and salad, wholemeal bread and butter, honey and sponge sandwich – for my husband came in so cranky tired, and nothing upsets him more than not to have a meal ready to sit down to. I couldn’t but reflect that it’s generally the most muddly person who insists on the peak of perfection in others. He ate his tea without one word of appreciation, as usual. I looked at the bowl of roses, my snowy lace and linen cloth, and wondered as often if women did dress or do things as much to please men as to satisfy some kink of their own. For what appreciation most of us get, we might as well serve food in a nose bag!

  Friday, 11 June. I came in just before ten o’clock in the evening, wondering if there had been a phone call while I was out, wishing I could hear how Edith was before I went to bed. Just as I made supper, it rang, and Arthur’s delighted voice told me they had a baby boy – their dearest hope. He is a strong, lively baby with a mop of black hair. Arthur is thrilled to the core. I don’t think he has ever been very close to a new-born baby since Cliff was born. Edith is well and very happy. I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it’s with her having a miscarriage before that has made me feel so anxious. Cliff will be delighted. He never had the least interest in baby girls. I wish we could be nearer, to go straight away to see him. With the Barrow plane being forced down in the sea – three of the young fellows were known personally in the street – my husband won’t go from Walney in the eight seater, so we will book from Liverpool and fly from Speke and I’ll book and fix all up next week if I can, to go mid July.

  * The well-paid magistrates’ clerk for Barrow and Ulverston, a married man in his fifties, had recently left his wife in favour of a woman in her thirties, also married. The scandal was a major topic of conversation in Barrow.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CLOSE-UPS

  June–December 1948

  In the second half of 1948, there were holidays for the Lasts: a coach trip to Torquay in late June, a week in Belfast in July (they met grandson Peter), various outings in the North, and a day trip by coach to Scotland. There were also deaths – Aunt Eliza in July and Nella’s father-in-law in early September. There were several meetings of the WVS and other social events, and some evenings at the theatre (Nella and Will still went to variety shows). There were also stresses and strains in the family, many of them relating to Nella’s in-laws. Coming back from Coniston Water after a Sunday drive on 8 August, she and Will visited his parents, who ‘don’t and never did welcome callers’.

  Sunday, 8 August. We didn’t stay long. I longed to open windows and doors, pour disinfectant down drains and wash bowls, anything to sweeten that dreadful fetid air. I felt choking too with the utter unconcern and lack of interest in them both, beyond the weather and the price of coal. I couldn’t raise a spark of interest. They were not concerned about Cliff, or little Peter, or anything. I felt that beyond breathing, they had died long ago! I felt little worry thoughts chase round in my head as I came home, wondering what will happen if they should need care and attention through any length of time. They so hate to be ‘bothered’, as they call any attempt to do anything for them.

  Monday, 6 September. I got some nice filleted plaice and decided as I’d time to take my mother-in-law’s groceries and the fish. I found all in an upset. Dad had fallen out of bed – he did on Saturday too – and my husband and one of the men were struggling to get him lifted and put back. I felt ill when I went in, and at the sight and smell of that room I felt something click in my head and one of my rare icy rages sweep over me. I felt as if I hated the whole family – hated them for their lack of common sense, decent feeling and all the little kindnesses and loyalties. I felt, ‘Darn it all, they have less humanity than decent cats.’ I walked downstairs and phoned for Harry, stressing the point he must come at once, and by the wee man they both got to hear a few things. It’s years since I put the wind up the lads when they went too far, but my tongue rasped as sharp. Neither my husband nor his brother were left in doubt as to my opinion of their slackness in letting old people rule them and get into such a state. One thing made them sit up. I pointed out if anything happened to Dad, there would have to be an inquest and people would have to go in then, and if they didn’t mind shaming, I damn well did, and from now on things were going to be different. I insisted on the doctor being sent for. Harry went for Flo, and we made up the bed in another room. I washed the window and Flo scrubbed the floor. I ruthlessly sprinkled disinfectant everywhere, not caring if it stained the carpets, and Dad was carried into the clean room, to wait for the doctor. I’d our bacon ration with me and cooked most of it for my husband, and Flo went for bread and cakes, and we had cheese. I left before the doctor came. It was my husband’s and his brothers’ and sisters’ affair.

  I felt so edgy and nervy, and it threatens rain again. I got the rest of the ramblers and climbers pruned, with the window open to hear the phone if it rang. Dad slept soundly, not waking even when the doctor came. He left tablets to help him sleep if needed, but he could always sleep well. My husband said, ‘He cannot do anything – we needn’t have sent for him.’ I hung up. I felt I’d stood all I could without further argument. I thought of Harry’s wife’s words: ‘You know, Nell, it would be God help us if we were ever very ill and it was left to these two saps to care for us.’ It was only temper that kept me going. I suddenly felt as if I was going to pieces, and had to relax on the settee, and then was very sick. I’d some brandy, and laid on the bed and drifted off to sleep, waking just in time to make tea. I put cheese and tomatoes, wholemeal bread and butter, honey and cake on the table, with a come-and-get- it feeling, and went to lie down again. My husband brought me some hot tea, and it pulled me together, and I insisted he got the car out and we went down with clean pyjamas, sheets and some old sheets I’d meant to put ‘sides to middle’,* and Harry had brought the cotton wool I’d told him to get. No waterproof sheet. No attempt at ‘pack’.† No wonder the place smells so, for the poor old man has had no control for weeks now.

  I looked at my mother-in-law and realised how impossible it was she should come to live with us. She would drive me as batchy † as herself, for our ways – little fundamental ways – are so different. If she was bedfast, I could care for her and keep her clean, but not while she was about. Flo or Elsie must have her if she is left alone. I thought, ‘If I’d past kindnesses to repay, memories of any occasions where I’d felt I owed a debt of gratitude, it would have been different.’ Only a stern sense of duty would affect me now.

  Not all days were this dispiriting, and the happiest incident this summer occurred on Tuesday, 24 August:

  Margaret had sent to Hutton’s of Larne for a catalogue and then a piece of linen for a big tea cloth – she likes the way I always lay a ‘nice’ table. Mrs Howson came to see what she had got and to see the catalogue, and we were sitting happily discussing linen, ‘bottom drawers’, etc., when there was a ring and I went to the door. A radiant, laughing-eyed woman seized me in a loving hug, saying, ‘I’ve caught you in this time.’ It was Jessie. I looked at her and couldn’t speak. I felt tears brim and fall down my cheeks as I said, ‘Jessie, my dear – I’d have passed you on the street and not known you.’ George was with her. They came in for a few minutes. She had been to get her hair permed. She said, ‘I’m going to try and repay all your kindness, though I shall never be able to tell you how much your letters and papers meant, even more than the flowers and “tit bits”. The sister and doctor used to be interested in all the cuttings you sent and we all used to read them, and once the doctor said, “Well, it seems the papers do still have happy bits of news” – and he bought his wife a Siamese kitten because he said Shan We seemed such a pet.’ Mrs Howson is very tender hearted, and Margaret too got weepy. George looked at us all and then at my husband and said in deep disgust, ‘Wimmin’, and it made us all laugh. I said, ‘It’s all right for you. You remember this happy-eyed Jessie – we don’t.’ He shook his head and said, ‘No,
I never saw her like this. I think I’ll keep this one instead of the Jessie I used to know. I feel we are going to have such lots of fun together.’

  We seemed to laugh and talk nonsense, and a remark of Jessie’s made us laugh out loud, as she said seriously, ‘George said you gave him the most comfort and hope of anyone when one day you “snorted” at him and told him that the only thing wrong with me was that I was buggered and you laid down the law about one thing piled on top of another.’ Mrs Howson looked a bit startled, but no one knew how worried poor George was that day, or that he had such a deep fear Jessie’s mental trouble would mean she would have to be kept in Lancaster for a long time, perhaps years. I’d forgotten what I had said to comfort him, poor dear, but it was certainly an odd way to comfort a man, and I laughed with the rest. She said nothing about giving up her home, and I don’t think she will do so. It would be a tragic error. Jessie begged us to go up and see them at Broughton if we can. I’ve hesitated to call. I don’t know the mother so very well, and felt I might have intruded, but Jessie was shocked at such an idea. They hurried off to catch the 7.30 train, and soon Margaret and Mrs Howson went and I began to iron, a feeling of such deep happiness in my heart I’d not felt since my Cliff began to walk with only a slight limp.*

  Much of Nella’s activity this autumn revolved around the aftermath of her father-in-law’s death on 9 September.

  Friday, 10 September. I’ve felt baffled this week. I’ve cudgelled my tired head, trying to see a way out about Mother’s future, getting no help, feeling it was left entirely to me to arrange something, others blandly believing ‘something will turn up – it’s no use upsetting ourselves’. It was such a fair sweet morning, and I persuaded Mother to go for the bread needed, so she would get out a little. I heard a step outside, and it was a very old acquaintance, known to the family for as long as I can remember. She and her husband kept the Church Institute, later the YMCA Hall. He died a little time ago and she is getting past great effort – she cannot be much under seventy, but is very active and clean as can be. She had called to offer condolences, and came in to wait for Mother. She talked of old times when we were young, and seemed so very down, and I learned she had got a month’s notice, given very curtly after twenty-six years’ good service. She said, ‘And where I’ll get a house or flat I don’t know.’ A thought sprang into my mind. I’ve prayed so hard that I could find someone, but I dared not broach the subject till the family knew. They don’t mind ‘bossing’ if they don’t know! My sister-in-law Nellie came in and spoke a few words, and Mrs Brown went out. We looked at each other. Neither wanted to speak first, and just then my husband came in and we both eagerly put forward our plans. He dashed off without delay, and with a further talk, we arranged everything. In return for two bedrooms, the bathroom and a large sitting room – all empty, which we will have freshly decorated – she will do odd jobs like steps and windows, stairs, back kitchen and washhouse, do any shopping and take bills and letters safely for the shop. Mother knows her so well she consented without further trouble and added that electricity for cooking and light and a share of the fire in the dining room if she cared, on winter evenings, would all be included. Flo and Elsie, Nellie and Harry were delighted and the latter said, ‘Trust our Nell to find a way. I’ve never known a problem she couldn’t solve.’ I shook my head and said, ‘Wrong this time, Harry. This is a direct answer to a prayer, believe me.’ It made my endless task of tidying after Mother, trying to clear out drawers and cupboards, seem light.

  The funeral was the following day. Then several days were consumed in cleaning the exceptionally filthy and slovenly house (‘curtains in rags, not a decent cooking utensil of any kind’) and disposing of quantities of rubbish, while contending with the erratic behaviour of the new widow. Nella spent much of the week at 73 Greengate toiling to bring some order out of chaos. ‘It’s been a day to set one wall climbing,’ she wrote of Wednesday the 15th, before enumerating the day’s frustrations. Disputes erupted, notably between Nella and Harry’s wife, Nellie, which the two brothers were drawn into. ‘We all parted on reasonable “friendly” terms,’ Nella wrote on 16 September, ‘but I took a solemn vow that after Mother’s death, the whole lot could fry. I felt I would avoid them like plague patients. I felt as soiled mentally as I’ve done literally this week, by handling dirt and squalor I’d not let strangers see. I told my husband so, and to my surprise he said, “Nell, you’ve been an angel. You’ve stood too much already, one way and another. I wish we could clear off to Australia.”’

  Friday, 17 September. It was a real effort to rise this morning. Only the thought of the upset and Mother being on her own and wandering about got me up and out. The plumber put his head round the dining-room door and said, ‘How are you feeling today, ma?’ I said, ‘Not too good’, and he insisted on making the fire and suggested I lay down on the sofa, which was covered with a dustsheet. I did, and he soon made the fire and said that water would be on very soon. He said, ‘If that woman comes upsetting you again, give me a call and I’ll chuck her out.’ I said, ‘It’s not as easy as that. She is my mother-in-law.’ And he said ‘She’s barmy anyway’ …

  Getting lunch ready was a task. What should have been half an hour’s work was over one and a half, for she had to be watched constantly. She turned out the stove, or turned it up too high, and worried the workmen incessantly by hiding their tools away. How Mrs Brown will manage her I don’t know. One thing, with her only having the old age pension – she is over sixty-five – and houses or flats being so difficult to get, she may find a free home, light and coal compensation. Me, I’d rather live in a hut on the seashore, and beach comb for fuel.

  Tuesday, 21 September. The amazing strength of my 80-year-old mother-in-law has to be seen to be believed. She must rise about 7.30, for she has breakfast and nearly always walks the mile from Harry’s, where she sleeps. She never sits down all day except at meal times, and she keeps jumping up often as her wandering mind impels her to see to one thing and another. Her energy is all so wasted. Not one positive thing does she do all day, beyond her fierce determination to pile chopped sticks in one corner of the dining room and coal in the other! By the time I’ve made lunch my back feels as tired as my ankles and knees. I crave to relax, but by four o’clock I’m exhausted, while she still scatters round with seemingly fresh energy! Today I fried them bacon and egg, and there was tinned soup added to Bovril and grated onion, potatoes, cauliflower and steamed suet pudding, heated in sauce. I felt better to stick to my light diet again, for my digestion seems to have gone back on me completely. Much of my time has been taken trying to keep Mother off the paint till it’s dry. Today she leaned against a wall in the hall and brought off a patch, clean to the newly plastered base, where it had needed so much touching up …

  Mother cried a lot today, not the easy tears of old age, but deep sobs that shook her poor little frame. I think she is beginning to realise Dad has really gone. She lamented, ‘No one wants me’ and ‘I don’t know if I’ll like Mrs Brown.’ I tried to comfort her by saying Mrs Brown knew more stories about people and things than I did, and how cosy they would be sitting talking by the fire in the winter. But it’s hard she should have to make a change at eighty.

  Monday, 27 September. I’m so thankful tonight. Mrs Brown got part of her furniture moved, including beds, and made a bedroom ready to sleep tonight, so I won’t have to go down each day again. It’s been such a heavy, really hot day, with drenching showers of rain. I had a fire lit. I’ve had a quiet amusement, which today came to a climax, when I gently broke it to the two daughters that things were going to be different altogether in the future. Mother loses everything she touches – it worries her to distraction, and everyone else near her, when money and keys go. She would never relinquish the keys of the shop and yard, but I’ve got them off her. She thinks she has lost any extra ones, and there’s only the ones my husband has. After real tear-ups to find her purse and £5 in paper money disappearing altogether, I told my husban
d it was best not to give her £2 10s housekeeping in notes on a Friday. She’s not had any left on Monday for months and asked for ‘Bank money’, as she calls her own little income, out of the safe. As since Xmas she has got rid of £59 and not spent it on the bare decencies of life, I knew that had been given away, or lost …

  Flo said in her whining drone, and her lovely but vacant blue eyes widened, ‘Elsie and I think it seems unnecessary to spend so much when Mother is eighty, and mightn’t live long.’ I said coldly, ‘Mother has only been eighty since April, and by the look of things she hasn’t renewed much since I left Greengate, which is twelve years ago. You know they would never have got into this state if I’d been living near and going in every day as I used to do.’ Most normal daughters would have bitterly resented an in-law taking command and bossing round as I’ve done this last fortnight, but they have meekly scrubbed and cleaned while I’ve raged and sworn, as I scrapped soiled rubbish, and given opinions unasked about things in general. Instead, as we shook the hall runner, and folded it before the men began to carry furniture in, she said, ‘This will be the last time we will be here together, but if you ever want any help or are ever ill, just send for me and I’ll come.’ I might have felt more grateful if an unjust thought hadn’t popped into my head that as a ‘limpet’, she sought some place to cling, and to her advantage. I thanked her and said I’d remember, and she added, ‘Being all together has made Elsie and I talk of when we were little and had to turn to you for any fun, like Xmas trees and fireworks and duck apples. Remember the fun of ducking for apples, and how you bought soft pears for Elsie because her teeth were so bad she couldn’t bite into any hard apple?’