Remembering my mother at 92. ( an excerpt from a work in progress
“My mother on the other hand worked in the home, which I can see looking back wasn’t an easy task, the old black gas cooker, no washing machine and all those clothes and dishes, work, work, work, never hungry, never sad ,that I can remember anyway, my mother had to be a wizard in philosophy, economics, relationships, a cleaner, a chef and a friend ,but was not shy at times to produce the wooden spoon, enough said. They both loved the bingo, their only escape from the daily running of the home, both teetotallers although never objected to any of their children drinking. The old photos of my parents beam the love and affection that they had for each other. I admire my mothers strength and her unwavering religious belief, seen especially after the passing of my father, which must have been a real test of all that she believed in. Of course she had lost her confidante and friend , but none of this seemed to impact on her everyday job of keeping her family together.
The door in our house was always open to whoever came to visit, be it for a friendly chat or anyone with a problem, big or small my mother ( as I’m sure all neighbours past and present would attest ) would be there to console and give them advice as well as run her own household and keep it together, something we should be all thankful for. She was a strong country woman of her time living for her family and thankful for the life she had. I can just see her long black hair, standing at the sink washing clothes by hand or the numerous dishes that would accumulate after meals no such thing as a dishwasher back then.”
(the pipe always reminds me of my father)