This Is Our Lives

Merle Carol Thirkettle

 

If you had you told me some thirty years ago that I was or was going to be just like my mother, I'd have vehemently denied it and scrutinised myself closely to ensure that there were no signs of it. I used to promise myself that I would never be like my mum. That I wouldn't raise my child the way she raised me. We simply were nothing at all alike, and hopefully never would be. I didn't even look like a child of hers, resembling my father and his family far more closely. But then, time always has the last laugh.

We've had our ups and downs, but in the end, she's my mother and I love and respect her more than almost anyone. I believe without a doubt, my mother is the strongest, most intelligent, most caring person I know. If she could put up with me for 49 years, then she must be amazing. Now that I'm an adult, I see so many characteristics that I have that originated in my mum and I have to say that it really isn't such a terrible thing; in fact, for the most part they’re probably my better points. She only meant the best for me. She always does. I do believe that I'm growing into a woman that is very much an image of my mother and today I can stand up and say that I’m proud and glad of it. My only regret is that I don’t have slightly more of her abilities and strength of character because my adult self knows how truly privileged I am to have her as my mother.

For me, the realisation that I’d become like my mother came suddenly. Ashleigh had been pushing me to the limit and after up teen questions as to why it was necessary for him to wash when it causes him so much pain, I snapped back, “Because I said so.” It was a life-changing moment. I can even remember lying in bed later that night, recalling all my mother's old clichés and trying to remember how many I’d unthinkingly trotted out to him. I looked in the mirror and realised I was even beginning to look like my mother.

When I was young, I thought my mother knew everything. I put her on a pedestal and the only way for her to go was down. But all those years ago she did know everything. Things like what thunder was (coalmen delivering coal to heaven),how to tie shoes, and how to do my Maths . Everything I ever needed to know about life and living life on life's terms, I learned from my Mum. The day I realised that my mum wasn’t perfect, but human was a hard one for me. All my life I had believed that she knew everything, that she could cope with anything, that she was some type of super being who could do no wrong and to realise that this wasn’t so was to take me some years to come to terms with.

The few years following the deaths of my father, brother and grandmother were some of the most difficult times my mother and I have ever gone through. With hindsight she suffered from severe depression during this period and her behaviour and decision making were severely affected. Things that she did at this time, hurt me in a way that I’m only just coming to terms with and affected the lives of all of her children in a fairly dramatic manner. I realise now that a 20 year old with no real experience of life, and who was hurting every bit as badly as her mother could not have been expected to fully understand why her mother was behaving so erratically and with apparently so little regard for her children’s welfare. I realise now, that many of her actions were ill judged attempts to hold onto the children that her erratic behaviour was alienating. At the time I just felt incredibly hurt and isolated and had to rely on my Aunt and Uncle to support me through helping me to provide a home for my younger siblings. Age though has a way of bringing understanding and healing and my mother and I are gradually resolving our difficulties. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for my brother who still cannot find it in himself to lay the past to rest.

Despite these difficult few years, whenever I encounter difficult or unusual situations, I recall my mother’s advice and words, engrained in my memory since childhood, and find that my mother has been right about just about everything.

Of course, my Mum and I still have differences and there are still things I haven't yet learned from her. Some of which, I hope I never do. Like refusing to say sorry or acknowledging mistakes. Sometimes she doesn't always understand me or like what I've chosen for myself. Occasionally, she makes remarks that question my parenting choices. But I hope I will learn how to emulate the way she's there for others, her courage, her involvement in life, her adaptability, her ability to stand up in the face of adversity and fight for what she believes to be right.

She has made mistakes at parenting, but then we all do and because I'm far from perfect myself, I understand now why she did some of the things she did. In the balance of things, the gifts she bequeathed to me by example far outweigh anything negative. I only hope I can continue to learn from her example and develop within me more of her abilities.

I love my mother as the trees love water and sunshine - she helps me grow, prosper, and reach great heights. ~Adabella Radici

I first started to try and find out about my ancestry when I was a teenager. My initial attempts consisted of sitting talking to my grandparents and listening to their recollections of childhood and trying to elicit information about their parents and siblings. It was like trying to pull teeth. Most information was jealously guarded and little was imparted to me. The furthest I got was to compile a list of names.

Some years later, I made another attempt, this time using census and BMD records, but although I was able to expand my list of names, I was frustrated that I knew nothing about the people behind the labels and dates. It wasn't until I began ordering the birth, marriage and death certificates that I really began to understand my ancestors' lives and to get a feeling for the people they actually were. Death certificates in particular, have lead me down all sorts of roads of research and have opened up a veritable Aladdin's cave of secrets.

Over the years, I've steadily expanded my knowledge exploring tiny fragments of information that I have gleaned in conversations until I have uncovered the lives behind the names and dates that was previously all that remained to mark my ancestors' time on earth. You'd think I'd have known quite a bit about my Grandfather; after all it was only about 8 years ago that he died and I'd had plenty of opportunity to talk to him and discover what his life had been like. But, I was never able to get him to reveal anything that said anything about him and what had been important events in his life. Since his death, I've found out so many things that I wished he'd told me about. But, as my mum says, for his generation the major events of life were not discussed, just locked away in the mind and forgotten.

Some things that I did know about my Grandfather was that he'd joined the army prior to meeting my Grandmother and rejoined at the outbreak of the second world war. I also knew that he was British Army Boxing Champion. I only knew this because I remember his house as always containing boxing gloves when I was small and when I mentioned this to my mum, she said she didn't know much about his boxing career other than that he was for a number of years the holder of the British Army Boxing Cup.

Last year, I asked my mother for written permission to apply for access to my Grandfather's Army Records. As his official next of kin, I needed her permission to obtain them and since her own relationship with her father was fraught with difficulties, I knew she would not apply herself. It took some months before I received the records, but when they eventually came, they were full of interesting information and little comments that have lead me off on other paths of discovery.Today, I've created the first pages in an Art Journal about my Grandfather using information that was in his Army Records. There is so much more to record, periods of compassionate leave which I was able to tie in with when my Grandmother collapsed and when his father's drowned in the River Thames, character references, details of the places that he served, and accounts of events and disciplinary procedures.



I love researching my family history. I never know what I'm going to uncover. So far I haven't uncovered any claim to a fortune; only murky and often tragic stories and a few black sheep ancestors, but to me, in a strange sort of way, these stories have turned out to be the pots of gold my husband so desperately wanted me to find.

There have been a number of people who have inspired me in my life and one of the biggest has to be my mother. She is one of the most extraordinary people I know. She was never a touchy, feely mother, I don't remember being hugged and kissed, although I'm sure I was, but I do remember her always being there for me and supporting me.

I was the eldest of five children. My mother once said, "You've never been normal since the moment you were born," and I have to confess that the comment was probably true. But, it wasn't made as a criticism it was stated as a matter of fact with an acceptance that all the difficulties of adapting and supporting my peculiar ways had been worth while.

I was a difficlut child. My mother recalls that she could never put me down otherwise I would scream and scream until I made myself sick. She relates tales of pegging out the washing with me tucked under one arm and not even being able to go to the toilet without me. She tells of how I would hide under the table if anyone came to the house and how she took me every month for years to the hospital before I would lift my head out of her lap and allow them to examine my eyes.

But through it all, my mother was there for me, encouraging me to pay for my own sweets and pay the bus conductors. Trying to stop me working too hard at homework and to accept that what I'd done was good enough. Trying to make me independent and strong enough to face the world on my own. Now I'm an adult, she never interferes in my life, will never tell me what to do, but if ask will present options for my consideration leaving me to make the choices.

All this was done whilst catering for the needs of my brothers and sisters, whilst working full time and in later years whilst nursing my father and brother through terminal cancer. Somehow, through all of this, she also managed to help the community. She was Secretary of the Community Association, made regular trips to Adenbrooks hospital to sit with a mother she befriended as she sat watching her daughter die and helped the elderly who lived by us with housework, shopping and by just visiting and talking to them.

My mother is an extraordinary woman. She is a member of Mensa and really believes in life long learning. She is always tackling some new project. She is an inspiration to me with the way she lives herlife. Nothing ever stops her doing. Things have not been easy for her in life, but she doesn't moan about it she just gets on with life and makes the most of her opportunities.

When I was little, I was often looked after by my Nan and Granddad whilst my parents were at work. It's not something I remember very often, but just recently my niece has been diagnosed as type 1 diabetic and my husband as type 2. This brought back all sorts of childhood memories, mainly because my Nan was an insulin dependent diabetic and we were aware of this from a very early age.

My over-riding memory of my Nan's house was the smell of meths. It seemed to invade the whole house. I can remember the ritual of finding a suitable place to inject, preparing the syringe, wiping the skin with the meths and then injecting. This occurred several times a day and from a very young age, we were encouraged to look out for signs that my Nan was having a hypo - the vagueness, the sweating, the strange smell that seemed to go with it, and having recognised it to get her to have some sugar. My mum recalls that when she was a very small girl, my Nan had a hypo whilst she was alone in the house and the dog, thinking that he was protecting her, wouldn't let the neighbour get near to help. They had to get my mum out of school to get into the house, as the dog would let her in.

I remember my Nan and Granddad's kitchen quite clearly. In the left hand corner by the window was a belfast sink and wooden draining board that would be scrubbed down daily. My granddad used to wash and shave at the sink each morning. Once he was finsihed, he'd put on his shirt and attach the collar; this was in the days when a granddad shirt wasn't a fashion accessory. My Nan would do her ironing in the kitchen. My granddad had built cupboards and drawers all along one wall, many years before fitted kitchens. One of the cupboards he'd designed to incorporate a fitted ironing board. On the back wall was a stove that burnt all day and heated all the water and kept the back bedroom warm.

It was my job of a morning to take my Uncles breakfast up to them in bed. Both Kenny and Jimmy were considerably younger than my mum and so still at home when I was little. I can remember them stretching out as I went into the bedroom to take them a cup of tea. Later in the day, they would torment me and I can remember wriggling about the sitting room floor as they tickled me relentlessly.

The dining room was used mainly as a play room. My grandfather had built cupboards and drawers here too and the bottom drawer contained toys for me to play with a boxing gloves. My grandfather used to box when he was younger and at one stage was British Army boxing champion. There was also a big snooker table which was often covered and used for other things.

Upstairs was a a bathroom and three bedrooms. The bathroom was a real luxury for us, as the flat we were living in had only a toilet in the back yard and a tin bath. Before Jimmy got married all three bedrooms were just that, but once he left home my grandfather converted one of the rooms into a dark room for his photography. Before this, he usually used the bathroom, hence his washing at the kitchen sink.

 

As I've written before, both my ancestors and Eric's contain a number of black sheep. My weekend research uncovered another piece of family history that had been consigned to oblivion. It would appear that my Great-grandmother had an illegitimate son who was born in the workhouse infirmary in 1889. I had been aware of his existence for some time, as he appears on the 1891 and 1901 census returns with his grandparents, I just hadn't been able to tie up who he belonged to. At the weekend I made contact with somebody on genesreunited who had his birth certificate, which clearly shows that he was my Great-grandmother's child with no father listed on the certificate.

It would appear that when Matilda met my Great-grandfather she abandoned the child to her parents to bring up. My grandfather never mentioned him to me, so I'm not sure if he was aware of his existence. How times have changed. Nobody would bat an eye at illegitimacy today, but this is such a modern thing, even back at the end of the 1970s when my sister was pregnant and unmarried it was still considered quite shameful. Back in Victorian days it must have been even harder, although my research has shown that it was far from uncommon. I can't help wishing I knew more about this. What were Matilda's feelings? How did she feel about leaving the child to her parent's to bring up? How did he feel and how did he turn out? Hopefully, some time in the future I'll find out some more about him. How many other secrets are there still to be uncovered?

Watergate Street Deptford was an ancient Deptford thoroughfare and the main access to the River. In the 17th and 18th centuries many of the town's leading citizens lived there in good houses. However, by the mid 19th century the area was already beginning to see a down-turn as many of the houses were used as lodging homes and by 1933 the area had deteriorated still further with many of the houses having been demolished and the area had deteriorated into a slum.

And, so it came to pass that on the 18th December 1933, one William Thirkettle, for reasons unknown, found himself in Watergate Street where, again for reasons not known, he took off his jacket and hung it on the stair head by the river. What transpired between that time and the time when he was found dead, floating in the river remains a mystery. What he was doing in Watergate Street when he'd only gone to have a shave is also something unknown.

William Thirkettle was my Great-grandfather. I discovered that he drowned in the River Thames when I ordered his death certificate as part of my family history research. My mum knew nothing of the circumstances of his death and didn't even know that he'd drowned. I find it rather strange that my grandfather never told me about his father's death either. I can remember sitting with him on several occasions talking about our ancestry and he gave me lots of details of their origins in Norfolk and his siblings and parents, but, not once did he mention the circumstances of his father's death, even though he must have been fully aware as he was a grown man at the time.

The inquest officially returned an open verdict. There was no major investigation and one day after he was found dead the inquest was held and concluded. Very different from today, but then he was a poor labourer. Officially, it was said there was no reason to suspect a suspicious death, but if you read the newspaper reports of the inquest, I feel that there were many unanswered questions that should have been investigated.
Kentish Mercury Friday 22 December 1933

DEPTFORD MAN FOUND DROWNED
OPEN VERDICT AT INQUEST

Finding that there was no evidence to show how he came to be in the water, the Coroner (DR W H Whitehouse) at Deptford, on Tuesday, recorded an open verdict on William Thirkettle(68), a decorator of 51 Church Street, Deptford, whose drowned body was taken from the Thames at Watergate Stairs, Greenwich, on Monday afternoon.

The widow, Mrs Matilda Ann Thirkettle, said he had suffered from rheumatism and sciatica for about a year. On Monday morning he left home to get a shave. Later she was told he had been found in the river.

William Charles Howlett, of 74 Napier Street, Deptford, spoke of finding the body. Artificial respiration was tried without success.

Dr Arthur Davies, the pathologist, who made the autopsy, said there were some bruises on the right side of the face and forehead. The heart was in an extreme condition of aortic stenosis (a form of heart disease).

Death was due to drowning, but it was not improbable that the man might have had a sudden attack of faintness before he was immersed in the water.

The verdict was as stated.

A son of the dead man said, "I wish to thank the man who tried to do their best for my father."

KENTISH INDEPENDENT Friday 22 December 1933

DEPTFORD MAN DROWNED - OPEN VERDICT AT INQUEST

An open verdict was returned at the Deptford inquest on Tuesday on William Thirkettle aged 68 0f 54 Church Street Deptford, who had drowned in the Thames the previous day.

The widow, Matilda Thirkettle, gave evidence of identification and said that she did not see her husband after he left home on Monday morning when he said he was going to be shaved.

William Howlett, of 74 Napier Street, Greenwich, stated that on Monday afternoon he noticed a coat on the stairhead at Watergate Stairs, Greenwich. Then he saw a body floating and secured it. The body was placed on a barge.

Dr Arthur Davies, pathologist, Harley Street, said Thirkettle's death was due to drowning, but it was not improbable that a sudden attack of faintness may have overcome Thirkettle before he fell into the water. There was nothing to indicate foul play.

When I discussed this with my husband we both wondered the following - what was he doing there? Why did he take his jacket off and hang it up, it was after all the middle of December and not summer - they used to do this if they were going to fight, was this why? How did he get the bruise on his face, was it merely from toppling into the water or was it the result of a punch or other similar blow? Why if there was nothing to indicate foul play was an open verdict recorded? There was nothing to indicate suicide either and the circumstances don't seem to suggest that.

My mother tells me that it was at about this time that there was a split in the family. It was before she was born, and she never knew the reason for it, but it was a bitter split and several of the siblings never spoke to each other again. Was this in any way connected with their father's death? I suppose I will never know the answers, but that's what's so intriguing about family history, you discover one thing, but it almost always poses as many questions as it answers.