Now I have two cats....a dog...etc. Part II

After more than two years exiled to Auntie Betty's home, I spent my summer holidays with Papa and Nanan at 20 Church Hill, Walthamstow - the only home I knew until I returned from evacuation in 1943 to live with my parents in Cricklewood. When mother and I came back from a seaside holiday in August 1933, I was dancing around with excitement every day because I was going to Boarding School in September. However I had plenty to keep me busy until then. Unfortunately dog Trixie's bed was already too small for me to get into, so our relationship had to change a bit. Since I was old enough to stand,Trixie and I had been the best of friends. She was a black, smooth-haired terrier and had golden eyebrows. Her bed of blankets was in the bottom of one of the kitchen cupboards and when she knew she had been a bad dog she would creep into her bed. Being her best friend, I crept in there too just to keep her company. It worked both ways: when I had been naughty I disappeared into Trixie's bed and she followed me there to keep me company.If someone took Trixie for a walk and I still could not be found, Nanan or Papa knew where to look. I was usually there. At that time I don't remember two cats, only one. I never got to take Trixie for a walk, though. One tug at her lead the only time I insisted on walking her, and I was flat on the pavement crying my head off. Papa never walked her either. I think that was because he had a limp and walked with a stick. 1

Two years before I was born Papa was tipped off a platform of wooden boxes when he spoke in support of a general election candidate.He was rolled into the gutter and attacked;one of his knee caps was shattered. Part of the person I knew as my grandfather walked with a stick, was tall and broad-shouldered and never went out without a hat - either a black Bowler or Homburg.He and Nanan kept open house, so people were always coming and going. Sometimes when Papa went out to meetings, Nanan looked after me. I suppose she really fitted me in with whatever she was doing; so I went to quite a few funerals; met the (to me) old biddies she called her friends and nibbled innumerable cakes to keep me quiet while they talked. I don't remember any of them wearing anything but black: long dresses or skirts, shawls and,when they went out, black hats, coats and gloves. Most of them had lost a husband,or a brother, and/or one or more sons in the First World War and,in the 1930s,there was not much money to go round. Nanan's dresses were grey and sometimes blue and she made them herself.  Papa had an old age pension - 7/6d a week - on which to keep both of them and me in the holidays. Seven and six pence was about one fifth of mother's weekly wage which, I discovered years later, was a good one in those years of £2. I didn't really like having to go out with Nanan. Staying at home and playing games with Papa was definitely more my style.  2

Papa's study overlooked the yard running down beside the kitchen and scullery. His window was high up and the wall beneath it was a marvellous place to bounce a ball against, until the parlour window was opened and a stern voice told me to stop banging on the wall and come back into the house. We could neither of us win in that situation: Papa could not play with me all day and when he was busy, unless it rained, the only place I could play in was the yard. I had a ball and a skipping rope and that was it. When it rained I sat in the kitchen, spread women's fashion magazines all over the table and cut out pictures of brides and bridesmaids. Nothing else. Just brides and bridesmaids. When Papa came for his tea, he had to clear a space for his cup and saucer. And I was too big for Trixie's bed! Papa had a big, floppy moustache which got wet when he drank. He used to play a joke on me when he had his tea. In went the sugar which he stirred round and round. Out came the spoon, hot and wet, which he then stroked across my cheek. He never understood that the hot wet spoon hurt, but would laugh kindly, his eyes disappearing behind his rimless pince-nez spectacles when I cried out in protest. 3

Papa was a great one for playing Patience. The cards he used were quite small so that they would fit on to one of the table flaps.He would set out the cards in rows of from nine to one, which then had to be collected in numerical order of the suits - hearts, spades, clubs and diamonds. I would sit on the arm of his big armchair, feet tucked beneath him and watch carefully for mistakes. He always made mistakes, so of course I had to point them out:4

"Papa, you've put the five on the eight. You know you can't do that." 5

- "Dear me, so I have. That was very careless. Good job you were watching!"6

- "Yes, it is. You'd never do it right if I didn't watch you carefully!"7

It was years before I realised that the mistakes were deliberate.8

Then there was the game of sending Uncle Frank a message in code. Papa read magazine stories about the wild west. So did Uncle Frank. I'm not sure, but I think the game was made up for my benefit. Papa made up a message and wrote it on a piece of paper. Then I had to find letters in the printed story to make up the words on the paper, which Papa would underline in ink. It took a long time, as did the Patience with mistakes. I never had any suspicion that playing with a little girl was not the height of a grandfather's ambition. I loved playing games with him, so he loved playing them with me. Just like with Trixie and me.Logical, really. 9

I used to run errands for Nanan and Papa. Nanan's were household ones, though I had no success at all the day she sent me to buy two pennyworth of elbow grease. I came back without it and couldn't understand why she laughed at me for being such a goose. Papa's errands were usually for tobacco: a  round silver tin of Four Square brand and "see if Mr.Prowse the newsagent has any broken biscuits for you as well". Broken chocolate biscuits were a very special treat. They always tasted better than whole ones.  10

Nanan had a lovely voice. Sometimes of an evening when they had people visit she would sing and Papa would accompany her on the piano. I was usually in bed long before the evening began, but often I used to creep downstairs, sit on a stair and listen while she sang. When I was old enough to sit on the piano stool Papa wrote the names of the notes for the right hand above the music on the page, so that I could learn to play the nursery rhymes in the book of words and music he gave me. I began to learn to play the piano in my first term at Boarding School, and that was something extra for me to do in the holidays. Papa used to come into the front parlour where the piano was, sit in his armchair and listen to me playing. Of course, he usually went to sleep and started to snore and even Trixie went out of the room! I had a beautiful large china doll with eyes that closed and opened and, when I tipped her up a little, she cried 'Mama!' If I could manage to leave the doll on Papa's chair, I would. She had to have a new head three times in as many years because Papa sat down in his chair without looking to see whether his little grandaughter had left her doll there. Tears and scolds were the order of the day when that happened. 11

Part III will deal with the kind of work Papa still did and how he took me out for "treats".12