Secrets My Mother Kept (8 page)

On Christmas Eve the greengrocer would deliver a big box of fruit and vegetables which would include things we rarely saw other than at Christmas. There would be tangerines, oranges, grapes and bananas, all in copious quantities. The smell of the oranges would drive us wild but there was a strict rule that nothing could be tasted until Christmas morning. One year I gave way to my greed and crept downstairs to where the fruit box was standing in the passage and took a tangerine. It was the sweetest fruit that I have ever tasted, but the guilt that followed the eating was very bitter indeed and it was a sin I never confessed but certainly never repeated!

On this particular Christmas morning my excitement was uncontrollable. As my eyes snapped open it was still dark outside. Mum never went to bed on Christmas Eve. She always dozed in her armchair so that she could keep an eye on the turkey and the Christmas candle that had to be lit at midnight and would burn for twenty-four hours.

Margaret had joined me in bed with her pillowcase and we emptied them with gusto. We looked longingly at the sweets and fruit, but didn’t eat any. We would be going to Christmas Morning Mass soon and we weren’t allowed to eat before receiving Holy Communion. Mum never came to Mass but Aunty did. She attended every Sunday but would sit the other side of the church from us children. Perhaps she needed the peace!

Our tummies would rumble all through Christmas Mass, but we knew that Mum would have slipped some Quality Street into our pockets to eat on the way home and this always got us through.

We always had turkey, and the smell of it roasting in the oven when we got back from Mass sent our taste buds into overdrive. When Pat picked it up from the butchers there was always a concern that it wouldn’t fit in the oven. We had to have a big bird as there were so many of us to feed and it usually weighed about 27 or 28lb. We would hold our breath while Mum covered it in streaky bacon rashers to keep it moist and slid it carefully into the oven. There was always a sigh of relief to see it actually fit! She would never cook the stuffing inside. We always had Paxo sage and onion and it would be cooked in a separate dish on Christmas Day. Christmas dinner was the only day in the year that I can remember us all sitting down together to eat. This was a huge logistical feat. The big table would be pulled into the centre of the room and we would have a tablecloth! The armchairs and settee around the edges would be joined by additional chairs retrieved from around the house. Mum would usually sit at the head of the table near the kitchen door so that she could get in and out to the scullery where the cooking was done. The rest of us would fit where we could. There was always a rush not to sit in front of the coal fire, as you would start to feel your back scorching halfway through the meal. We had crackers on the table which would be pulled early on so that we could don the paper hats from inside. Pat would always carve the turkey before we sat to eat, and the dog would sit hopefully next to her. We would watch as she carved perfect thin slices of meat, licking the juices from her fingers and occasionally throwing Pongo a piece of the meat as she cut. Josie would put our plates in front of us and then the sliced turkey would be brought in on a dish by Mum joined by a huge tray of crispy roasted potatoes and parsnips. Of course there were always copious quantities of brussels, peas and carrots and a huge jug full to the brim with Bisto gravy. Mum always made her own Christmas pudding, which we would set alight with a drop of Aunty’s brandy. Mum never drank alcohol and neither did the rest of us, except for Aunty. At Christmas we did have non alcoholic ginger wine though, which was hot and spicy and singed our throats and was Mum’s special favourite.

That year, after the Queen’s speech, Pat and Jo announced that they had devised a game called ‘The Tomb of Tutankhamun’. We were ushered out of the kitchen into the hallway.

‘Stay there and no peeping,’ Josie said.

We heard screams and laughter as one by one my big sisters disappeared into the room. Then it went eerily quiet. Margaret and I wriggled with anticipation. It was my turn to go in next. I crept fearfully through the door. The room was dark. The curtains had been closed and the light was off. There was a white sheet draped over one corner of the room and Mum, Aunty and my sisters were sitting round it. Suddenly I heard a voice which sounded a bit like Josie but deeper and much, much scarier.

‘This is the tomb of Tutankhamun.’ I shivered. ‘You must follow the light and bow down and worship him. Go to the white sheet and say three times – “I bow to the tomb of Tutankhamun.” ’

I giggled nervously. Marge pushed me forward towards the sheet. I followed the light, which was in reality a torch held by one of my sisters behind the sheet. I bowed once and my sisters helped me to say the words. I did the same again and then on the third bow as I lifted my head and continued to follow the light to the top of the sheet, an arm sprang out from behind clutching a big wet sponge which was thrust into my face. I screamed loudly and jumped back to fits of uproarious laughter!

Goodness knows what poor Margaret was thinking when she heard this outside, knowing it was her turn next. I just remember feeling very glad that my turn was over and I would now get to be one of the watchers when she came through the door. Being the older sister had some consolations.

Over the years that game would be repeated every time there was a new addition to the family. Mary, Marge and Marion’s boyfriends all had to endure this initiation to the Coates family.

11

Aunty, Mum and the Empty House

‘Who’s been going through my drawers?’ Aunty shouted down. She had just got in from work early as it was a Thursday and she was clearly in one of her worse moods. She had stamped straight up the stairs when she arrived and was now banging around in the bedroom she shared with Marge and Marion. Since Michael and Peter and their wives had found flats of their own, the house was a bit less crowded. Mary and I shared a double bed in the box room, Margaret was in the back bedroom with Josie, and Pat had the front room downstairs all to herself. Mum still slept on the bed settee in the kitchen. She looked a bit worried now and raised her eyes to heaven. While she put the kettle on, we sat quietly, holding our breath to see what would happen next.

Aunty stomped down the stairs.

‘Ask your aunt if she wants a cup of tea,’ said Mum.

‘I don’t want no bloody tea – someone’s been in my drawers again,’ she shouted. She plonked herself down on her chair in the far corner near the window and crossed her legs. I watched nervously as her leg begin to swing agitatedly. This was always a sign that we were in for a stormy time.

Mum went out to the scullery to make the tea, throwing the words over her shoulder: ‘No one’s been in anyone’s drawers.’

Aunty sniffed loudly, which was another sign that she was very cross. Today was rent day. Every fortnight the council man would come to collect the rent. When Granny had died the tenancy had been passed to Aunty as the eldest daughter in the house. This was very lucky for us as it meant that we at least always had a roof over our heads. Aunty had realised long ago that if she were to keep it that way she would need to find a way of paying the rent, as she knew if she left it for Mum to do, the money would disappear before the rent man arrived. Her solution was to give it to one of her friends who lived several houses along. Her name was Mrs Timberlick and we sometimes went with Aunty the night before rent day to take the money along. Mrs Timberlick’s house was easy to recognise. Although most of the houses in Valence Avenue were very similar, it was the gardens that set them apart. Mrs Timberlick’s had the most beautiful hydrangea bushes tumbling over her front garden, all around the gate and up the path – bluey pink balls of petals which bobbed about when the wind blew through them.

Sadly Aunty’s fears for the rent money were well founded. Mum had a habit of acquiring money when she was desperate, and not worrying too much where it came from. There had been many incidents over the years that had caused arguments and tears in the family, and they were almost always about money. Every Monday before Peter had got married, Mum would take Peter’s only suit to the pawn shop. She would get a few pennies for it and then she wouldn’t give poor Peter the pawn ticket until he had handed over the majority of his wages on a Friday, after which he would then have to go and redeem it before he could go out with his friends at the weekend. It would drive him mad with anger and there were bitter arguments between him and Mum which often ended with Mum threatening him with a saucepan or some other kitchen implement. Peter was so annoyed once that he put a bolt and padlock on his bedroom door, but that didn’t really help as it soon got mysteriously broken off.

The pawn shop was in Green Lane, which was about twenty minutes’ walk away. The entrance to the pawn shop was down a short alleyway, which was quite dark, almost as though it were hiding its secrets. It had a sign outside with three balls hanging, which fascinated me. Mum would usually leave us waiting outside while she went in, but occasionally we would be allowed inside. It seemed to be full of objects of every shape and size, including big piles of clothes all laying on top of each other. It also had a musky, mothball kind of smell which stung my nose and made me want to sneeze. I always wondered how the man could see what he was doing as it was so gloomy in there. I don’t think Mum ever got very much for the suit, but when you have a huge family of mouths to feed every little bit extra helps.

Mum was always looking for ways to get more money. Although she was able to claim social security, it wasn’t a huge amount, and it certainly didn’t allow for any extras. When the lady came from the social, Margaret and I were always sent upstairs. We would desperately try to hear what was being said, but we never knew what took place during those meetings.

Many of the items of furniture around the house had mysteriously disappeared over the years. One by one anything that was worth anything had been sold. Granny would have been sad to see her piano disappear from the front room, which used to be the parlour. Aunty Rene, one of Mum’s older sisters, had been a really accomplished pianist and the whole family had nice singing voices. Of course in days before television singing around the piano had been a favourite family occupation, but that was all finished now. The piano had long gone, along with the wind-up gramophone and the pretty china that had belonged to Granny.

The only things left were bits and pieces of furniture that we had been given or found. Mum never really bought anything for herself except for her cigarettes. Her clothes were always poor quality and old, and her shoes were worn and usually in need of repair. She wore slippers most of the time, and if she went out would wear a headscarf tied tightly under her chin. By the time my memories began, the constant worry and stress that must have made up her life had started to take their toll, and she looked older than her years. Her hair was silvery grey and had begun to thin, but her skin was still as soft as a baby’s. I can remember as an adult stroking her arm when she was near the end of her life, and wondering at its smoothness.

One of the ways that Mum managed to provide the things she thought we needed was to get things on ‘tick’. This in effect meant buying from a door-to-door salesman, who would encourage Mum to ‘have now pay later’. Over the years these debts grew to mammoth proportions, and the weekly problem of deciding who she could pay this week must have been a constant pressure on her. Occasionally there would be a knock at the door and there would be a man with a parcel that would always contain some unnecessary item that we would rush to unwrap. At the time, Margaret and I thought it was wonderful. Looking back, it must have been a kind of addiction for Mum, or an antidote to the dreary monotony and tedium of her life. She always wanted to give us things, to be the gift giver, the supplier of everything wonderful and exciting. The sad thing was that she didn’t need to buy anyone’s adoration, loyalty and love. She got that for free.

When Mum was cornered by her worries, and I suppose overwhelmed by the trap her life had become, she would sometimes tip over into flight mode. The first time I remember it happening was when she had just got back from the phone box over the road. We didn’t have a phone in the house until I was a teenager, but my Mum’s sisters did. Aunty often took us with her when she went to phone Aunt Maggie. She would sometimes make us wait outside, but more often we were allowed to squeeze in with her. She would dial the number saying ‘RIP rest in peace’ and laugh. It was ages before we worked out the reason for this was that Aunty Maggie’s code was Rippleway which was abbreviated to RIP. She seemed to talk for an age, and Margaret and I would jiggle and wiggle about getting more and more restless. What did she have to talk about that took so long? Sometimes she would joke to Aunt Mag, ‘They’re laughing at me these two – saucy monkeys.’

When she was in a good mood she might placate us with the promise of some penny sweets from the sweetshop next to the phone box. There was an exciting array to choose from and we would spend an age on using up our thruppence.

Once Mum came out from the phone box very upset.

‘Someone has taken my purse,’ she wailed. ‘We’ll have to go to the Police Station,’ and off we trundled to Chadwell Heath.

She was crying desperately as we went inside.

‘My purse has been stolen,’ she wept to the kindly police officer behind the desk. ‘All of my food money was in it,’ she continued, only stopping periodically to dab at her eyes, and bend to give us a cuddle, as we had ‘caught’ her distress and now stood crying too.