D is for....DENISE, Auntie DOT and a near DEATH experience!
I love telling stories. When I am teaching I love to use examples from my own childhood/life to illustrate a point.
I have always wanted to write a book, it would be called “The Amazing Adventures of Flossy Flupipe…why? Read on!
In my work as a teacher I come across many children who are going through a particular bad time at home.
More and more children have to deal with broken relationships and parental problems. I know how they feel!
By the age of 5 my parents were divorced. At an early age I decided to try and make my mum proud of me.....
I didn't always get it right, but I tried. When parents come to me and say their child is being difficult/rude/cheeky/dis-interested because of problems at home it doesn't really wash with me, and the children know this.
They too have the choice to either make their parent(s) proud...or not!
Flossyflupipe was the name my mum called me, and my book is going to be about the early years of my life...............................hence the title!
The amazing adventures of flossy flupipe!
Enjoy!
My mum was the middle child, having two elder sisters and two younger brothers.
Starting with the oldest the running order went like this.... Joan, Doreen (Dot) Marjorie, Robert, (Bob) and Stanley (Stan) My nana was Elizabeth Ellen, my Grandad was Robert Charles.
My grandad originated from Thetford, Norfolk and my nana came from Germany. Her maiden name was Schumacher. Her father had fled Germany when all the troubles of the First World War started. He did not support the Nazi's and wanted to give the family a better start in life. He was a clockmaker and he set up his business in York. Sadly when the war started his shop was targeted by anti-Nazi protestors and the windows were often stoned. Eventually he moved further north.
Nana and Grandad had an ice-cream round which they did from the back of a horse. Eventually grandad worked in the steelworks. He was a passionate gardener and allowed me to grow some flowers. He was the character Mr Green finger in a children's story I wrote called Cedric the Caterpillar. In my story Mr Green finger grew flowers for Mrs Green finger’s windowsill...just as grandad had always done.
My nana was the home maker. Her role was to bring up the children, look after the home and ensure there was always a good meal at the table.
Out of the five children mum was the one who had an aptitude for learning and secured a place at secretarial college.
This was to be her tool of escape in later years.
Education was her passport and it allowed her to make a choice!
I was to use this knowledge myself and pass the secret on to others!
Mum enjoyed her work as a typist and worked in a Solicitor's Office.
Her best friend, Enid and she would always enjoy their times out together.
It was on such an occasion she met Jim, James or whatever!
He was a roofer. Says it all!
Mum was infatuated with him and took him to meet nana and grandad.
They didn't take to him.
As the relationship developed his intentions became apparent.
Nana and grandad did not want mum to marry him.
Mum married him!
Now the interesting fact here is that they were married in September 1955....
9 months later Denise Elizabeth was born!
I often asked mum if she was pregnant when she got married, she always denied it.....but I still wonder.
Mum married him!
It wasn't long into the marriage that things started going wrong.
He was a heavy drinker and a womaniser.
He was also violent.
I do have a fear of stairs even to this day.
This is because he pushed me down the stairs, be it accidentally when I was 2 or 3.
Even if it was as a result of him being drunk and careless, at that age it was quite frightening for me.
He had his own business and the money management was not helped by his bouts of drinking....so he went bankrupt!
Mum was home alone one day when there was a visit from some not so nice people....the
Bailiffs.
They stripped the home leaving only a bed and a chair. They even took my toy pushchair which nana and grandad had bought me a few days earlier.
Mum had spoken to Grandad about the home situation, but his words had been...
"We told you he was no good...you've made your bed now lie in it!"
The stress of everything was telling on mum.
As the home situation was not good to bring up a baby, moi, I was moved to live with Auntie Dot & Uncle Moss. They lived in a terraced house in Eston.
I remember going for a walk with Auntie Dot and she pointed to a window in the town's hospital. My mum was waving.
Unbeknown to me she had suffered a nervous breakdown.
It was through mental and physical exhaustion.
She was living still in Stockton, travelling extensive distances on the bus each day to work, and then calling to see me every night.
Shortly after mum bought a house in the next street. She had borrowed the deposit from her 2 brothers, Uncle Bob and Uncle Stan. She left my natural father and divorce proceedings were started..
Auntie Dot and Uncle Moss met through work. They both worked on the buses. Uncle Moss was a driver and Auntie Dot was a conductress. They had no children. I don't know what the arrangements were i.e. if Auntie Dot stopped working in order to look after me, or if she had all ready stopped work. But she was there for me whilst mum worked. From the age of 5 I would get up on a morning for breakfast, go to school and after school I would have my tea and then watch television whilst waiting for mum. Mum would collect me and I would spend a few hours with her at our own house, 61 West Street. Around 9pm, Mum would take me back to 57 William Street where I would have a wash or bath and then go to bed. On a weekend Mum collected me on a Friday evening and I spent the entire weekend with her, returning on a Sunday evening ready for school. When mum had holidays I would stay with her. The arrangements stayed like this and we were all happy. here were times when I missed my mum and let it be known, but on the whole everybody had my best interests at heart and we soldiered on.
One of the great events was when Uncle Moss bought a car. An Austin A35.
Uncle Moss's driving had to be experienced to be believed! Being a bus driver he assumed he always had the right of way. He also had the ability to smoke whilst driving, drop his cigarette, set himself on fire, continue driving, somehow have a small fire somewhere about his person and arrive at his destination completely unscathed by the episode. One of the most vivid recollections is of him driving up Saltburn bank. Mum and Auntie Dot were in the rear of the car and I was in the front passenger seat. It was the age of cigarettes and all 3 adults were smoking.
Uncle Moss, as per usual dropped his cigarette into his lap and as the smell of the singing trousers alerted and alarmed the rest of us he started fumbling around to find the burning cigarette. Of course he couldn't see as he was watching the road and burnt his fingers on the lighted cigarette which was in his lap. For a moment he lost his concentration, missed a gear and the car started rolling backwards down Saltburn bank! I was panic stricken, gasping for breath anyway as I battled to get some air in the smoke filled car as it rolled backwards! I could see the sea and had visions of us ending up in it! Fortunately Uncle Moss, still singing away managed to gain control and brought the car to a halt. He found the right gear and we carried on, be it Uncle Moss arriving home with several holes in his trousers and a telling off from Auntie Dot!
E is for Elizabeth, Elizabeth Elen to be precise, my nana, or grandma a term many of you will use more frequently. My middle name was after nana and our middle goose, Dolly was named again in memory of this great person.
My mum's mum, (my nana) was a Schumacher.
ie, her maiden name was Schumacher before she married my grandad, a farmer from Thetford in Norfolk, when her name changed to "Self"
Her dad was german and moved to England when the unrest in Germany started.
He was a clockmaker.
He moved his family to York, where he had a clockmaking shop.
When the war started he had his shop windows smashed repeatedly, so he moved his family.
I wonder if I am related to the legend F1 driver?
As I explained , mum secured a job as a secretary at ICI Wilton when I was a child. Whilst she was there she met Jack, a great friend who took a shine to mum and wanted to help her get the house sorted. As electronics was his speciality he helped with the re-wiring and other electrical stuff!
Mum eventually introduced him to her own parents.
My Grandad, a man of few words took him out for a walk!
He wanted to know his intentions as Mum had been through so much.
Jack assured him he had her and mine best interests at heart.
Grandad was re-assured and a great friendship was kindled between them.
My Nana really took a shine to Jack.
He would sit with her and talk about this that and the other.
Nana was ill and as her health deteriorated in 1970 we kew she was gravely ill.
On one of his visits as jack sat with Nana she drew him close and asked him to promise he would look after Madge and Denise....he promised.
On June 17th, 1970, Nana died.
I rember nana quite vividly. The storiesour family recall show a family, who, although surrounded by adversity and limited funds had a rich dialogue of their exploits which remain with me to this day. I guess this is where I get my love of story telling from. Tears would flow down our cheeks as each family member recalled events, which however sad were always laughed through, with great understanding.
I remember nana always in the kitchen cooking, fatty cakes, a very basic scone mixture served with gravy.
I still use her green gravy jug which has been used for the same purpose for 3 generations.
I guess I have to keep to some chronological format and write more about my early years.I am going to have to set the scene and this means I have to tackle F for Father.
Me, the blonde in the middle!
F is for family Fortunes...Dream On!
Junk mail is a common place in the everyday life in the Nesbitt household. This day was no different.
The letter arrived, addressed to me and I glanced over the contents before tossing it to one side.
Did they think I was stupid?
They were after my money, that wasall!
Well dream on soldier, you’ve picked the wrong one here.
I had visions of people all over the UK getting similar letters.
Watchdog would be featuring it as the latest scam…hey I may even be on TV!
The letter was left on the work surface and I carried on with my morning jobs.
Jon came home at lunch time and as we had a cup of tea I remembered the letter.
I showed it to him and we both laughed.
Sure, somebody was trying to trace a Denise Nesbitt! LOL!
There was a number to call…yes right!
No doubt premium rate…yes yes, heard it all before.
Seemed a normal number,
I called.
Answer machine……
I left a message.
Went to the shops.
On my return Jon said there had been a phone call….could I phone again!
Asked for the name on the bottom of the letter…..
A conversation followed, mentioning certain names, dates and circumstances…..I indeed was the Denise Nesbitt somebody was trying to trace.
There have been only a few moments in my life which has deemed me speechless….but this was certainly one of them.
It would seem the family of my biological male parent were wanting to contact me.
I use the words biological male parent with particular care and deliberation. Notice I do not use the words natural father, because he could never be that! People often use the word “natural” as a compliment, as in being a “natural teacher” or “She’s a natural you know!”
NO, certainly not a natural father, he never knew what it meant as he never owned up to the responsibility, choosing instead a life of drink and violence, having several affairs bringing about his business going bankrupt.
I do remember however his mother, my nana from Hull. I also remember her grand daughter; my cousin I suppose called Pattie.
Silence.
I didn’t know what to say.
Panic!
There was a phone number given to me.
I wrote it down.
Eventually I drummed up the courage to make the phone call.
Pattie’s mum. Brenda.
Apparently nana from Hull had always wanted to know how I was getting on and in deed wanted to get in touch.
Following a re-union on some programme or other she had written a letter to the BBC asking them to find me.
The letter was never delivered as she was involved in a traffic accident on route to the post box.
She died with the letter still on her person.
Her daughter, Pattie’s mother was now finishing the quest her own mother had set out to achieve.
When I spoke she cried.
I have that effect on some people, but I did find myself with a lump in my throat.
All these years, people had been thinking about me.
Then she told me….he was still alive.
Well, they say the good die young and this could not have been so true.
When I think of all the lovely family and friends who we have lost and to think HE was still alive beggars belief.
“Your Dad…”
“No, he’s not my Dad” I spoke quickly, didn’t want to utter the words.
Apparently HE has a photo of me as a young child!
Big Deal eh!
I thought of MY DAD, Jack, who had looked after mum and I, helping mum to build a life following the dreadful divorce and nervous breakdown…….I felt I was betraying him, by having this conversation.
Panic again!
Sensing my rising hysteria Brenda assured me she was doing this for her mum, nana from Hull, HE didn’t feature.
“Let’s keep it that way!” I insisted.
Phew!
She was overjoyed, ecstatic, thrilled and emotional.
I was miffed.
Touched yes, people had been thinking and wondering about me.
Brenda gave me Pattie’s number.
“She’d love to hear from you Denise.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
I called….
Tears again, Denise, it’s you…it’s you!
There followed some moments of recollection, memories remembered and shared.
She asked me if there was anything she could do.
Yes….never ever let HIM know you have spoken to me.
I begged.
This was scary!
She assured me.
“Do you have any photographs?” I asked.
She said she would have a look.
I left her my phone number.
To have all of this unfolding was all too much for me to deal with.
That night I talked extensively with Jon…….
What I intended to do…..was it confrontation? Humiliation? Annihilation?
I needed some time to think.
A couple of weeks later Pattie phoned me.
“Pattie, Pattie who?”
I had completely forgotten.
“Your long lost cousin Pattie!”
Oh yes,it all came flooding back.
I explained how, in my own heart and conscience I could never ever have any contact with “him” How, I had a Dad, a proper Dad my own Dad who I had loved, respected, adored and now sorely missed.
I didn’t want to know of “him” how he was, how he had been, I wasn’t in the least bit moved by the fact he had a photograph of me, it meant nothing.
Keeping a photograph in a pocket does not display any great parental quality, it meant absolutely nothing, I wasn’t touched, moved or even bothered,.
The opportunity to reflect came in the form of our wonderful holiday.
In my mind, in my own little world, as we travelled around on the motorbike I pieced together bits and pieces, trying to comprehend the situation, planning how to deal with it all.
I guess a bit like osmosis the important bits filtered through, the rest has simply washed away.
Nothing has changed.
One thing I did realise was the fact that I am Denise Nesbitt. I have no part of any of His name anymore. As a child I just had the name of a person I never knew, only feared. The name stayed until I was married, when I had a choice, when I embraced the name of Mrs Nesbitt. I remember my class of 7 year olds practising, on the first registration following our wedding they all said together, “Good Morning Mrs. Nesbitt!” It brought a lump in my throat.
There may be the odd phone call from Pattie, but that is it. That’s all there will ever be.
I have got this far with those who are with me and have loved me.
I don’t need anything else.
Junk mail is a common place in the everyday life in the Nesbitt household. This day was no different.
The letter arrived, addressed to me and I glanced over the contents before tossing it to one side.
Did they think I was stupid?
They were after my money, that wasall!
Well dream on soldier, you’ve picked the wrong one here.
I had visions of people all over the UK getting similar letters.
Watchdog would be featuring it as the latest scam…hey I may even be on TV!
The letter was left on the work surface and I carried on with my morning jobs.
Jon came home at lunch time and as we had a cup of tea I remembered the letter.
I showed it to him and we both laughed.
Sure, somebody was trying to trace a Denise Nesbitt! LOL!
There was a number to call…yes right!
No doubt premium rate…yes yes, heard it all before.
Seemed a normal number,
I called.
Answer machine……
I left a message.
Went to the shops.
On my return Jon said there had been a phone call….could I phone again!
Asked for the name on the bottom of the letter…..
A conversation followed, mentioning certain names, dates and circumstances…..I indeed was the Denise Nesbitt somebody was trying to trace.
There have been only a few moments in my life which has deemed me speechless….but this was certainly one of them.
It would seem the family of my biological male parent were wanting to contact me.
I use the words biological male parent with particular care and deliberation. Notice I do not use the words natural father, because he could never be that! People often use the word “natural” as a compliment, as in being a “natural teacher” or “She’s a natural you know!”
NO, certainly not a natural father, he never knew what it meant as he never owned up to the responsibility, choosing instead a life of drink and violence, having several affairs bringing about his business going bankrupt.
I do remember however his mother, my nana from Hull. I also remember her grand daughter; my cousin I suppose called Pattie.
Silence.
I didn’t know what to say.
Panic!
There was a phone number given to me.
I wrote it down.
Eventually I drummed up the courage to make the phone call.
Pattie’s mum. Brenda.
Apparently nana from Hull had always wanted to know how I was getting on and in deed wanted to get in touch.
Following a re-union on some programme or other she had written a letter to the BBC asking them to find me.
The letter was never delivered as she was involved in a traffic accident on route to the post box.
She died with the letter still on her person.
Her daughter, Pattie’s mother was now finishing the quest her own mother had set out to achieve.
When I spoke she cried.
I have that effect on some people, but I did find myself with a lump in my throat.
All these years, people had been thinking about me.
Then she told me….he was still alive.
Well, they say the good die young and this could not have been so true.
When I think of all the lovely family and friends who we have lost and to think HE was still alive beggars belief.
“Your Dad…”
“No, he’s not my Dad” I spoke quickly, didn’t want to utter the words.
Apparently HE has a photo of me as a young child!
Big Deal eh!
I thought of MY DAD, Jack, who had looked after mum and I, helping mum to build a life following the dreadful divorce and nervous breakdown…….I felt I was betraying him, by having this conversation.
Panic again!
Sensing my rising hysteria Brenda assured me she was doing this for her mum, nana from Hull, HE didn’t feature.
“Let’s keep it that way!” I insisted.
Phew!
She was overjoyed, ecstatic, thrilled and emotional.
I was miffed.
Touched yes, people had been thinking and wondering about me.
Brenda gave me Pattie’s number.
“She’d love to hear from you Denise.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
I called….
Tears again, Denise, it’s you…it’s you!
There followed some moments of recollection, memories remembered and shared.
She asked me if there was anything she could do.
Yes….never ever let HIM know you have spoken to me.
I begged.
This was scary!
She assured me.
“Do you have any photographs?” I asked.
She said she would have a look.
I left her my phone number.
To have all of this unfolding was all too much for me to deal with.
That night I talked extensively with Jon…….
What I intended to do…..was it confrontation? Humiliation? Annihilation?
I needed some time to think.
A couple of weeks later Pattie phoned me.
“Pattie, Pattie who?”
I had completely forgotten.
“Your long lost cousin Pattie!”
Oh yes,it all came flooding back.
I explained how, in my own heart and conscience I could never ever have any contact with “him” How, I had a Dad, a proper Dad my own Dad who I had loved, respected, adored and now sorely missed.
I didn’t want to know of “him” how he was, how he had been, I wasn’t in the least bit moved by the fact he had a photograph of me, it meant nothing.
Keeping a photograph in a pocket does not display any great parental quality, it meant absolutely nothing, I wasn’t touched, moved or even bothered,.
The opportunity to reflect came in the form of our wonderful holiday.
In my mind, in my own little world, as we travelled around on the motorbike I pieced together bits and pieces, trying to comprehend the situation, planning how to deal with it all.
I guess a bit like osmosis the important bits filtered through, the rest has simply washed away.
Nothing has changed.
One thing I did realise was the fact that I am Denise Nesbitt. I have no part of any of His name anymore. As a child I just had the name of a person I never knew, only feared. The name stayed until I was married, when I had a choice, when I embraced the name of Mrs Nesbitt. I remember my class of 7 year olds practising, on the first registration following our wedding they all said together, “Good Morning Mrs. Nesbitt!” It brought a lump in my throat.
There may be the odd phone call from Pattie, but that is it. That’s all there will ever be.
I have got this far with those who are with me and have loved me.
I don’t need anything else.
"May the East fling open your windows,
and fill your rooms with air;
May the South send you strong sunshine,
and give you the strength to dare;
May the West wash rivers into your heart,
and oceans into your soul;
May the North share the secrets and gifts of the earth,
to heal and make you whole."
M. Flanders
and fill your rooms with air;
May the South send you strong sunshine,
and give you the strength to dare;
May the West wash rivers into your heart,
and oceans into your soul;
May the North share the secrets and gifts of the earth,
to heal and make you whole."
M. Flanders
