Ellen Caroline Pitt

Yesterday I found a photograph of my Grandmother, Ellen Pitt,  whom I never met, and I looked with interest at her tight-lipped care-worn face. A singularly ugly old woman, I thought. 

I am brought up short at how dismissive I am of her. I push her away. I want a smiling soft-faced rosy-cheeked grandmother, not a withered stick who isn't looking at me, who never knew me... 

She wasn't old. I realise with a shock, Ellen Pitt didn't grow old. She died in childbirth, aged forty-two, in 1930, in a Nursing Home in Clarence Street, Gloucester. I wonder at her death. 'Placenta previa' is recorded on the death certificate. Treated by Ceasarian Section, today, which was available only to the rich in Gloucester, in 1930.

She, a mother with nine living children, bled to death because she was poor.

My own mother was three years old. She remembers the last time she saw Ellen. She once took me to the spot in Clarence Street where she stood, being told by her father to look up to the window at the end of the block. Her mother's face appeared, they waved, and that was it. Her mother was going to go into labour and die of it, but her children were not allowed to visit her. 

That was 1930.  Our society has moved forward, and my Grandmother's untimely death would be an outrage today. Politically unacceptable. 

I am an optimist, and I have every confidence that the gains that have been made since the 1930's to make Grandmother's poverty and death politically unacceptable, will not be reversed. When I feel that politics don't matter any more, and I can't be bothered, I shall go and stand on that spot in Clarence Street, and remember Ellen. 

Let's Play!

I spent  a magical afternoon yesterday with a significant proportion of my family, enjoying myself. 

There was food, wine, Harry Potter, putting the world to rights, ('The government has no money, mum', 'Oh, OK, we'll let them all starve then, shall we?'), The Ashes, (Cricket match against Australia, Darlene. You know, five days long, with breaks for tea. We're winning.) and there was play.

LOTS of it. Hide-and -seek in a garden with only two places to hide, provided a bit of a challenge, but I'm a seasoned grandmother, and I rose to it. Rosie and I conspired together not to see one another, and Abigail did the counting. 

A few days ago, I was rooting about in my 'office' when I came across this: 

I've had it for more than thirty years. For thirteen years, it was posted in a prominent place in my school, and it was the most significant document in my possession. 'This is how we do it here.' It said, and we meant it. 

That was then, and this is now. I glanced down the list, and it dawned on me that this stuff isn't just for kids! I think that grown-ups could transform their relationships, or form new and exciting ones, by taking a few of these on board:

27. Invite them over for juice.

28. Suggest better behaviours when they act out (Well, perhaps not THIS one... .)

30. Hide surprises for them to find.

44. Tell them how terrific they are.

45. Create a tradition together and keep it.

50. Find a common interest.

51. Hold hands during a walk.

58. Point out what you like about them.

96. Delight in their uniqueness.

120. Write a chalk message on their sidewalk.  (A personal favourite... .)

124. Encourage them to help others.

147. Be spontaneous.

150. LOVE THEM NO MATTER WHAT.

The point I'm trying to make, is:  When did you stop having fun? Good, serious, bare feet in the park, giggling in the sea, FUN.

I rarely boast of my achievements, but here's one I'm proud of.

I never have. Stopped. You know it.

:)