Lucy had been employed at Achimota College in Ghana for several years when she wrote following.
Nora had planned for me to visit lbadan, which later became Nigeria's first university, and Abeokuta, said to be the largest purely African town in the whole continent. Both these towns were on the railway linking Lagos with Kano in the far north.
Abeokuta had a fascinating market which functioned especially at night. Each stall was lit by tiny locally made lamps, very similar to those used in Palestine in Bible times. They were saucer shaped, with a small lip to hold the wick. The saucer was filled with oil, probably local palm oil. One end of the wick was in the oil and the other end was lit. The whole effect of hundreds of these lamps was most attractive. I spent about three days in Abeokuta as the guest of a C.M.S missionary. This gave me time to buy lamps and other locally made articles for the Achimota museum.
I returned to Achimota by the next boat, just before the beginning of term. Kenneth was returning from Kumasi next day, so I told his 'steward boy' and wrote a note to Kenneth inviting him to dinner with me when he got back. When he arrived he told me of a call which had come for him to visit an important chief at Odumasi, about fifty miles away to the north. He was Nene (which means Chief) Sir Mate Kole. He had close links with Achimota. One of his sons, Charles, was a senior student, while his son-in-law was on the Achimota staff. His twin grandchildren, George and Elsie, were pupils in the junior school. In his youth he had served with Baden-Powell in the Ashanti wars, and George was one of my wolf cubs.
Sir Mate Kole was worried about his eyes, and wanted Kenneth (who had some training in eye trouble) to give him advice. Kenneth did not normally do medical work outside Achimota, but this was the request of a friend. So he decided to go that very evening. He also invited me to accompany him. It must have been about 7 p.m. when we started out, and it probably took about two hours to reach Odumasi. We only talked about our respective holidays on the journey.
When we arrived the Chief was in bed. Kenneth was ushered in to him, while I was given a seat in his living room. I suppose it was about half an hour before Kenneth emerged and we were ready for the return journey. He began by saying he thought this was to be a special day for us, and as he was driving along he plighted our troth. Then in the middle of nowhere, in the dark of an African night, he stopped the car to give me his first kiss. Now I knew where I stood, and realised my fondest hopes were being fulfilled.
Charlie and Margaret were due back from leave in a day or two and it was a great joy to be able together to welcome them back. Charlie and Kenneth were friends, and he knew how much our engagement meant to me.
One of our first problems was how to get an engagement ring. I said I would like a truly Gold Coast ring. That meant no stone, as goldsmiths there did not set stones. We designed an original ring, a flat band with a find gold rope on either edge. A string of tiny gold bobbles was attached to the central space. Then, instead of a stone setting was a half sphere of gold with tiny bobbles like those on the band. We had borrowed ear rings from my African friend Annie Grant, and the idea arose from one of those. Annie took us to their own goldsmith and explained what we wanted.
Every evening after dinner Kenneth did a round of his patients in the college hospital. He suggested I might accompany him, and this walk became a treasured opportunity to be alone together.
When we discussed the time and place of our marriage it was clear that we could not involve Elsie (Lucy's step mother who was about the same age) in the work of organising a wedding. The obvious place was where we both were, at Achimota. Charlie could give me away and Margaret would be hostess. We then fixed the date for 10 April 1937.
Kenneth chose as his best man an African named Kofi Busia. Kofi had been on the staff of Wesley College, Kumasi. He was a brilliant student and an earnest Methodist. He had been helped through some problems and temptations by an English missionary also teaching at Wesley College. The next stop for Kofi was to study at Achimota. When Kenneth was visiting Kumasi just before our engagement he had met Kofi and his missionary friend. So it was natural that he and Kofi should become friends at Achimota.
I chose as my bridesmaids the two elder daughters of Mike and Mattie Fibeiro. This was the family living in the bungalow (two storeys) at the other end of the dormitory block where Mike and I were housemaster and housemistress. The little girls were Namale Sara and Mama Sylvia, of about seven and five years old. Margaret undertook to make their bridesmaids' Gold Coast dresses. They were of green satin. A shoemaker in Accra made green shoes to measure to match the dresses.
My dress too was made by Margaret. Just before she undertook this dressmaking her hand Singer sewing machine had been stolen from their bungalow. So I lent her mine. One day she told me she had finished all the sewing and I could have the machine back. We thought there was no special hurry, but Charlie would return it at his convenience. That night my machine also disappeared!
My dress was simple with no veil or train. I chose a wreath of cream frangipani flowers, which the little bridesmaids also wore. We three also carried nosegays of roses and frangipani, all grown on the compound and made up by our friends.
Our wedding was fixed for Saturday, the day after the students were due to go home for the Easter holidays. But we arranged with the matron that any of my scholars or Kenneth's students who wished to stay behind for an extra day might do so. We agreed to pay for the extra food required. A few students who lived too far away to go home for a short holiday were in any case spending the holidays at Achimota.
One of these was a student from beyond Tamale in the Northern Territory. He later became the Talon Naa, that is the chief (or father) of his area, Tolen. I have since met him in various places, in Switzerland; and my home in Herne Hill (London), -where a friend brought him to tea with me, as well as in post-war Gold Coast, now called Ghana.
So instead of the traditional 'stag party' for the bridegroom and his friends, Kenneth and I had our meal in the dining hall with our students.
WEDDING CELEBRATED
We were up early next morning, for the marriage ceremony was fixed for 8.45 a.m. We had arranged to have a Communion service before the wedding and many of the staff and some of the students joined us at 7 o'clock. For the actual ceremony the College Chapel was full, with many visitors from Accra as well as our students.
Charlie, of course, gave me away. Kenneth's best man was Kofisusia, who was at the time a senior student. Margaret had arranged the reception at the Staff Club near the gate which divided the college compound from the school. The wedding cake was a present from a West Indian couple, Leila Tomlinson and her husband who ran the Accra bakery.
Our wedding presents were chosen by our friends to be light and easy to pack, so we had a number of lovely embroidered tablecloths. Some were Chinese, and others were from Madeira. They were easily obtainable at an Indian store in Accra. A number of staff gave us a combined cheque, which we could spend when we knew what our needs would be.
At some point during our engagement a mental specialist had come from England to examine and report on the mental hospital in Accra. Kenneth met him and discovered that he had no car available. This made his work exceedingly difficult. It was so hot in Accra that walking any distance, apart from the time-consuming aspect, would be extremely tiring. Kenneth felt that God was asking him to lend him his. He had a bicycle for use on the compound and he could use my car for visits further afield. The specialist was surprised at such generosity, and very puzzled by Kenneth's explanation of the reason for it. He accepted gratefully, but not being used to people who believed that God could guide them, he came to the conclusion that the state of his mind was suspect. He told the new Principal, the Rev. Grace, of his fears for Kenneth, and recommended that he should not risk continuing his employment at Achimota.
This put Mr. Grace in a very difficult position. He had never had occasion himself to question Kenneth's sanity. But, after all, the visitor was a mental specialist and his opinion could not lightly be disregarded. He knew that Kenneth and I were shortly to be married, and he came to the conclusion that I should be warned. This was a delicate assignment, so he told Charlie of the situation and asked him to explain it to me. He had by then decided that having been warned by a mental specialist he could not take the responsibility of continuing to have Kenneth on his staff.
So, Charlie passed this on to me, in great trepidation, as this would affect my whole future as well as Kenneth's. He must have been relieved that I could take it calmly. It was an unexpected development, but I felt I understood the specialist's reasons for his opinion, though of course I did not in any way consider them valid. I also understood and accepted the Principal's predicament and decision. It was a disappointment, as we had every reason to expect that Kenneth's appointment as medical officer would this time be confirmed.
The responsibility was now firmly on my shoulders. I never had any fear of a future L
with Kenneth, and this development did not affect my love for him, or my certainty that our marriage was indeed God's plan for us both. He would have to be told sooner or later of the situation, and I myself would have to tell him. After due meditation I decided that I should not tell him until after we were married. It would be unfair to him as he might well feel he had no right to marry me with an unknown future before us. But to marry him in the full knowledge of this uncertainty would be the best proof of my trust in God and in him.
He must have been told at some point by the Principal that his services would not be required after our leave, which was arranged for some time in July. But he was also told that if it fitted with our plans, he would be very welcome to do duty during the three months of the new doctor's leave both the following year and the year after that. This softened the blow for which I had already prepared him, for it showed clearly that his dismissal was not on any personal grounds.
So we were married and went on our honeymoon before Kenneth knew how that specialist had altered our future.
We had arranged for the use of a suite of rooms in Elmina Castle, well known by me but a new experience to Kenneth. We were given the suite in the tower, which was reserved for the judge when he came to Elmina to hold his court.
While at Elmina we looked up the mother of Charlie's engineering student, Patrick Baffour. We were warmly welcomed, and we were told of one of Patrick's aunts who badly needed surgical treatment. There was no European or European-trained doctor at Elmina, and at that time village people would be afraid of going even as tar as the six or seven miles to Cape Coast to visit a strange doctor. Of course Kenneth had not brought instruments on our honeymoon, but he examined the patient and found that she had a badly distended abdomen due to quantities of fluids. At the time I never thought to enquire what instruments he used or where he procured them. But somehow, he managed to puncture the abdomen and release the fluid.
He knew of course that to remove the fluid was not going to cure the cause, but it did give temporary relief for which the patient and the whole family were deeply grateful.
After a few days at Elmina we moved on to Sekondi. As in Accra, it had been a port with no real harbour. Ships had had to stand well out to sea to be unloaded into surf boats. But by this time a new port, with a deep harbour and breakwater, had been built at Takoradi, a few miles further west. So Sekondi was no longer a port, though it remained an important trading center.
We had been offered the use of a house near Sekondi, by Archie Caseley-Hayford and his English wife. Archie was one of a number of lawyer farmers, who grew fruit for export as well as for local use. His house was at the edge of his plantation. It was not in constant use, but it was kept in good repair and was very comfortable.
Mrs Caseley-Hayford who had come from Freetown for our wedding was Archie's stepmother, long estranged from her husband. He too was an eminent lawyer and chairman of the Achimota Council.
This was a thoroughly unconventional honeymoon. I forget whether it was at Elmina or at Semondi that we were visited by Griff Speer, an inspector of schools in Nigeria. He too was involved in the Oxford Group, and he was on his way home on leave. So naturally Kenneth invited him to break his journey with us. The other unconventional event was arranged by me. In the Achimota museum was some funeral pottery from an old burial ground in a village reached most easily by train from Sekondi. I had arranged with my museum assistant to meet us on a certain day so that we could all go together in search of further specimens. I suppose the assistant curator must have come from that area and had probably found and handed in our original specimens. But this was a long time ago and I do not remember the details. However, he was able to lead us to the site, where various broken pieces of pottery were lying amongst the trees. We collected representative specimens.
Quite a long walk was involved from the railway station to the site. We had noted the time of our return train but somehow we had miscalculated the time it would take to catch it. Or, perhaps, after a day's work under tropical conditions our speed of return was slower. Be that as it may, while still a short distance from the station, we heard the engine hooting. There was no possibility of our catching it now. And, of course, it was the last train. What a predicament! We reached the station full of foreboding. Night was falling and mosquitoes buzzing around us. We had visions of spending the night on the platform in the primitive waiting room. But when the stationmaster saw us arrive as he was shutting up for the night, he immediately took action. He phoned down the line for the linesman's truck to be sent to rescue us. It finally arrived and we climbed aboard. It was a very simple structure and we were very cramped. But how thankful we were to be taken back to comparative civilisation and our waiting car. This happened to be Kenneth's 37th birthday, and the wedding day at Achimota of George Hood and his bride Eve who had come out from England for the ceremony. It was George through whom our whole family first met Okai Quashie ]dun, before Charlie went out to the Gold Coast. By this time Okai was a leading barrister in Accra.
From Sekondi we drove up to Kumasi where we had booked a room in the Government Rest House. Here we made contact with the Caseley-Hayfords. We thanked them for the loan of their house near Sekondi, and we were given a warm welcome. They told us that their baby son was to be baptized on the Sunday, while we were still there. He was at that time nine months old, and crawling with gusto. I was asked to stand as Godmother, which I did, thus cementing our ties with the family. He was christened Louis.
We had decided that we did not need two cars now that we were married, especially as we both had a bicycle for use around Achimota. Kenneth heard that the Catholic Mission needed a good large car, which Kenneth's was. So we sold it in Kumasi and returned by train to Accra, where Charlie and Margaret met us.
Soon after this Kenneth's bicycle was stolen, so we were then reduced to one car and one bicycle between us, but that was all we really needed.
I was no longer on the staff, but in lieu of pension I was granted a full year's salary. I was then on the maximum of £720. I did a little teaching of botany in the senior school, but I was mostly engaged in completing the junior nature study book for the tropics. Kenneth encouraged me greatly. He himself had written, during his first spell at Achimota, a small handbook for the tropics called 'First Aid in Illness', published by Longmans Green. This was much more successful than Longmans had expected. They gave him £1O for the manuscript, but after the first year they realised they had a winner, and made a new contract with Kenneth. He now earned a 10% royalty which for many years brought in an average of £100 a year.
Longmans were also publishing my book, which also earned roughly the same amount. ////hen our statements arrived together each May, there was a happy rivalry as to which of us had gained the most.
It was soon after we returned from our honeymoon that I told Kenneth why he was not to be retained on the staff. We walked round the garden in the moonlight. He
took'it calmly, his chief reaction being astonishment that someone to whom he had done a very good turn should be so materialistic as to be incapable of believing that anyone in his right mind could be so altruistic.
Achimota College Ghana 1936
LUCY MEETS DR. KENNETH TODD
In 1929 Charlie had again been on leave and my turn was coming round. But before that, another but temporary member of staff arrived. The college doctor had resigned and a new one was appointed. But he still had to do his tropical medicine course. So, a certain Dr. Kenneth Todd had been invited to come for four months to bridge the gap. He had spent three years at a Baptist mission hospital in the Congo. He was a man of independent views and he and the senior doctor had not always seen eye to eye. So when he was due for leave he was not asked to return. He was glad to be invited to Achimota even in a temporary capacity, for its fame had reached him in the Congo. He arrived at Achimota just before Easter 1930.
I must confess that by this time the arrival of any new male member of staff filled me with interest. None of the present staff had any real interest for me, and l certainly did not attract any of them. Was I going to be an old maid, or was the new arrival going to be special? He lived, of course, on the eastern compound. Charlie got to know him, but his first fortnight went by without my setting eyes on him. Then came the news that he had gone Up country.
This was the Easter break, and I had arranged to go inland to the forest country with Fred and Dorothy Irvine. He was going to collect specimens for me to draw. On the journey Fred said he had to stop on the wayside where a certain carver should have a warri board ready to be collected. It had been ordered a few days earlier by the (to me) mysterious Dr. Todd, and Fred was asked to pick it up. The price was three shillings and sixpence, but Fred had no change so I paid for it.
When we arrived at our destination we found Dr. Todd already there. I was introduced to him as follows: "This is Lucy Deakin and you owe her three and sixpence". He thanked me and paid up, amongst much laughter, and proceeded on his travels.
When term resumed we gradually got to know each other. Charlie or the lrvines would invite us both to a meal, or we would all make a beach picnic party.
Sometimes we met on the tennis court, or at hospital when I went to visit one of my boys. I do not think we were intentionally thrown together, but we just happened to have the same friends. I found him intriguing. He was not like anyone I had ever met. He held firmly to his convictions, and was intensely interested in everything around him, but especially in people. Hews completely free from colour prejudice, which was very important at Achimota.
About May I was due to go on leave again. Before I left, Dr Todd asked if I would take a small parcel for his mother who lived at Wallington, Surrey. I found it quite exciting to have an opportunity to meet his family. I had a long weekend in London for a Whitelands College event, and wrote to ask Mrs Todd if I might visit her and bring her son's gift. I was invited down for the day. After lunch Mrs Todd took me by t ram, to Croydon airport close by, to watch the planes arriving and taking off. At that time Croydon was the airport for London and aeroplanes were still one of the world's wonders.
Kenneth's younger sister, Margaret, lived at home but worked in the City. She reached home about seven when we had the evening meal. I remember being shown round the garden and being given a root of a tall pink anemone for our garden at home. We already had the white variety. I discovered years later that Margaret had no memory of my visit at all. I had supposed they would be intrigued by the visit of a lady friend of Kenneth's but apparently they did not give it a second thought.
This was the year of Oberammergau, and it happened that Achimota had begun a new plan for leaves. Half the staff was now to go on leave in June and half in July when the students would have eight weeks holiday. So everyone would have eight weeks leave each year. But, because of the month taken in going and returning, the school and college would have to run on half staff for the last month of one term and the first month of the next.
So Charlie and I would both be on leave together and we planned to visit Oberammergau. He travelled from Accra on a Dutch boat, and I met him in Amsterdam. We travelled by train along the Rhine valley and so to the Passion Play. In this mountain village the actors were the ordinary people for whom a part in the play was the height of their ambition. For us it was an unforgettable experience.
It was soon time for me to return to Achimota, while Charlie still had another month's leave. The new doctor had finished his tropical medicine course and had arrived at Achimota. But Kenneth had been invited to stay on a little longer to show him the ropes and to give him and his wife a chance to see something of the country and become familiar with some of the customs and conditions. His original four months became ten. He was doing some teaching, mostly of hygiene and English. He did not leave until February 1931.
At some point before then, after Charlie's return from leave, he and the lrvines arranged a moonlight picnic on the beach. Kenneth and I were invited to join them. This Atlantic coast is notoriously dangerous. The breakers roll in with great force and retreat with a strong undertow. Even strong swimmers can easily get into difficulties. One would not dream of swimming out to sea, but usually bathed and played around the fringe.
I was by no means a strong swimmer. Indeed, all I could ever manage was to swim the width of an ordinary swimming pool. But I was quite an expert at floating. On this occasion I happily indulged in this lazy exercise, until I suddenly discovered I was caught in the breakers and was far out of my depth. Panic seized me, as well it might. I gasped, as loud as I could, "Help! Help!" This alerted my fellow bathers to the fact that I was not actually with them. Charlie swam out in my direction, but finding he was unable to reach me without getting himself into difficulties, he wisely turned and swam back. At that Kenneth set out, and he succeeded in reaching me. He gave me a hand, pulled me with him and we safely reached the shore. Imagine my feelings as we all sat on the beach and considered how near we had been to tragedy. And to have been rescued from a watery grave by Kenneth! And even to have been rescued at all: what had I been saved for? I thanked God from the bottom of my heart and felt keenly that life in the future must justify my continued existence.
KENNETH GOES TO WAR 1941
Before long I felt I should pay a visit to Father and Elsie in Shrewsbury, and this was quite a happy visit. Later, in the summer holidays, I went to Stroud, where George and Georgette were living. Minnie was now seven years old, and little Sylvia was rising two. I asked if Minnie might return with me for a week. We would then put her on the train in charge of the guard, and they would meet her at Gloucester. They agreed to this, so Minnie and I returned to Milton Abbey together.
On the journey home I saw from the train rows of huge concrete blocks, obviously placed to slow down any armed invasion. Not until then did I realize how serious was Britain's position. We were not informed of our grave situation and I think most people were blissfully ignorant of our danger. We were in the middle of the Battle of Britain, and we saw the enemy planes going over almost daily. But we knew that many of them never returned, so we were not unduly anxious. Had I realized that at that point Germany was planning an imminent invasion, I would never have suggested separating Minnie from her family. Fortunately for us Germany never gained the mastery of our sky, though our own losses of planes and trained pilots made our situation precarious. In spite of this, Germany had to call off the invasion.
Kenneth and I enjoyed having Minnie. She slept on an armchair which opened up as a,single bed, which was one of our wedding presents. The sun shone as it did for so much of the summer of 1940. When the time came we duly put her on the train and her parents met her as arranged.
In September we were invited by Lily and Billy Morgan to spend the weekend at their home at Poole. We had met them with other friends at several Moral Rearmament Associtaion ( M.R.A.) gatherings. That Sunday afternoon the air raid warning sounded. The planes were obviously not interested in that area, so we went outside to watch them pass over. They looked so beautiful, shining in the summer sun. But the local gun crews were ready, and we saw several planes shot down and their crews baling out. A young man next door was quickly out in his car as it was his duty to pick up the wounded and take them to hospital. He picked up one who had hurt his foot on landing. Several others were captured unhurt.
Meanwhile Kenneth's sister Margaret was evacuated by her firm to Edinburgh. So she and her mother settled into a pleasant flat there. Gwen's husband too, was evacuated, and he and his family lived in Oldham for the rest of the war.
When Kenneth and I went to Milton Abbey he made contact with the local Medical Association and went to their meetings. As summer gave way to autumn a demand was made for more doctors for the army. The local association was asked to decide who could most easily be spared. Kenneth was obviously less vital than the general practitioners, so he was asked to volunteer. When he discussed this with Father Mailard he replied that he had begun to realise that under war conditions he could no longer afford to keep a doctor. So this was obviously the time to move on.
But before that I became deeply involved with one of the patients. She was a young wife with a small son with whom she could not cope. She had only been at the Abbey for a few weeks, but she was so mentally disturbed that she could not cope there either. So she told me she intended to run away. No amount of persuasion would change her mind, so I decided that I must run away with her. Kenneth agreed, and so did Father Mailard. We could not allow her to leave on her own and so lose sight of her. So I hastily packed enough for the night and walked with her to the next village where we could catch a bus. We did not know the time of the bus and we had an hour or so to wait, with nowhere to go. The pub was closed so there was no refuge there. I believe my friend had no idea where she wanted to run to, certainly not to her husband and child. We found the bus was going to Crewkerne, so we paid our fare and settled down to a journey of over 30 miles. It was dark when we reached there so we went to an hotel where we spent the night. My first duty was to phone the Abbey and tell them where we were. My young friend, now she was engaged in her own plan to run away, gave no trouble, and seemed not to resent my company. But I spent rather an anxious night. It would have been so easy for her to get up early and walk out. My memory of the sequel is rather hazy, but I think her husband had been alerted and next morning arrived to take her home. I am sure that I was then free to return on my own from my run-away adventure. We never heard of her again.
It was now time for us to wind up our stay at Milton Abbey. Kenneth was given a week's holiday which we spent visiting friends and relations in the West Country. only remember calling on my cousin Cissie, Uncle Fred's eldest daughter. I had never seen much of her, as she had taught in Spain for several years and then settled in Somerset as the head of a small school there. I think it was at Chard. She married the manager of the school whose name was Cronin. Their first baby was stillborn, but several years later, in her forties, Cissie had a son who was called Harry after one of her brothers. Young Harry was the only grandchild of Uncle Fred and Auntie Dolly. Their two sons both married in the United States but had no children. Their other three daughters never married. At the time of our visit Harry was about fifteen and already decided upon his career as an electrical engineer. I have never seen him since that day, though in later years I several times stayed with
Cissie, who was then a widow. She lived with Harry at Brentwood in Essex, but they had a cottage at Honiton, Devon, where I visited her. Harry never married so Uncle Fred's line will die out. As I write in 1982, Harry must be nearly sixty.
Back at Milton Abbey we sent what furniture we had to.be stored in the two storeyed shed in the garden at Laburnum Cottage. I had bought my old home from Father when he and Elsie moved to Shrewsbury. It was now let to Sylvia and her husband, the only child of Auntie Fanny's third daughter Daisy.
We had already stored our car with our friend the miller-cum-garage proprietor in Milton Abbas. Petrol was now rationed, and our big car was heavy on petrol. So we had become dependent on our bicycles and public transport.
So in November 19401 just a year after we had first gone to Milton Abbey we moved away, more homeless than we had ever been. Kenneth had to report for army service, and I went to Shrewsbury to stay with Father and Elsie until Kenneth was settled in his station. We then hoped that I could find accommodation nearby. We were sure it was not right for me to settle permanently in Shrewsbury. I was welcome for a short time, to give Elsie a break from her constant care of Father who had then been bedridden for two and a half years.
Kenneth's first station was at Preston. He was attached to a searchlight battery there. In a few days he had discovered Renie, whose surname I have unfortunately forgotten. She was the only child of parents who were both blind from birth. Or were they deaf-mutes? After forty years, and never having met them I cannot now remember which. But Renie herself was completely normal. At that time she was about my own age, rising forty. She lived in the house in Preston which had belonged to her parents. She was interested in Moral Re-Armament and was then sharing her home with a young couple, John and Merial Wilkinson. They were delightful people whom Renie had met through their common interest in M.R.A. They both had been actors, but Renie and they were now all three engaged with the fire service. Renie had a third bedroom which she was willing to allow me to use
So, Kenneth wrote me about them and we arranged that on a certain day he would meet my train at Preston and take me to Renie's.Preston station is quite a long way from the town. But there was a bus waiting to take passengers to the centre. The cost was a half-penny, old currency of course.
I was given a very warm welcome and we soon felt we had known each other for years. All three fire-fighters were on night duty so when Kenneth left I was the sole occupant of the house. When they arrived home next morning it was my turn to give them a welcome by having breakfast waiting for them. That naturally made me feel immediately at home and my companions saw that my being there was an asset.
This was now early 1941, and rations were somewhat meagre, particularly regarding meat. But sausages, fish, rabbit and offal were unrationed. Preston being in Lancashire, tripe was a traditional food, and was at that time plentiful. This was a welcome supplement, for we all enjoyed it. We used to vary the menu by making it into a curry. I became head cook and bottle washer, which gave me a raison d'etre and was a great help to my new friends.
Kenneth had discovered that the Vicar's wife was running a canteen each evening for troops stationed in Preston. He visited it and made friends with her and her helpers. He suggested that I might like to give occasional help. So I did this about once a week.
Before long we were invited to spend a weekend at the Vicarage. We were grateful for that, as we had little chance until then to be together on our own. But what a revelation! As we passed through the kitchen on our way to the bedroom we saw the most incredible muddle! The top of each table or chair was piled with old newspapers, clothes waiting to be ironed, dirty dishes, you name it, it was there, in utter confusion. I remember nothing about the bedroom except that when the light was turned out we heard the scuttling of an army of mice. Next morning when Kenneth was dressing he found that all the buttons of his uniform had been chewed by the mice. We had to procure new ones as quickly as possible and replace most of them. Quite a crisis! It was not a very enjoyable weekend.
It was while we were in Preston that we were invited to the wedding at llford of my cousin Thelma Deakin to Leslie Hubbard. Kenneth got a weekend pass and we went down for the occasion. Thelma was Auntie Lil’s youngest child and she was now to be left on. her own as all her family were married. She had been left with very little money and she could only carry on by finding a boarder. This she was able to do, Fortunately she was an excellent cook and manager and she was able to give value for money. This was 1941, some years before the Welfare State was introduced. Leslie was working in his father's hardware shop, but he was due to report for military duty almost immediately. So for the present Thelma would remain at home with her mother.
Very shortly after this Kenneth was transferred to Fleetwood, and I was left alone with my friends at Preston.
One of Kenneth 's first duties in Fleetwood was the medical examination of the new intake. During the course of this exercise one young man said, 'Excuse me, Sir, but weren't you at my wedding a fortnight ago?' It was Leslie Hubbard!
It was now approaching Easter and Kenneth had made contact with Dorothy Mann and her parents who lived in Fleetwood. Dorothy's brother Ronald was in the army and was later taken prisoner in Italy, but made a spectacular escape. The Mann family were going away for Easter, and asked Kenneth it he would like the use of their home for the weekend. He accepted with alacrity so I went over to Fleetwood to join him.
Meanwhile the bright spring weather had called me out into Renie's garden. I don't remember what my plans were. I was probably just weeding. In any case, when I had finished what I was doing I found my wedding ring had gone. I turned over the soil in which I had been working, but it could not be found. I was particularly sorry because it had been made by the Gold Coast goldsmith who had also made my engagement ring, which fortunately I was not wearing at the time. The visit to Fleetwood was an opportunity to replace the lost ring. We did so on the Saturday when we visited Blackpool which was new to both of us,
Kenneth's posting to Fleetwood was a very short one. Soon after my return to Preston he was transferred to an anti-aircraft position on the estuary of the River Dee in the Wirral.
Wherever he was, Kenneth always tried to get in touch with local people who were interested in Moral Re-Armament. Somehow, he discovered that there was a meeting in Chester on the first Saturday afternoon. He attended it and asked if anyone there came from the Wirral. He was introduced to Margo Bigland whose home was at Heswall, only three or four miles from Kenneth's station.
Margo was twenty eight at that time, and was keeping house for her widowed father. Kenneth told her that he was looking for a family who would give me a home near enough for us to be able to meet. Margo said that there was plenty of room in their big house, but she did not know how her father would react to the idea of importing someone connected with M.R.A. into their home. Margo's engagement had been broken, by mutual consent, and her father blamed M.R.A. for this. However, Margo would consult her father and suggested I paid them a weekend visit.
Mr Bigland agreed to this, so I went over for Whitsuntide and Margo gave me a warm welcome. Her father was a stockbroker in Liverpool. He was also a very keen Scouter. His other hobby was woodwork, and the house boasted several beautifully made occasional tables. I later discovered that added to his other interests was a passion for rowing.
The Bigland home, Greyfriars, was indeed spacious. It was built high above the estuary of the River D e with a superb view across to the mountains of Wales, while up river could be seen, miles away, the great steel furnaces of Shotton. Between Greyfriars and the ever-changing estuary was the steeply sloping heathland, largely gorse and bracken; at the foot of which was the village of Lower Heswall. The house itself was built on the hillside, so that its three storeys from the front door became four storeys at the back.
The third member of the household was Nanny, who had been nurse to Margo and her three brothers. She was now in her early eighties, officially retired, with breakfast brought up to her, but still a valued member of the family set-up. She prepared the vegetables and the washing up was her province.
I nearly forgot to mention Henry Esmond, a large and friendly black poodle who came and went as he chose and did not need to be taken out for daily walks.
Margo was the eldest of the family and her two brothers Tom and Ernest were both married and in the army. Tony was much younger than the rest of the family, just 15 at that time and away at boarding school.
It was a happy weekend. As it was a holiday Kenneth was free quite a lot and he had a sleeping-out pass. Mr Bigland was around most of the time and he and Kenneth were able to get to know each other. When I was due to return to Preston I was warmly invited to do so merely to collect my luggage, thus I became one of the family from May 1941 for the rest of the war.
Margo and I, apart from our difference in age, were very different people. Our upbringing and experiences could hardly have been less alike. There vvere times when we were in total conflict. But we were both sure that we were meant to battle on and learn where each of us was at fault, and to ask for forgiveness from God and
each other. Kenneth had a permanent sleeping-out pass, and cycled to and from his search-light station. Margo and I worked together in the house and I got to know all her local friends. We both had bicycles and used them to bring home the shopping, and sometimes for an expedition.
At the end of July fifteen year old Tony was back from boarding school, to the great joy of all the family. He was only about six years old when his mother died of cancer. Nanny and Margo had brought him up between them, so he was special to both of them. His father too was proud of him, and delighted in introducing him to his own skills. Tony was an attractive teenager, quite unspoilt by the affection lavished upon him.
So, summer passed into autumn. Heswall was only the width of the Wirral peninsula and the River Mersey from Liverpool. As an important port and business centre it was inevitably a target for enemy bomb attacks. One evening we were surprised to find the bombers dropping their loads on Heswall. We were so much taken by surprise that we never even thought of going down to the lower storey which would certainly have been the safest place. We were all in the kitchen-living room where we had just eaten the evening meal, and each of us made a dive for protection under the kitchen table. Nanny, being old and also rather fat, could only get her head under the table. When we emerged, we all burst into shrieks of laughter at the funny sight, especially of Nanny's hind quarters completely exposed for enemy attention. That particular bomb did no damage to Greyfriars, but when we had gone to bed another bomb was dropped which shattered many of the windows. Margo's bedroom door was blown off and landed up across the bed in which she was lying. Fortunately, she was completely unhurt, but very shaken.
Kenneth and I had slight cuts from flying glass, but that was all. Next morning we heard that several people had been killed in the village. One bomb had fallen in the middle of the main road and had made a terrific crater. When the war was over we heard that those particular bombs had been meant for Liverpool. But British skill had deflected the German flight path by a slight angle so that when the enemy pilots saw the Dee estuary they took it for the Mersey and dropped their bombs on the northern bank of the estuary. It was hard on Heswall but in that rural area the damage and loss of life could not be compared with the holocaust which Liverpool would have suffered. Liverpool, as a major port, did of course have frequent raids, but on this occasion they were spared.
KENNETH POSTED TO SINGAPORE AND BECOMES A POW
Again Kenneth linked up with the local medical association. On one of these occasions, about October, he met a young Jewish doctor, also in the army, who was in deep distress. He had been ordered for service overseas and he was bitter at having to leave his wife who was expecting their first child. Kenneth asked God for his guidance about the situation. He realised that an unwilling doctor would not be able to give his best to the soldiers in his care. Also, he had had no tropical experience and lacked the knowledge he would be likely to need. Obviously Kenneth could do a better job on both these counts. He felt that God was calling him to volunteer to go instead. But what would I think of this? He felt he could not take this step without my full co-operation.
It was a hard decision to make. I was now forty and if Kenneth went overseas for the rest of the war, our already dwindling hopes of a family would be finally shattered. But if I truly wanted to find and follow God's plan for us, I must be willing to forego what was now in any case only a remote possibility. I knew too, that Kenneth would be disappointed with me if I clung to him regardless of what God might be asking for us both. It would inevitably build a wall between us, however much he might fight to overcome it. To keep him near me would break the unity which we so much cherished. Better to be physically separated than that.
So it seemed clear to me that I must agree for Kenneth to volunteer to replace the young doctor for service overseas. Before long he had instructions to report to Leeds for a fortnight's preparatory course. I went to Leeds with him, and his mother came down to join us there for a few days. Then a week's embarkation leave, during which we visited Kenneth's eldest sister Gwen and her family, evacuated by George's insurance firm, the Prudential, to Oldham.
Returning to Leeds, Kenneth was due to leave with the rest of the contingent on Il November, Armistice Day 1941. I saw him off on the train, with the thought that I must not expect to see him again for at least two years. Indeed I faced the possibility, as one must in war, that he would never return. Even though I was sure he was right to go, I felt that I must not demand of God that he should come back to me in safety. I had to leave him in God's hands and be ready and wilting for whatever the future might bring.
When Mr Bigland had heard that Kenneth was to go overseas, he had given me a warm invitation to stay on at Greyfriars. Kenneth was happy that I should have a home where he could picture me, and we agreed that I should get a teaching job as near as possible to Greyfriars. When we talked it over with Margo she suggested I might try first at the Liverpool children's orthopaedic hospital. This was in Heswall, just along the road from us. So Margo and I walked down through the bracken to see Mrs. Stallybrass who was a hospital governor. She went into the question and found that the hospital school was one teacher short. Unfortunately the vacancy was only for an uncertificated teacher, but I was due for a separation allowance so the salary was not important. It sounded an interesting job and through Mrs Stallybrass I was appointed without needing any further interview.
I started at the hospital after the Christmas holidays, and I was put in charge of the children under eleven in Agnes Hunt ward. The older children were taught in the further half of the ward, divided from us by a glass partition.
My class' consisted of all the children in the ward who had passed beyond their second birthday. I forget exactly how many children were in the ward, but it would be roughly a dozen. There might be a couple of children under two for whom I was not responsible. All one could do for the two and three year olds was to keep them occupied. My cupboard held a number of doll's beds and sundry wooden blocks as well as a number of children's books. Old Christmas cards were invaluable for scribbling all over. The main occupation of the two year olds was to throw their bricks overboard, so that a constant job for me was to pick them up again so that the crying stopped. It was fortunate that my class was so small, as all real teaching had to be individual, In the afternoons the younger children were encouraged to sleep, but if and when they woke up they had to be kept occupied. The main programme in the afternoons consisted of my reading aloud such stories as Milly Molly Mandy or Dr Dolittle, with sewing or other handwork, playing of records or an attempt at a singing lesson.
The ward possessed a portable harmonium, which I was expected to play for nursery rhymes and other children's songs, This gave me untold agony. I had had some piano lessons during the first world war, and had learnt to play rather haltingly the tunes in a beginners' book. But that was twenty five years or so ago, during which time I had hardly touched a piano. So I felt very self conscious and inadequate in front of the nurses whose duties took them in and out of the ward. Several times I tried to practise on the Greyfriars piano, but it was all so hopeless that I just used the harmonium as little as possible.
Several of my pupils stand out in my memory. One was a little Arab girl, five or six years old, who had been sent for treatment from Iraq before the war. When she was ready to return, the war made the journey impossible, so the hospital became her home for the duration. She was a happy sensible child and a great favourite with the nurses.
The other little girl I can never forget was named Diana. She was quite badly spastic, and was about seven years old when I first went to the hospital. She belonged to a well-to-do family and they had disowned her. Other children's families visited them at weekends, but not Diana's. The hospital had become home to her too. Because it had become a familiar environment she had settled into hospital life. But once after a visiting day she said to me, speaking with great difficulty "My mother does not love me". I wish I knew what happened to her in later years.
The previous year, on 7 December 1941 , a month after Kenneth had sailed for an unknown destination, a terrible and important event occurred which completely altered the course of the war. The Japanese bombed the fleet of American ships lying in Pearl Harbour in one of the Hawaiian Islands. The U.S.A. authorities were completely unprepared and the disaster stunned them. Up to that time they had carefully kept out of the war but now their honour was challenged. President Roosevelt immediately declared war on Germany, Italy and Japan.
The United States, while keeping out of the war until then, had neveftheless been a staunch ally of Britain. She had provided us with ships and munitions which had been invaluable. Now she must use her resources on her own account. She now helped tremendously by concentrating on the Pacific theatre of war against Japan, thus relieving Britain of much of the very distant areas now being over-run by Japan.
I did not realise at that time how very deeply Kenneth, and therefore I myself, would be affected by this new development. When his ship arrived at Bombay he wrote to tell me that their original destination had been India. Now the situation was changed. Half the draft was to remain in India and the other half continued their journey to another unknown destination. Kenneth was in the second batch.
On Sunday 15 February 1942 Britain was stunned by the news that the Japanese had captured Singapore. Next morning I received a postcard from Kenneth, cheerfully telling me that they had arrived at their destination: Singapore, I went to school that morning with a heavy heart, knowing that he was already a prisoner of the Japanese. Yet I knew he was in God's care whatever happened. His faith and his temperament would stand him in good stead. This new situation would be a challenge from which he would get quite a kick. He would have to show courage and faith which would help uphold the soldiers for whom he had medical care.
I too must claim courage and faith not only for my own sake, but for all those around me. I made again the decision not to demand Kenneth's safe return, but to trust that whatever the future might hold for him, God was in control. He could uphold us both and would show us how to use the situation to His glory.
During the following twelve months I received two postcards from Kenneth from Singapore. Both were cheerful, and I was amazed at the amount he could get on a postcard. The first of them told of his meeting with one of his old patients from Milton Abbey. He had gone there hoping, or at least his family hoped, for victory over his besetting addiction to drink. His wife and little daughter had spent a week at the Abbey visiting him. Now he and Kenneth were behind the bamboo curtain. I do not remember his name, but I knew that he had a sister who was a nun in a convent in the Midlands. Somehow I got her address and we corresponded with each other and exchanged what little news we had. In the second card Kenneth told me of this man's death and of how he had tended his grave. Of course, I told his sister the sad news. Later when the war was over and I was collecting our car from Milton Abbey arranged to visit her in her convent.
It was a strange experience. She was in an enclosed Order. So we met on either side of a grille. There was a sort of counter between us, and she leant across it to kiss me, She was obviously a very loving person. She then showed me round their chapel. She appeared in the sanctuary and I was told not to go beyond the rail. She could explain the history and meaning of the chapel while still keeping the essential barrier between us. She certainly bridged it in her spirit, and I felt strongly a sense of fellowship and unity in spite of the convent rules.
But back in 1942 we were still very much affected by war conditions. A Government edict proclaimed that all women under a certain age, probably about 45, must find employment so as to release more men for the fighting forces. Those who had responsibility for elderly relatives or young children were exempt. But Margo was included. Being a trained children's nurse she decided to offer her serv'ices for several afterrnoons a week to the children's hospital where I was now teaching. Greyfriars was a large three storeyed house for the care of which she was entirely responsible. Nanny did what she could, but she was around 80 years old and could not do anything that required much physical exertion so Margo had a heavy programme.
On warm sunny afternoons some of the wards would move down, beds and all, into the sunshine. The ward on which Margo was working was doing this and Margo was working the lift. I think the outer door must have been imperfectly closed and the lift would not move. Margo put her hand through the inner grill door to shut it. Immediately contact was made the lift began to work - before Margo could remove her arm. It was stuck in the lift door as in a vice though the lift could no longer move. I never knew how she was extricated, but the lower arm was badly lacerated. She was lucky not to have broken a bone or to have lost the use of her arm. It was undoubtedly exceedingly painful and she was out of action for some time. That was the end of her war work.
My own accident at the hospital was a very minor one. One Friday afternoon I was carrying a portable gramophone and some records from the staff room on the ground floor down to my ward. Like Greyfriars, the hospital was built on the hillside and the Agnes Hunt ward was on a lower level than the road. It ws reached by a few stone steps. Somehow I tripped on these steps and found myself on the floor outside the ward, still clutching the gramophone and records. I had instinctively protected them and they were not damaged. But I was severely shaken though without any external injury. After a few minutes I was able to proceed to the ward and carry on until 4 0'clock when school was over. I thought that was the end of it, but next morning I felt so queer that I could not get up. Shock had really taken over. Fortunately it was a Saturday so my school duties were not affected. That was my first experience of shock, and the only one for many years. By Monday I was quite myself again.
While I was at Greyfriars Margo and her father welcomed others into their home. Both her elder brothers were on active service, and at one point Ernest's wife Mary and her twin boys John and Robert let their own house had moved in with the rest of us. The boys were about seven years old, and identical. They were very much bound up with each other and had invented a composite name 'Jowodgy' to which either or both of them replied. They were there for some months.
Another family were also given a home, but not at the same time. Michael and Honor Thwaites are Australians. Michael had gained a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford and while there had been awarded an important prize for poetry. He then joined the British Navy. Honor had been given a home at Tirley Garth, a large country house in Cheshire belonging to Miss Irene Prestwich.
This house had been built as the family home by her father but both parents died before the war. Irene was left with this large house and a regiment of house staff and gardeners. She had been deeply influenced by Moral Re-Armament and when war broke out she offered to house the archives. This was gladly accepted as they were not considered safe in London. Gradually her staff were depleted as both men and women became involved in the war effort. What should she do? She could not
possibly live in that large house alone and keep it in reasonable condition. So she invited a number of older M.R.A. ladies from London and other threatened cities to join her. They shared the work of the house and ran the kitchen. They became a community contributing as they were able to the expense of the establishment.
Soon it was realised that the extensive gardens could produce much needed food, both for the residents and for the surrounding area. So a number of girls already closely connected with M.R.A. were invited as land girls to do their official war work there. They were taught by an old gardener beyond military age. One or two younger men unfit for military service, joined the community and, along with older couples gave their service according to their skills. In this way maintenance was kept up while training in team work and Christian principles which bound them together, ensured smooth running and outreach into the surrounding countryside.
So Honor and her baby son Peter became part of this community, joined by Michael when he was on leave, But early in 1944, when Honor was expecting her second child, it was felt that she and Peter would be more suitably housed in a family setting. So Margo invited them to Greyfriars.
At this time Peter was a year and seven months old. He was unusually forward for his age and with a quite extensive vocabulary. We all enjoyed this addition to the family. Penelope was born in April in a Chester nursing home. Peter was left in Margo's charge, and her training as a children's nurse was a great asset. l, of course, took a share in dressing him before school and helping to put him to bed.
And so the war years dragged on. I continued to write to Kenneth once a fonnight, but from early 1943 there was complete silence from him. I knew he would have written if he could, but relatives of others in that theatre of war suffered the same silence, so we encouraged each other and hope lived on.
This page last modified on Friday, April 24, 2020