Conversations with my mother
I will never have this version of me again. Let me slow down and be with her…
- Rupi Kaur
Over the last year for many reasons, I have had cause to slow down and spend a lot more time with my mother. This has gifted me the opportunity to be still, and listen to her and reminisce about my family; its people and purpose - and reveal long hidden fascinating stories about my forebears.
At the time of writing this my mother is 94 years old and a phenomenon. On a recent visit to stay with her in Norfolk I arrived simultaneously with a shooting party of 16 hosted by my younger brother. Our mother glided amongst her guests who were cradling cups of tea and fruitcake. The next day was non-stop; I changed her sheets, which she then washed. I made lunch and then drove us to the, unheated, village hall to prep for the annual Christmas party. Five of us put out tables, chairs, crockery, cutlery, glasses, napkins, for 46 people.
When we got home we heated 2 huge Christmas puddings, made by my mother and her friend, in a fish kettle on the Aga. Her energy, driven by a deep sense of community, radiated through all of this/us!
During my time with her on these recent visits she has shared many stories, many I have never heard before…
Mr Godin, was French Canadian, and secretary to my mothers grandfather, Sir Herbert Samuel Holt. Herbert left Ireland aged 21 and made his fortune in Canada. He worked as an engineer and surveyor on the railways [Canadian Pacific], principally on the west coast, before settling in Montreal where he eventually controlled light, power and water. It was rumoured that he went to Trinity College in Dublin. This rumour seems to be unfounded but, as she said, maybe he told people he had! He was over 6 feet tall. I realised my children have inherited this gene; apparently my maternal grandmother’s family were also very tall.
During the war my mother and aunt were sent to Montreal to live with their grandfather, who fussed about how crispy his bacon was for breakfast. They were there when he was scalded in his bath and died! As a consequence they went to live with their maternal Aunt Osie [full name Osla] - their mother’s sister. She was a shadow of herself after her gardener shot and wounded her and killed the electrician. The gardener was in love with Aunt Osie, which was unrequited but he thought the electrician had usurped him. My interest and obsession with textiles may come from this side of the family as my mum’s maternal grandfather had a dry good store selling household goods etc.
My paternal great-grandfather Jackie (Jacky) Fisher was an Admiral in the Royal Navy. He had 3 daughters known as ‘The Fishcakes’. The eldest, Beatrix [Neeld], did watercolour paintings of the ports where they were stationed, one of which can be found in the National Maritime Museum collection. Like her siblings she married an Admiral. Beatrix adopted a daughter, Diana whom my mother was in touch with. Further interesting stories used to be available on Beatrix Fisher’s website. Fortunately, in 2016 I printed out some pages from the website, as sadly it would appear we can no longer access it. There was an interesting story of the family being interned in Germany just before the 1st world war…
These stories have given me a real motivation to look further into my own life and story and they have made the time spent with my mother alone very easy, uncomplicated and full of fun and laughter. It has given me time to ‘hear’ between the lines - in the silences. Which is interesting when considered in the context that we both wear hearing aids. Amusingly we both enjoy sport in the back ground - particularly snooker.
This time has also gifted me a lesson in humility; observing her humbling generosity and a huge sense of duty - she always thinks first of others. I now appreciate we share many traits. It's hard to say if I’ve inherited these or come to similar conclusions. We both love driving - she now uses a battery operated scooter to take her letters from her house to the village postbox - not on the main road! We delight in finding gifts for others - like my book club Christmas gift which was packets of sheep’s fleece to be hung in fat ball feeders and put out for the birds to use in their nests. She can be indignant but not ever guilty - what’s done is done. And we both love hand written letters although both of our handwriting is hard to read!
I recently also took Mollie to meet my mother (with Sal). Although our parents figured hugely in our upbringing we were often cared for by a series of Nannies, and there seemed to be an underlaying anxiety to make certain we were well behaved and turned out. I think I was similarly concerned that having a young baby might upset the “Wretham” routine. This probably came from memories of me taking my young kids to stay and being concerned they wouldn’t go to bed on time. Old habits and anxieties resurfacing maybe…
Weirdly this increased contact and time spent in Norfolk has triggered lots of memories of time spent with mum when I was young. On reflection this was a lot even though it had often felt a little. It was something I’d always wanted more of - her time! As a friend said recently she is ‘so intellectually robust and refreshing to talk to’. I have great respect for her and her opinions, even if I don’t always agree with them.
I feel this experience will show up in my art practice exquisitely. It will help me ‘hear’ the next move - if I practise the same kind of attention & mindfulness - i.e. listen to the spaces.
