In my family the divide between adults and children was absolute. The terms aunty and uncle were flexible. Aunts might be friends of my mother, like Aunty Ruby, neighbours, Aunty Florrie, great aunts or cousins, like Aunty Jean.
This section is focused on relatives I remember. My memories are supplemented with those of my mother. I've combined Rileys, Thornes, Seymours and Drummonds. Some of the texts were first published in the blog. I've edited them a little.
This section is focused on relatives I remember. My memories are supplemented with those of my mother. I've combined Rileys, Thornes, Seymours and Drummonds. Some of the texts were first published in the blog. I've edited them a little.
Aunty Gertie
Some photos don’t do justice to their subject. This one, of Aunty Gertie and her husband Bob Armstrong, was taken when they were on holiday in Scarborough. Bob is rather debonair, with striking cap and well polished shoes. Gert is smiling, but less at ease. Perhaps her shoes pinched. She’s dressed in the latest fashions, from top to toe.
Her visits were always welcome. She took us to tea in Newcastle’s best tea rooms, where a black clad waitress, with white apron, would bring a multi-tiered display of cakes to our table. Once my mother suggested my brother and I might share a cake. I was outraged. I still don’t understand why my mother did this. Perhaps she was uncomfortable with such free spending. My mother watched the pennies and saved as many as she could.
Auntie Gert was my grandmother’s favourite sister, so, strictly speaking, my great aunt. Born in 1891, when the family were living in South Shields, she was the 7th of Sid and Alice’s children. Almost three years older than my grandmother, the two sisters spent much time together. Both loved to shop, but Gert was much better at spending. She loved shoes and couldn’t resist buying them. She had her hair done regularly. She wore make up! Gert was clearly more daring than the other Thorne sisters. (I don’t remember my grandmother ever wearing make up or going to a hairdresser.) She did what she wanted, not what was expected of her.
Despite her intervention in the tea room, my mother loved Aunty Gert too. She recalled that she ‘always carried a big handbag, bulging with hankies, make up and chocolates. When going to town she wore a fox fur.’
Gert continued the family association with confectionary by marrying Bob Armstrong, a tin printer who worked for Horner’s, whose speciality was Dainty Dinah Toffees. Everyone loved Bob. Who wouldn't. A niece recalled that he always signed his letters Bobs yer uncle. Sadly, I've no memory of meeting him.
My mother was named Gertrude after her. When my grandmother was pregnant Gert’s husband asked her to do this. They’d been unable to have children.
After their marriage Gert and her Bob lived in Brinkburn Avenue, Gateshead. They nursed her father, Sid, through his last illness. After his death they moved to Scotland, when Bob was offered a job as manager of John Drummond’s in Greenock, where he printed tins for Lyles Golden Syrup, and treacle.
Gert worked too. My mother wrote ‘Aunty managed a chocolate shop, not to be confused with a sweet shop. It sold only expensive boxes of chocolates. They were displayed in the window on swathed velvet and had bows of ribbon on them. She worked until she was seventy and constantly worried in case they found out she was sixty and she would have to retire.’
Gert and Bob were my mother’s godparents. My mother often went to visit them in Greenock. Gert lived in a grander style than any of her siblings.
‘Their home was a tenement, but as it was in the West End, a very grand one. It was built of granite, and there were six flats in the close. You paid a shilling a week to the stair lady who washed the big staircase, stair walls and hallway. ‘
Their home was at the centre of Greenock life, with a view of the river. As a young woman my mother was as excited to be in the midst of city life as she'd been as a child. On a visit in 1942 she was thrilled to see soldiers mingling with the crowds in the streets and in the cinema. The fleet was in. Warships had replaced the liners she described in her family history.
‘In the lounge was a round window like a turret and we would sit in it and look down on Princess Pier, the Clyde and the big liners. It is called the tail of the bank as up river is narrower and has sand banks.’
I fancy that Gert continued to shop, as on top of two incomes, they took in lodgers. During the war one of these was a naval commander. For many years I had a beautiful, coral-red silk kimono, which he’d brought back from the East. I wore it until it fell apart. I still have an Egyptian bag, with embossed pyramids and camels, which I think also originated with him. These gifts added to her allure. She was a woman of the world, a stream of fresh air blowing through my conventional family. I carried a photo of her around for years, with my railcard. I did this because just looking at her made me happy, though now I see there were deeper motives. She was a talisman and an entrée into a different world.
When Gert died she named my brother and I as her heirs. The family solicitor advised us not to accept. Under Scottish law we were liable for any debts she’d accumulated. I always felt sad about this and wondered if the advice was good. Now I see it probably was. It seems that Gert was a bit of a shopaholic. She enjoyed life to the full, yet i wonder if any of her shoes or expensive chocolates made up for her inability to have a child of her own.
Her visits were always welcome. She took us to tea in Newcastle’s best tea rooms, where a black clad waitress, with white apron, would bring a multi-tiered display of cakes to our table. Once my mother suggested my brother and I might share a cake. I was outraged. I still don’t understand why my mother did this. Perhaps she was uncomfortable with such free spending. My mother watched the pennies and saved as many as she could.
Auntie Gert was my grandmother’s favourite sister, so, strictly speaking, my great aunt. Born in 1891, when the family were living in South Shields, she was the 7th of Sid and Alice’s children. Almost three years older than my grandmother, the two sisters spent much time together. Both loved to shop, but Gert was much better at spending. She loved shoes and couldn’t resist buying them. She had her hair done regularly. She wore make up! Gert was clearly more daring than the other Thorne sisters. (I don’t remember my grandmother ever wearing make up or going to a hairdresser.) She did what she wanted, not what was expected of her.
Despite her intervention in the tea room, my mother loved Aunty Gert too. She recalled that she ‘always carried a big handbag, bulging with hankies, make up and chocolates. When going to town she wore a fox fur.’
Gert continued the family association with confectionary by marrying Bob Armstrong, a tin printer who worked for Horner’s, whose speciality was Dainty Dinah Toffees. Everyone loved Bob. Who wouldn't. A niece recalled that he always signed his letters Bobs yer uncle. Sadly, I've no memory of meeting him.
My mother was named Gertrude after her. When my grandmother was pregnant Gert’s husband asked her to do this. They’d been unable to have children.
After their marriage Gert and her Bob lived in Brinkburn Avenue, Gateshead. They nursed her father, Sid, through his last illness. After his death they moved to Scotland, when Bob was offered a job as manager of John Drummond’s in Greenock, where he printed tins for Lyles Golden Syrup, and treacle.
Gert worked too. My mother wrote ‘Aunty managed a chocolate shop, not to be confused with a sweet shop. It sold only expensive boxes of chocolates. They were displayed in the window on swathed velvet and had bows of ribbon on them. She worked until she was seventy and constantly worried in case they found out she was sixty and she would have to retire.’
Gert and Bob were my mother’s godparents. My mother often went to visit them in Greenock. Gert lived in a grander style than any of her siblings.
‘Their home was a tenement, but as it was in the West End, a very grand one. It was built of granite, and there were six flats in the close. You paid a shilling a week to the stair lady who washed the big staircase, stair walls and hallway. ‘
Their home was at the centre of Greenock life, with a view of the river. As a young woman my mother was as excited to be in the midst of city life as she'd been as a child. On a visit in 1942 she was thrilled to see soldiers mingling with the crowds in the streets and in the cinema. The fleet was in. Warships had replaced the liners she described in her family history.
‘In the lounge was a round window like a turret and we would sit in it and look down on Princess Pier, the Clyde and the big liners. It is called the tail of the bank as up river is narrower and has sand banks.’
I fancy that Gert continued to shop, as on top of two incomes, they took in lodgers. During the war one of these was a naval commander. For many years I had a beautiful, coral-red silk kimono, which he’d brought back from the East. I wore it until it fell apart. I still have an Egyptian bag, with embossed pyramids and camels, which I think also originated with him. These gifts added to her allure. She was a woman of the world, a stream of fresh air blowing through my conventional family. I carried a photo of her around for years, with my railcard. I did this because just looking at her made me happy, though now I see there were deeper motives. She was a talisman and an entrée into a different world.
When Gert died she named my brother and I as her heirs. The family solicitor advised us not to accept. Under Scottish law we were liable for any debts she’d accumulated. I always felt sad about this and wondered if the advice was good. Now I see it probably was. It seems that Gert was a bit of a shopaholic. She enjoyed life to the full, yet i wonder if any of her shoes or expensive chocolates made up for her inability to have a child of her own.
The Drummond Sisters: AUNTS MARIE & ETHEL
This photo must have been taken in January or February 1954. It shows my dad's aunts, Marie and Ethel, with their husbands and Margaret, my Riley grandmother.
I’m the baby sitting on the lap of Mr McGill, Aunt Marie’s husband. Then there’s my mother in her rather wonderful winter coat, Aunt Marie, Grandma Riley, Aunt Ethel and Jimmy Foreman, her husband.
My dad was probably the photographer. Everyone else is looking at him with affection, even me. This is my only photo of the three Drummond sisters, Marie, Margaret and Ethel. I remember visiting Ethel and Marie when they were widowed and living together in a big old house by the coast, in the magically named Holystone Avenue. No wonder I loved going there. How marvellous to live a few minutes from the sea, and not have to get the train and do the long walk from the station. Later they moved to a new bungalow, one of the first homes built for the elderly. As a child I found this sad, although it was still in Monkseaton, still close to the sea I don’t remember their husbands or their children. I think I thought of them as maiden aunts, who’d spent there lives together. Ethel had two sons, Marie one.
Monkseaton, with its beautiful beach and view of St Mary’s lighthouse, is slightly south of Whitley Bay, an easy walk along the beach, promenade or links, an area of grass that belonged to Tynemouth priory some centuries ago. There are intricately sea-sculpted sandstone rocks. It often features in Vera. We went to the coast most weekends, yet didn’t visit them very often. They were always very pleased to see us. Although more at ease with her own family than my dad’s, my mother liked Aunts Marie and Ethel.
‘Together they were great. Full of fun. It was Ethel who could tell the funniest story about their childhood. Aunty Ethel was tall, very smart. She wore tweed costumes and pastel colour blouses.
Her husband Jimmy Forman worked for the London North Eastern Railway workshops and they had moved to Darlington along with a great many Geordies when new, bigger workshops were built there. An estate of houses was built for them. They loved dancing. They had two sons.
Aunty Marie was smaller and plumper. Her husband George McGill was manager at Cadbury’s on the Trading Estate. They would bring us bags of chocolate misshapes which at that time could not be sold. They had a beautiful house in Holystone Avenue Whitley Bay. During the war they let it to an army officer and his wife and took a house in Dene Street Low Fell. This was because of bombing and the odd German plane that got through and machine gunned the streets. After the war the people would not leave and there was a long, legal battle.’
It seems that Marie and Ethel enjoyed life much more than Margaret. Their relative affluence must have rankled. My mother recalled they loved to play cards and to give parties. ‘Aunt Marie would often have a goose and cherry brandy which were regarded as great luxuries.’
I note that chocolates have made another appearance in my family history.
I’m the baby sitting on the lap of Mr McGill, Aunt Marie’s husband. Then there’s my mother in her rather wonderful winter coat, Aunt Marie, Grandma Riley, Aunt Ethel and Jimmy Foreman, her husband.
My dad was probably the photographer. Everyone else is looking at him with affection, even me. This is my only photo of the three Drummond sisters, Marie, Margaret and Ethel. I remember visiting Ethel and Marie when they were widowed and living together in a big old house by the coast, in the magically named Holystone Avenue. No wonder I loved going there. How marvellous to live a few minutes from the sea, and not have to get the train and do the long walk from the station. Later they moved to a new bungalow, one of the first homes built for the elderly. As a child I found this sad, although it was still in Monkseaton, still close to the sea I don’t remember their husbands or their children. I think I thought of them as maiden aunts, who’d spent there lives together. Ethel had two sons, Marie one.
Monkseaton, with its beautiful beach and view of St Mary’s lighthouse, is slightly south of Whitley Bay, an easy walk along the beach, promenade or links, an area of grass that belonged to Tynemouth priory some centuries ago. There are intricately sea-sculpted sandstone rocks. It often features in Vera. We went to the coast most weekends, yet didn’t visit them very often. They were always very pleased to see us. Although more at ease with her own family than my dad’s, my mother liked Aunts Marie and Ethel.
‘Together they were great. Full of fun. It was Ethel who could tell the funniest story about their childhood. Aunty Ethel was tall, very smart. She wore tweed costumes and pastel colour blouses.
Her husband Jimmy Forman worked for the London North Eastern Railway workshops and they had moved to Darlington along with a great many Geordies when new, bigger workshops were built there. An estate of houses was built for them. They loved dancing. They had two sons.
Aunty Marie was smaller and plumper. Her husband George McGill was manager at Cadbury’s on the Trading Estate. They would bring us bags of chocolate misshapes which at that time could not be sold. They had a beautiful house in Holystone Avenue Whitley Bay. During the war they let it to an army officer and his wife and took a house in Dene Street Low Fell. This was because of bombing and the odd German plane that got through and machine gunned the streets. After the war the people would not leave and there was a long, legal battle.’
It seems that Marie and Ethel enjoyed life much more than Margaret. Their relative affluence must have rankled. My mother recalled they loved to play cards and to give parties. ‘Aunt Marie would often have a goose and cherry brandy which were regarded as great luxuries.’
I note that chocolates have made another appearance in my family history.
Nell & Nora
Born one year apart, Nell and Nora remained very close for their whole lives. Both were war babies. Nell was born in 1918, Nora in 1919.
In 1941 both sisters went to the photographic studio to have their portraits taken. They were printed onto postcards and given to friends and family. Their faces are the same shape. Their eyes, noses and mouths are also similar, yet you'd never confuse one for the other. They had different characters and took a very different path through life. Nora hasn't dressed for the occasion and doesn't look eager to please. You can tell she was the more confident and self assured sister.
'Eleanor Thorne (Nell) was always quiet with a nervous little laugh. She would gaze at anyone who was speaking and go yes, yes. Went to Gosforth High School and then to Scurry’s School of Business. Was a clerk in the Co-operative insurance office. '
I think my mother admired Nora more. Nora was more like the spirited heroines of her favourite movies.
Nora ‘was really pretty. A laughing little face and dark eyes that danced. Her hair was dark and wavy but it didn’t grow very much. As the rest of us all had long hair she would tilt her head so that the curls rested on her shoulder.’
Nora went to the same school where she excelled in every subject. She trained as a teacher.
During the war Nell and Nora continued to do everything together, including dating My mother wrote:
'They met two boys Campbell Graham and Jack Thompson from Greenock. Campbell was also a printer on the Greenock Telegraph. Jack was in engineering. They were in the Tyneside Scottish Regiment. All through the war they corresponded and Nell and Campbell were married as soon as he was demobbed.'
Everyone expected Nora to marry too, but she refused to set a date. She was more focused on her career, and the needs of her pupils in a school in Scotswood Road, one of the poorest areas of Newcastle. When her mother was dying Nora broke off the engagement to Jack and announced she didn't want to see him again.
Nora didn't marry until 1960, when she met Peter. He was harbour master at Sunderland. He was soon promoted to harbour master at Hull. They bought a large house and garden, Greystoke, which they renovated.
When Campbell retired he and Nell moved to Yorkshire so the two sisters could be close again. Their home was more modest... a one bedroom bungalow.
In 1941 both sisters went to the photographic studio to have their portraits taken. They were printed onto postcards and given to friends and family. Their faces are the same shape. Their eyes, noses and mouths are also similar, yet you'd never confuse one for the other. They had different characters and took a very different path through life. Nora hasn't dressed for the occasion and doesn't look eager to please. You can tell she was the more confident and self assured sister.
'Eleanor Thorne (Nell) was always quiet with a nervous little laugh. She would gaze at anyone who was speaking and go yes, yes. Went to Gosforth High School and then to Scurry’s School of Business. Was a clerk in the Co-operative insurance office. '
I think my mother admired Nora more. Nora was more like the spirited heroines of her favourite movies.
Nora ‘was really pretty. A laughing little face and dark eyes that danced. Her hair was dark and wavy but it didn’t grow very much. As the rest of us all had long hair she would tilt her head so that the curls rested on her shoulder.’
Nora went to the same school where she excelled in every subject. She trained as a teacher.
During the war Nell and Nora continued to do everything together, including dating My mother wrote:
'They met two boys Campbell Graham and Jack Thompson from Greenock. Campbell was also a printer on the Greenock Telegraph. Jack was in engineering. They were in the Tyneside Scottish Regiment. All through the war they corresponded and Nell and Campbell were married as soon as he was demobbed.'
Everyone expected Nora to marry too, but she refused to set a date. She was more focused on her career, and the needs of her pupils in a school in Scotswood Road, one of the poorest areas of Newcastle. When her mother was dying Nora broke off the engagement to Jack and announced she didn't want to see him again.
Nora didn't marry until 1960, when she met Peter. He was harbour master at Sunderland. He was soon promoted to harbour master at Hull. They bought a large house and garden, Greystoke, which they renovated.
When Campbell retired he and Nell moved to Yorkshire so the two sisters could be close again. Their home was more modest... a one bedroom bungalow.
Aunty May
Edith May Seymour was a remarkable woman. Her life could be conveyed as a Dickensian drama or a fairy tale. At the age of 9 she tripped over a rug and injured her hip. Doctors feared TB had set in and she was sent to the children’s hospital in Dryden Road. She stayed there for two years.
I don’t know when my mother told me this story. It feels as if I always knew it, because there was an aura around Aunty May. My mother usually edited out the unpleasant things in life, like illness. Yet Aunty May had been wheeled out in a bath chair. This seemed both very, very horrible and inconceivable. Bath chairs belonged to a distant age. It was hard to equate the heroine of this story with my warm hearted , happy Aunty May.
I always liked visiting May in her house in Wrekenton. She’d married and had three children, Lewis, Susan and Richard.. Her husband was called Bob Venus, an appropriate name for the hero of a tale. He’d proposed on their first date. (Such daring and spontaneity would have made an impression on my mother.) Bob was in a cycle club with May’s brothers Lewis and Tommy. He came from a large family in Walker. He was an engineer who liked to repair clocks and watches. My mother recalled that he loved quizzes and gardening.
Bob wasn't present when May's brother was killed in a tragic cycle accident, at the age of 20, but they named their first child Lewis after him. Bob encouraged May to cycle. They bought a tandem and carried baby Lewis in a basket attached to it.
I don’t know when my mother told me this story. It feels as if I always knew it, because there was an aura around Aunty May. My mother usually edited out the unpleasant things in life, like illness. Yet Aunty May had been wheeled out in a bath chair. This seemed both very, very horrible and inconceivable. Bath chairs belonged to a distant age. It was hard to equate the heroine of this story with my warm hearted , happy Aunty May.
I always liked visiting May in her house in Wrekenton. She’d married and had three children, Lewis, Susan and Richard.. Her husband was called Bob Venus, an appropriate name for the hero of a tale. He’d proposed on their first date. (Such daring and spontaneity would have made an impression on my mother.) Bob was in a cycle club with May’s brothers Lewis and Tommy. He came from a large family in Walker. He was an engineer who liked to repair clocks and watches. My mother recalled that he loved quizzes and gardening.
Bob wasn't present when May's brother was killed in a tragic cycle accident, at the age of 20, but they named their first child Lewis after him. Bob encouraged May to cycle. They bought a tandem and carried baby Lewis in a basket attached to it.
aunty ruby
Aunty Ruby was one of my mother’s closest friends. She was a friendly, pretty woman with very blonde, curly hair. She’d married Jack, a miner, and they lived in the village of Waterhouses. This was set in real countryside, at the far side of Durham. Deer visited their garden… a fact that filled me with wonder and delight. We visited the countryside a lot, for picnics, but the idea of living there wouldn’t have appealed to my parents. I was drawn to the wild places.
Our visits were unforgettable. We had to take two buses. My brother and I were invariably travel sick. My mother was always supplied with barley sugars, but we’d invariably vomit. She had to carry a big bag with changes of clothes. We usually got off the bus before Durham bus station, and went into the local park to wash and change. Then we’d walk down to the town centre get the bus to Ruby’s village. Some mothers would have given up these visits, not mine.
As soon as we arrived we’d be out playing in the woods or sliding down the slag heaps. It was a mining village, not a pretty commuter one. This was before the terrible Aberfan disaster, where 116 children died, along with 28 adults. We had no sense of danger. We did get covered in coal dust. My mother never complained about this.
I’ve no memory at all of Ruby’s children. Perhaps she had boys. Her mother, Aunty Cis, lived with them. She made dresses for ballroom dancers and was a good source of scraps of hand painted fabric, perfect for dolls’ clothes. If she’d had a granddaughter she might not have given them to me.
In retrospect I see that my mother must have loved spending time with her friend. We were given a certain amount of freedom, but not usually allowed to roam free. Perhaps she knew we’d be safe. Mining villages were communities, not places where strangers lurked. She’d have all afternoon to catch up with her friend. And despite the ordeal of getting there, I loved it too.
We’d stay all afternoon. Then it was time to wash the coal dust from our hands and start the long journey home. It took around two hours. No express bus between Gateshead and Durham existed, so it was a circuitous journey going into all the villages en route, such as the intriguingly named Pity Me. Perhaps we were too tired and happy to be sick.
here to edit.
Our visits were unforgettable. We had to take two buses. My brother and I were invariably travel sick. My mother was always supplied with barley sugars, but we’d invariably vomit. She had to carry a big bag with changes of clothes. We usually got off the bus before Durham bus station, and went into the local park to wash and change. Then we’d walk down to the town centre get the bus to Ruby’s village. Some mothers would have given up these visits, not mine.
As soon as we arrived we’d be out playing in the woods or sliding down the slag heaps. It was a mining village, not a pretty commuter one. This was before the terrible Aberfan disaster, where 116 children died, along with 28 adults. We had no sense of danger. We did get covered in coal dust. My mother never complained about this.
I’ve no memory at all of Ruby’s children. Perhaps she had boys. Her mother, Aunty Cis, lived with them. She made dresses for ballroom dancers and was a good source of scraps of hand painted fabric, perfect for dolls’ clothes. If she’d had a granddaughter she might not have given them to me.
In retrospect I see that my mother must have loved spending time with her friend. We were given a certain amount of freedom, but not usually allowed to roam free. Perhaps she knew we’d be safe. Mining villages were communities, not places where strangers lurked. She’d have all afternoon to catch up with her friend. And despite the ordeal of getting there, I loved it too.
We’d stay all afternoon. Then it was time to wash the coal dust from our hands and start the long journey home. It took around two hours. No express bus between Gateshead and Durham existed, so it was a circuitous journey going into all the villages en route, such as the intriguingly named Pity Me. Perhaps we were too tired and happy to be sick.
here to edit.
Aunty hilda
My Aunty Hilda looks dignified in this photo. It was probably taken around 1941 or 42, which seems to be when all the young women in my family were having their portrait taken. She looks pensive, and very dignified. Also elegant, with her single string of pearls and the appliqué detail on her dress.
Hilda was a Thorne, but her experience of the family was different. Her mother Edith died when she was three and she was raised by her aunt Alice Gordon and her husband Will. (By this time Alice had taken over responsibilities for the family from her mother Alice. To complicate matters more, Alice Gordon’s daughter is also called Alice... so three generations of Alices.) Hilda told my mother that she was always made to feel different. Her cousin Alice, the Gordons’ only child, resented her and said she didn’t belong. Will Gordon worked in the pits, where wages were low. His wife begrudged the expense of an additional child.
Hilda was luckier with fathers. Will Gordon loved her, and called her little daughter. She had a lot of contact with her father, Jo Dover, who worked in advertising for Oxo. Jo was still regarded as part of the family. My mother knew and liked him. I expect the two senior Alices took responsibility for the mother less child.. Alice Gordon resented the gifts Jo bought for his daughter and thought he should have contributed more to her upkeep. These resentments simmered for many years.
Hilda went to Kells Lane School, which didn’t have a good reputation. My grandparents worried about her education. When she left school she:
‘… started work in Lofthouses Shoe Shop on Low Fell. It was also a specialist shop and sold only expensive shoes by well known firms. Kiltie Shoes, for children, only supplied certain shops and measuring the feet and manufacturing different widths, was only done by them. As she got older the running of the shop was left to her.’
In 1944 she married Billy Skeldon, who she’d met at a dance. Billy was an electrician, but later became a fireman. As a child I found this very exciting. They had one son, John, in 1948. John was five years older than me and often out with his friends when we visited. Ironically they lived at 26 Coniston Gardens, in a house that her cousin Alice’s husband Jim Heel had built.
My mother, who was usually kind and not given to gossip, found Alice Gordon a difficult, suspicious person so it’s not surprising that Hilda’s childhood was not a happy one. After Alice died there was:
‘… a tremendous row between Alice and Hilda. Something to do with the housework at Uncle Will’s. It was so bitter that Billy went down and said he would not allow Hilda to be a skivvy for them and Jim asked him to leave. Jim Heel was not a man to get involved in anything like this, or to bear a grudge, so it must have been pretty serious. They did not speak for nine years. When Uncle Will died nobody would go and tell Hilda, so I said I would go, as I didn’t want her to see it in the paper. Alice and Jim were quite pleased. It was Hilda who patched things up when they got into financial difficulties and all seems forgotten now. ‘
As far as I know, this was the only feud in the family. My mother hated rows, and absolutely clamped down on any discord between my brother and I. This long feud must have shocked and distressed her. What’s unusual is that I always knew about it. She didn’t try to edit it out of the family story. She sympathised with Hilda, who had suffered unfairness. It’s hard not to see a Cinderella story here. However, I doubt anything was truly forgotten.
After Billy died, in 1995, Hilda moved to Bradford, where her son John and his family were living. She died there in May 2002.
On the whole, I think Hilda’s life was probably happier than her cousin Alice’s. Alice’s was certainly more dramatic, akin to a soap opera.
here to edit.
Hilda was a Thorne, but her experience of the family was different. Her mother Edith died when she was three and she was raised by her aunt Alice Gordon and her husband Will. (By this time Alice had taken over responsibilities for the family from her mother Alice. To complicate matters more, Alice Gordon’s daughter is also called Alice... so three generations of Alices.) Hilda told my mother that she was always made to feel different. Her cousin Alice, the Gordons’ only child, resented her and said she didn’t belong. Will Gordon worked in the pits, where wages were low. His wife begrudged the expense of an additional child.
Hilda was luckier with fathers. Will Gordon loved her, and called her little daughter. She had a lot of contact with her father, Jo Dover, who worked in advertising for Oxo. Jo was still regarded as part of the family. My mother knew and liked him. I expect the two senior Alices took responsibility for the mother less child.. Alice Gordon resented the gifts Jo bought for his daughter and thought he should have contributed more to her upkeep. These resentments simmered for many years.
Hilda went to Kells Lane School, which didn’t have a good reputation. My grandparents worried about her education. When she left school she:
‘… started work in Lofthouses Shoe Shop on Low Fell. It was also a specialist shop and sold only expensive shoes by well known firms. Kiltie Shoes, for children, only supplied certain shops and measuring the feet and manufacturing different widths, was only done by them. As she got older the running of the shop was left to her.’
In 1944 she married Billy Skeldon, who she’d met at a dance. Billy was an electrician, but later became a fireman. As a child I found this very exciting. They had one son, John, in 1948. John was five years older than me and often out with his friends when we visited. Ironically they lived at 26 Coniston Gardens, in a house that her cousin Alice’s husband Jim Heel had built.
My mother, who was usually kind and not given to gossip, found Alice Gordon a difficult, suspicious person so it’s not surprising that Hilda’s childhood was not a happy one. After Alice died there was:
‘… a tremendous row between Alice and Hilda. Something to do with the housework at Uncle Will’s. It was so bitter that Billy went down and said he would not allow Hilda to be a skivvy for them and Jim asked him to leave. Jim Heel was not a man to get involved in anything like this, or to bear a grudge, so it must have been pretty serious. They did not speak for nine years. When Uncle Will died nobody would go and tell Hilda, so I said I would go, as I didn’t want her to see it in the paper. Alice and Jim were quite pleased. It was Hilda who patched things up when they got into financial difficulties and all seems forgotten now. ‘
As far as I know, this was the only feud in the family. My mother hated rows, and absolutely clamped down on any discord between my brother and I. This long feud must have shocked and distressed her. What’s unusual is that I always knew about it. She didn’t try to edit it out of the family story. She sympathised with Hilda, who had suffered unfairness. It’s hard not to see a Cinderella story here. However, I doubt anything was truly forgotten.
After Billy died, in 1995, Hilda moved to Bradford, where her son John and his family were living. She died there in May 2002.
On the whole, I think Hilda’s life was probably happier than her cousin Alice’s. Alice’s was certainly more dramatic, akin to a soap opera.
here to edit.
Aunty alice
I find this photo rather strange. It reminds me of a Renaissance portrait, with a white face and hands contrasted against the black dress and dark background. Alice looks so like her mother, Alice Gordon, that it can be hard to tell them apart. It has to be said that none of the Alices were pretty. In this photo her face is identical to the one she had in middle age. It’s as if she was never really a child.
Alice’s mother, Alice Gordon seems to have stepped into the shoes of her own mother, Alice Thorne, but more from a sense of duty than any generosity of spirit. She was the oldest sister. She’d married Will Gordon, a miner, who looks remarkably like her father. Will was more good natured than his wife. He loved his daughter and his niece Hilda, who lived with them. They had a tin bath in the kitchen so he could wash when he got home. The nearest pit was probably the one where the Angel of the North now stands. Miners were badly paid. Alice Gordon’s brothers were mainly salesmen. Did she feel dissatisfied with her status?
Then little Alice went from being an only child to having a rival in the home. This was her cousin Hilda, who came to live with them in 1920, aged three, after her own mother died. Alice was 14, not the easiest age.
So it’s probable that my Aunty Alice didn’t have a happy childhood. She was certainly ambitious. We used to go to visit her in her lovely house in Orchard Gardens. This had been built by her husband, Jim Heel. Jim was a self made man. He was my only relative who had his own business and who’d made a lot of money. They didn’t flaunt their wealth, but it was on show. Everything from the furniture to their clothing was more expensive than anything anyone else in the family had. Alice wore her fur stole to my parents’ wedding, which was in June. At family parties she’d be the best dressed woman. In the photo with my grandparents she has a regal presence. Perhaps it was her party. My grandmother looks smart, but can’t compete.
When we visited we had to be in our best clothes and on our best behaviour. Alice’s daughter Jean was already married and living in her own lovely house in Birtley, so there was no one for my brother and I to play with. The reward would be a superior afternoon tea. At Easter we were allowed to choose an Easter egg, from a selection on a shelf in the china cabinet. They must have been very good quality chocolate, as I always think of them when I remember her. She was the granddaughter of a chocolate salesman.
Jim’s business was enmeshed with his family. Relatives lost jobs and Jean, her husband Brian and their children lost their home when the business folded. There were worse tragedies to come. Their grandson Christopher had a brain tumour. After years of treatment he died at age 13. He was ten years younger than me and I still see him as the golden haired little boy I loved to play with. Jim had died the previous year, in 1975.
Alice moved to Ipswich to be close to her daughter and her family. She died on 1st November 2003, three years short of her centenary.
I was pleased to find the third photo of Alice and Jim, probably taken at the time of their engagement. This shows a gentler side of Alice. She looks like a woman in love. Jim, it must be side, could be a character from Dad's Army, a spiv with brylcreamed hair and narrow moustache.
Alice’s mother, Alice Gordon seems to have stepped into the shoes of her own mother, Alice Thorne, but more from a sense of duty than any generosity of spirit. She was the oldest sister. She’d married Will Gordon, a miner, who looks remarkably like her father. Will was more good natured than his wife. He loved his daughter and his niece Hilda, who lived with them. They had a tin bath in the kitchen so he could wash when he got home. The nearest pit was probably the one where the Angel of the North now stands. Miners were badly paid. Alice Gordon’s brothers were mainly salesmen. Did she feel dissatisfied with her status?
Then little Alice went from being an only child to having a rival in the home. This was her cousin Hilda, who came to live with them in 1920, aged three, after her own mother died. Alice was 14, not the easiest age.
So it’s probable that my Aunty Alice didn’t have a happy childhood. She was certainly ambitious. We used to go to visit her in her lovely house in Orchard Gardens. This had been built by her husband, Jim Heel. Jim was a self made man. He was my only relative who had his own business and who’d made a lot of money. They didn’t flaunt their wealth, but it was on show. Everything from the furniture to their clothing was more expensive than anything anyone else in the family had. Alice wore her fur stole to my parents’ wedding, which was in June. At family parties she’d be the best dressed woman. In the photo with my grandparents she has a regal presence. Perhaps it was her party. My grandmother looks smart, but can’t compete.
When we visited we had to be in our best clothes and on our best behaviour. Alice’s daughter Jean was already married and living in her own lovely house in Birtley, so there was no one for my brother and I to play with. The reward would be a superior afternoon tea. At Easter we were allowed to choose an Easter egg, from a selection on a shelf in the china cabinet. They must have been very good quality chocolate, as I always think of them when I remember her. She was the granddaughter of a chocolate salesman.
Jim’s business was enmeshed with his family. Relatives lost jobs and Jean, her husband Brian and their children lost their home when the business folded. There were worse tragedies to come. Their grandson Christopher had a brain tumour. After years of treatment he died at age 13. He was ten years younger than me and I still see him as the golden haired little boy I loved to play with. Jim had died the previous year, in 1975.
Alice moved to Ipswich to be close to her daughter and her family. She died on 1st November 2003, three years short of her centenary.
I was pleased to find the third photo of Alice and Jim, probably taken at the time of their engagement. This shows a gentler side of Alice. She looks like a woman in love. Jim, it must be side, could be a character from Dad's Army, a spiv with brylcreamed hair and narrow moustache.