Crossing the Equator

There were four of us who journeyed across the Equator, plus those left behind and some who insisted on remaining in the memory, indefinitely.  

Yes, mainly those of my Mother’s country folk. Her family;  hundreds of years in the making, as if strung obliquely inside her head like the measured strings of a violin, sometimes played, sometimes at rest. Steadfast connections made from inside her habitat in Ashford, a well- established satellite village  linked with Fordingbridge township. One of us had rather more, than fleeting feelings of the coined expression: ‘home sickness.’ Not unusual an outcome! Somewhat different if one migrates from a city area I suspect.

Mum and Dad met briefly at a dance in 1940 and over a short period were reduced to mainly letter writing; or ‘family treasures,’ with an occasional face to face catch up.

Lou’s letter quotes: “Thanks a lot for the apples. I shall be even more beautiful than ever when I’ve finished them. There’s been a lot of aerial activity. Our sports team lost last Saturday. Good to hear your country brogue-(phone conversation,) a poor second to being with you. Looking forward to seeing the play you’re in.”

Evelyn’s letters: “I’ve neglected you this week. You’re photo’s look well on the wall, quite inspiring. I’ve just dashed off a letter. Hope you receive it by Saturday. You mention you’ve been drinking naafi tea. It’s pretty foul stuff. It’ll take the twinkle out of your eye. Glad you liked the little play.” All correspondence excerpts dated from November 1940.

My parents were forced to meet infrequently. They had to make do with a scant week when they married in 1941. Lou an athletic man, good humoured city orientated with a keen understanding eye who enjoyed a scribble as Evelyn called the flair, a talent they both held. Lou also learned a smattering of both French and Japanese.  This period : 1940/41 beset with challenges as the country prepped feverishly.  Later her husband was brutally absent for over four and something years.

 During the build up to World War 2, many hundreds of servicemen, some considerably younger than stated yearned for fearless adventure, some became involved in the mobilisation period in preparation for active participation. Dad and his younger bro. slipped into the ‘Home Guard’ operations during the weekends.  This activity necessitated going to various training camps along the south of the country.

 Evelyn’s father a quiet thinking intelligent person who apparently resisted listening to the radio, or maybe a particular programme; re: 1940’s remark in letter of Mother’s, was a volunteer ‘fire watchman’ then. I remember going out on a walk with Sam in 1968, (Gran not well) and he told me how Britain ran low in flour during the two war’s. Sam’s parents ran a dairy farm, lived in a home and flour mill combination which had a large external wheel driven by river-water to help grind the flour. (to the left side of the home, re: pic.)

 Sam & wife Sarah worked zealously in their bakery and grocery. They had long moved on when I was young. I do remember my bro. and I staying with them, probably about the time the family moved on to Milford on Sea. One afternoon we accompanied them to an adult  movie. It was called: ’Lady In The Iron Mask.’ 1952.  One of my fingers Googled to check!

     My father’s father Bert, quite dynamic, physically large and broad shouldered, wrote ‘his story’ late in life, which I have. (No written stories from the women,  except my mother’s letters plus her school exercise books 1926.) His bio illustrates a dynamic character in hard-worked roles including his obvious dedication to his dear wife.  I remember his love of horses. Bert’s language use effective direct and to the point; responsible for over 30 odd butcheries for a leading meat company, would have used trains probably, easier in London. Albert also found time as a Westminster Council member and held a prominent role within Masonic Lodge. Lou, fresh out of school at fifteen in 1930 resented his placing him in one of three butchers shop he’d picked up when they were ‘going begging.’ 

      Both wives devoted to their families, completely different characters in their own right. They stayed annually with each other during the war years. Louisa, Lou’s mum worked productively at home; seven in the family and they came to enjoy a monthly summer break at the beach every year. Evelyn’s mum Sarah, (a Dunn from Lincoln) helped in the dual business; of bakery and grocery, had three children and lived comfortably on the premises. 

The integration of home and work environment, helped reduce business costs as rent and domestic type travel not required for starters; a supportive family arrangement. Some people in the past have negatively commented when they’ve heard how we lived in homes which juxtaposed a mix of residential with commerce, as did both Ashford, and Milford on Sea. A common structural element,  in well populated countries.  (I had a huge top floor space with three roof shaped window spaces with an expansive view across a mix of roof tops opposite into the coastal distance. Have mused on chimney stacks ever since.)

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      It took my musical and language interested, courteous Mother years, to settle after migration to Auckland. Her absence felt deeply over the seasons. Questions remained unasked however. Ma’s scattered voice, echoed business affairs constantly, the flavour of which, hung about like neglected cobwebs high in dusty corners half-hidden from the naked eye. One was left with a mysterious crusty edged rawness felt from the destabilising moves. Setting sail, from an extremely old country, to a very new land tangible! Attitude understandable in part, as the change initially meant less income, partly due to Auckland city rent demands.                                                                        

      Back then wintry November blanketed the far northern part of the world. I remember the initial preparation necessitated huge organisation around combination of business and domestic arrangements. The purchase of trunks,   as well as a very large wooden container which needed a truck, paramount.  Dad painted the wooden and canvas trunks a ‘racing green’, over a dozen or more. Two nostalgically remain on my back verandah, empty of course! Actually, I should check! Ha, ha. The large Morris cream coloured station wagon, bought new for the jaunt long since discarded in the tip no doubt. Not sure about your colour choices,  Dad.

      Came, this huge packing task in 1958, we children went to stay with one of our parents customers for several days, schooling of course continued. Later discovered one of the reasons for the migration were not that the business was a failure, on the contrary, but mainly to do with the up and coming supermarket transition across Britain, built not in tandem with social conversations alongside product information across the counter, but for the expedience of the lengthy queues of patrons obviously.  My parents enjoyed the integrated social framework. Several genuine friendships were made as a consequence of their good humoured and diverse chats.  They’d both started early, in similar environs for their parents around 1930.

     Today we find ourselves in a steady march up and down the aisles, of large super markets where one may be lucky to have eye contact with the cashier, with quick fired receipt and a’ have a good day;’ together with swiftly disposed throw away comments, partnered with an expressionless veneer plus perhaps a rare whimsical smile!  I converse minimally, time sometimes allows me to say I’ve been a ‘grocers daughter’ etc, and we chuckle together. Or, one might use an anonymous machine accompanied with a vocal monotonous audio response. That’s life today, pretty much, don’t you think?

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     It was the month of November in 1958 which finally saw us clamber aboard the P. & O. liner called ‘Orontes,’ eventually finding our small space for six weeks. We all shared a four berth cabin with an expressive port hole! Dad a sporty soul made a beeline for opportunities and organised swimming of a morning in the ships pool with and for children.  Our first port of call: Naples where we waded through the firm volcanic aftermath of Mount Vesuvius. (I came to know Italy differently,  during 1968/9.)  Next stop Port Said, with the glorious sharp centred mystical pyramids, then off we sailed through the fairly narrow Suez Canal. I remember just before exciting the end of this calm trough of water, being somewhat mystified at age twelve to suddenly witness out to ‘starboard,’ a young man lift his robes right up his back exposing nearly all of himself! 

Adelaide was our final port of call. We saw the sights and eventually caught a flight across to sunny Auckland.

Mid-journey, unforgettable for a spell, we stood together out on deck, watching for the equator out across the rich bountiful azure ocean, brimming with hidden treasure!