CHAPTER 1
A SEASIDE CHILD
My mum was born in Cleethorpes, a seaside town in Lincolnshire, on 24 February 1950. She was christened Elva and was the second and last of two children born to Harry and Lily Winfarrah. My mother's sister, Jean, was born some ten years earlier, which seems quite a gap and I'm not sure whether or not it was planned.
Elva is an unusual name. My grandmother once told me it meant baby eel but I later found out that a baby eel is an elver, so I still wonder where she came across it. As a child, I liked the sound that it made but I never found out why my grandfather, a stern man, would have allowed my grandmother to choose it for his daughter. As a Christian name it must have been unique in Cleethorpes, but I can imagine my grandmother sticking to her guns once she'd decided that it was a name she liked. Although always very respectable, in some ways my grandmother was unusual for her time. She was independently minded, read a great deal and even travelled abroad on her own. Her own mother had run a village shop; Lily also had a good head for business and soon established her own shop selling household products.
My mum spent most of her childhood just outside Cleethorpes, in a village called Thornton Curtis, where my grandmother ran her shop. One of only three, it was an important part of the community. My grandfather was a labourer. Looking back, I can't imagine how my grandparents came to be together; my grandfather was a big man but the general opinion was that he was more brawn than brains. From time to time, you could sense my grandmother's frustration with him and I don't believe they ever truly loved each other. Years later, I found out that she had been in love with someone else but that he had chosen to marry another woman, and so, broken-hearted, my grandmother accepted the next offer of marriage that came along.
My grandmother was quite well educated and bookish and seemed to look down on her husband and his unskilled working life. If she had concerns early on in their marriage, by the time I came along things had settled into sort of stalemate between them. They led their lives separately even though they continued to live under the same roof. I suppose today they would simply have split up, but back then it wasn't the done thing. They were probably just one of many couples who learned to live their own lives in parallel, going through the motions of family life, with friends probably in much the same situation. Harry had his workmates; he could drink in pubs where the 'lounge' was separate from the bar and where women were expected to sit, if they came out at all. It was expected that men and women had little in common except the responsibility of family, and so I'm not sure either of them grieved too much for the way they played out their lives.
Their house was modest and was always kept neat and tidy by my grandmother. I liked her. After my grandfather died, and towards the end of Mum's life, Elva and her mother seemed much closer. While I can't remember much about my grandfather other than his sheer size, I still have a clear picture in my mind of my grandmother. In fact, she looked like everyone's grandma, with her short, permed grey hair and unfussy cardigans and comfortable shoes. She had a gentle smile and liked to sit for photos with us. I think she was proud to be a grandmother. She and Mum would meet for coffee and chat about people I never knew, and they were probably the most relaxed they ever were in each other's company. It wasn't the same with my grandfather. All I can remember was that when he was around, my mum and grandma would be quieter and I didn't like to look at him for too long. He never seemed happy in the company of women and certainly wasn't comfortable with children. Distance suited him best.
When we were little, we would sometimes visit Cleethorpes and although I was too young to realise, by then it was a town way past its heyday. In the nineteenth century, the railway was extended to the town and it became hugely popular. Donkey rides, a 1,200-ft pier, a concert hall and busy promenade meant the resort was packed with holidaymakers throughout the summer. But by the time my mother was born, the pier had been breeched and the seaward end demolished, reducing the pier to just over 300 ft. The concert hall had burned down and post-war austerity meant that everything looked a little tired and shabby. But throughout her life, Mum loved the sea and was always glad to spend time walking along the seafront.
My grandmother was 40 when Mum was born, which was probably pretty unusual then. Had they decided to try for one more child or was she 'caught on the change'? It was never spoken about. The age gap didn't help my mum's relationship with her sister, Jean. Perhaps Jean felt Elva was my grandmother's favourite daughter, but whatever the root cause, they were never close. The person my mum cared most about, or was happiest to talk about, was her best friend Diana. She lived nearby and despite being three years younger, they were close and Mum had very fond memories of their friendship. Despite marriage, children and moving away from each other, they stayed in contact until the end.
Mum's early years were far from ideal, however. At school in those days, you could be hit for not paying attention or find a hard blackboard rubber flying your way if you were caught talking. Home life was strict, too. My grandfather was not affectionate and despite her early efforts to be accepted and loved by her father, I think Mum was aware of his disapproval. Although she was growing up in the 1950s, my grandparents were brought up in another era where the most important thing was being seen to be 'respectable' and 'proper'. That came first, no matter what. What they truly thought and felt was mostly left unsaid. There would be a ritual of tutting and eye-rolling as my grandmother traded gossip about people and stories of bad behaviour. She was sure the world had taken a turn for the worse.
In her eyes, it must have. By late middle age, she had moved into a time when what mattered most wasn't respectability but being true to your feelings. That could mean ending an unhappy marriage, coming out as gay, having children by different fathers or simply not caring what your neighbour thinks about you. My grandmother saw this as the breakdown of decency. It wasn't just the attitude of youngsters either: in the 1960s, the Government was making changes she could never approve of, such as legalising abortion and decriminalising same-sex relationships. Anything positive that might come hand in hand with the changes, such as not having to live a lie, was beyond her.
My grandparents were never openly loving or...
