Grace Evelyn Taylor nee Ivall (1922-2006) : Her Life Story Part 3

After the War, Living in Barnehurst

Eric was demobbed in February 1946 and given three months leave. We stayed in Cambridge living with my mother and Old Pop in Paradise Street (it was Paradise to us then). It was a lovely spring and we cycled miles across the traffic free, flat Fenland country to places like St Ives and Ely. We also punted on the River Cam and walked across the meadows to Grantchester. All was well in our (and many other people’s) lives.

So, at ages 32 and 24, we started our “real” married lives and turned our thoughts towards acquiring a home of our own and a family. This meant returning to the London area as Eric was still employed by the LCC (they had made up his army pay to his full salary all through the war years). We wanted a house somewhere in the London suburbs, we didn’t mind where. We had some ex-office friends living at Potters Bar (a northern suburb of London). They suggested that we went to live with them whilst we were searching for our “dream home” and we gladly accepted. However, this arrangement didn’t work for long for a strange reason. All food was tightly rationed and our friends had a fourteen year old son, David. David used to eat our rations in secret! We were always hungry as a result!

One day in early September 1946, Eric and I visited his Dad who lived with his third wife in Woolwich. A chance look at the local paper showed an advert for a terraced house in Barnehurst. We decided to look at it and set off by train to Barnehurst station. I had never heard of the place before but found it pleasant enough, reasonably leafy - typical suburbia. The house was at 309 Parkside Avenue, about a mile from the station. Parkside Avenue was a long straight road, on the local bus route and 309 was at the far end. We looked it over - it was a middle terrace, 3 small bedrooms upstairs, two rooms down with a bathroom and toilet downstairs built on the back. It also had a small glass roofed (freezing in winter) kitchen extension on the back. As you can imagine, houses weren’t easy to come by at that time as there were thousands of demobbed soldiers looking for a home. The house agent who showed us round said “You’ll have to make up your minds straightaway as I’ve got a lot of other people waiting to see it”. We said “Yes” - the house cost £1,195 freehold (£5 deposit!). The advert had been put in the paper for the first time that day. Fate had taken a hand.

Grace (fourth from left) with her old school friends Edna (second) and Ida (third), c1952. Eric (first from left) was Ida’s husband, Basil (fifth) was Edna’s husband.

We lived in 309 for eleven years from September 1946 to September 1957 and during that time both our children were born. Evelyn June, our first child, made her debut at the Russell Stoneham Maternity Home (just around the corner) in 1949. She was a big baby and a horror, crying incessantly in the early weeks of her life. It was a hot summer and wool vests for babies were a “must”! However, she grew up to be a daughter to be proud of. She went to Normandy school for the preliminary years (under the tuition of the eccentric Mr Newman) and then to Erith Grammar School. She obtained 11 O levels and achieved A levels in Physics, Chemistry and Biology and decided she wanted to be a doctor. Her training was at the Royal Free Hospital and after getting her medical degree there she went on to get many other qualifications, finishing by becoming a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in the faculty of Anaesthetics. Evelyn’s medical training lasted 10 years. Soon after she got her final qualification she married Brian (in January 1979) and then gave us three grandsons Michael, Christopher and Peter (all now over six feet tall). Evelyn’s life is full and busy as she is a Consultant Anaesthetist at High Wycombe Hospital and most important she gives her time to caring for her family and has a happy loving home life. I benefit too in that I have a kind and attentive son-in-law and three grandsons to be proud of. Despite her “action packed” days Evelyn manages to find time to devote and care for me when needed, even though she lives at Marlow, 80 miles away.

Our second child, a son, was born at the Russell Stoneham Maternity Home in 1953. He was a bonny baby and much less demanding in the early days of his life than his sister had been. We named him Philip William - Philip after the Duke of Edinburgh (it was coronation year and the royals were very much in the limelight), William after his male grandparents on both sides of the family. At five Philip started at Barnehurst Primary School under the headmistress Mrs Munford - a strict and formidable lady who commanded discipline and respect. At aged eleven Philip followed in his sister’s footsteps and went to Erith Grammar School, where he later became Head Boy. Philip decided to choose science A levels (after achieving 10 O Levels) and he passed three with good grades which qualified him for a place at Bristol University. He studied chemistry getting a BSc degree, following it with a MSc and then a PhD. He was now a Doctor, so he’d kept up with Evelyn. After 6 years at Bristol University it was time to start work. Philip’s first job was at RHM (Rank Hovis McDougall) Research in High Wycombe, where he stayed for three years. He next obtained a job with the Wellcome Foundation in Dartford where he worked as an analytical chemist. After 12 years he transferred into project management which he did for a further 11 years before retiring (aged 50) as the result of the Dartford site closure (by then Wellcome had been taken over by Glaxo who then merged with Smith Kline Beecham).

During this period when our children were growing up - our family (Eric, me, Evelyn, Philip and Meo, our black cat) moved from Parkside Avenue, where we had a small terraced house, to Barnehurst Avenue (no 92) where we bought a large, detached house with a garden on many levels. This was in September 1957 and we were destined to stay there for thirty nine years (until June 1996). Soon after moving to Barnehurst Avenue it became necessary for us to have my mother (now a widow) to come and live with us. This was because she had become disabled (after a fall and a broken hip joint) and needed looking after. She moved from Cambridge to our house in 1958, had the downstairs front room as her own and stayed with us until her death in October 1970.

Grace and her mother in the back garden of 92 Barnehurst Avenue c1967

For Eric and I the years of our residence at Barnehurst were busy, working years. Eric worked at the County Hall, Westminster for the GLC until his retirement at 65 in 1978. I looked after the house and family, including bringing the shopping home from a local small store on my bicycle. The washing was done by hand, whites boiled in a copper, all of it rinsed in the sink and put through a mangle before hanging out on a line across the lawn to dry! Between us, Eric and I grew fruit, vegetables and flowers in our terraced garden, Eric tended a “con” (conservatory) full of pot plants and I slaved away preserving, freezing and otherwise using vast quantities of fruit of all types. At one time Eric had an allotment as well! They were happy years, probably the happiest in our lives. We were young(ish) and had a good social life with family and friends, lots of energy and (something we probably didn’t fully value at the time) good health.

During this period of our lives I got a part time job - the only time I took paid employment during nearly sixty years I had of married life. I became a part time play school teacher at St Martin’s Play School. During all this time (ten years from 1976 to 1986), I worked closely with Rita Gillis, who has been a much valued friend ever since those days. The experience of working with young children was a very happy one especially at Christmas when the Nativity Play and Christmas party were sheer magic. For a short while Eric also was “on the staff” (unpaid) as he came and played the piano. Here too I made several friends who have loyally shared my life since - Gill Sathy and Pam Sloan being particularly kind and caring to me in my later years.

The National Trust played a big part in Eric and my lives during the years at Barnehurst Avenue. We belonged to their local group (the Darent Cray NT Association) and participated in many outings and holidays with them staying in lovely places all over England - a very enriching experience and a very happy one. Here we made more good friends particularly Jack and Betty Clark, Pamela Monk and Pam and Jim McQuillan. Our other major interest was Natural History. We attended classes and courses, going on many outings based on Botany. We learnt (and often soon forgot) the English and Latin names of wild flowers, grasses, trees and shrubs. We made friends too with folk who had similar interests. It was all a happy and fulfilling experience.

Grace Evelyn Taylor nee Ivall (1922-2006) : Her Life Story Part 2

Grace was my mother. This part of her life story covers 1939 to 1945.

The War Years

In September 1939 Neville Chamberlain announced that we were at war with Germany and Brixton Road no longer seemed a very safe place to live. My mother solved that problem by deciding to re-marry, a decision she lived to regret. Her second husband was a Mr Tom Laughton (known as “Old Pop”). He lived in Cambridge and was a widower friendly with some Cambridge people that my mother had got to know in the first world war. Pop was eccentric, selfish and a “varmint”. My mother’s life was very stormy until Pop had a stroke and died in our house at Barnehurst in 1947.

So my mother went to live in Cambridge (in Paradise Street of all the mis-named addresses !). But what of me? I was aged 17 and wanted to continue with my job at the County Hall (there were some nice boys there!). I had an Aunt (my mother’s sister) who lived with her husband (my father’s brother!) at Southgate, one of the northern outer suburbs of London and they offered to let me live with them. I then had a long journey by underground every day to reach the County Hall where I worked.

26th April 1940 was perhaps the most momentous day of my life. That evening I went to the office dance and got to know a brown eyed handsome chap named Eric Taylor. Eric was a wages clerk and every week paid me the 28 shillings that was my weekly salary. I’d had my eye on him for a long while and this was it. He offered to take me back to Southgate when the dance ended despite the blackout and possibility of bombs, so it seemed that he was rather taken with me too. We had stars in our eyes that summer but in October 1940 Eric was called up into the Army - the Royal Artillery, which was appropriate for a man born in Woolwich. For the rest of the war we had many poignant farewells and long periods of separation.

Eric and Grace

I was still living in Southgate with Auntie Florrie, Uncle Bert and my cousins Kath and Marjorie. Marjorie and I were close companions and playmates all through our childhood. We always dressed alike and pretended to be twins. Kath, four years older was called by us “the enemy” or “her”. But I wasn’t destined to live with them for much longer. One night a large bomb fell in Osidge Lane where I was living. The house opposite was totally consumed by fire and many lives were lost. It was terrifying. Fortunately, we were all protected by a Morrison’s table shelter under which we had dived at the outset of the air raid.

Shortly afterwards, with Eric away in the Army, I decided to go to Cambridge to live with my mother and Pop. The County Hall, Westminster didn’t seem to matter anymore. I managed to get a transfer to the Cambridgeshire County Council and in time became the County Accountant’s Cashier (how, I’ll never know!).

The war progressed and many more people got involved in it. If you were not registered in a reserved occupation you were liable to be called up either into the forces, the land army or into a munitions factory. I found a way of using the war to achieve and satisfy a lifelong ambition. I became a nurse. I joined the St John Ambulance Brigade firstly in a part time capacity, then in 1941, as a full- time nursing member working at the Gresham Road Cambridge Convalescent Home for Soldiers. In my “spare” time I took over the training of a St John’s cadet group, becoming cadet officer and later cadet superintendent. Life at Gresham is a story in itself. We nurses were all in our twenties and ready for any fun that was going. The patients were “getting better” and glad of all the companionship the nursing staff could give them. However, there was no “hanky-panky” - Matron saw to that. Matron was Welsh, had bright red hair, a fiery temper and kept chickens. This hobby was very unpopular with everyone as she used to brew up revolting pots of peelings and other kitchen rejects which gave Gresham a very unglamorous and unhospital-like smell!

My “buddy” during the Gresham years was a Red Cross nurse with the name June Mary Silver Frost or Frosty as she was usually called. Frosty always saw the funny side of any situation and she made us all laugh at a time when the horror of war news made life a serious business. A few years later, in 1949, when Eric and I had a daughter we gave her June as her second name and Frosty became her god-mother. Unfortunately, Frosty died some years ago (in 1995) whilst in the throes of an attack of asthma.

I worked at Gresham from March 1943 to July 1945 when the home closed soon after the end of the war. During this time Eric and I got married, but as the date depended on the course the war took, I must record Eric’s fortunes (and misfortunes!) during the war years.

Soon after Eric was called up in October 1940 he was posted to East Anglia (Southwold and Leiston) for training with the 902 Artillery Regiment. During this period (which lasted for about eighteen months) he used to hitch hike to Cambridge regularly to see me. In July 1942 he was sent to the Western Desert in North Africa where he, General Montgomery (Monty) and a few others fought and won the battle of El Alamein. From there our troops pushed Rommel and the German army back across Africa for about 2,000 miles until they reached Tunis in December 1943. Eric’s regiment then moved on to Sicily for a few months and took it from the Germans before coming home in early 1944.

It was the middle of the winter and during the war but we wanted to get married and on February 12th 1944 we did. We had a traditional white wedding. Because clothes were on coupons, I borrowed my wedding dress (three brides had worn it before me and three were to wear it after me!). For bridesmaids I had Eric’s half-sister Betty and two of my office friends from my Cambridgeshire County Council days. They all wore borrowed dresses (all different). We had my St John’s cadets (who I had trained in First Aid) to give us a guard of honour of splints. We were married at St Andrew-the-Great church which is right opposite Christ’s College in the centre of Cambridge and it was all wonderful. After the reception in the Dorothy café, Eric and I went off for our honeymoon in Lyme Regis. The beach there was blocked off with huge rolls of barbed wire (anti invasion). The hotel though was full of spring flowers.

Eric and Grace’s wedding in 1944

When we returned Eric looked terrible. He was ashen grey, haggard and ill. Everybody blamed me! But it wasn’t married life that was the cause of his condition, it was the anopheles mosquito. He was developing malaria which had been incubating inside him since his return from the mosquito ridden hot countries. There followed a period for him in Black Notley Military Hospital near Braintree, Essex (where I couldn’t get to see him because of its isolated position). However, a nice surprise was ahead. Later that spring a ripple of interest went around the staff of Gresham Convalescent Home. A new patient was about to be admitted - he was 1089894 L/Br Eric William Taylor. Someone had pulled a few strings!

6th June 1944 was a day that affected everyone’s life. It was D-Day - the day of the allied invasion of German held Western Europe. Eric’s regiment (now the 64th Medium Regt R.A.) went across to the Normandy beaches on D-Day itself but Eric wasn’t discharged for duty until D+6, when he crossed and landed at Arromanches. Another long period of separation for Eric and I followed whilst the allies pushed forward through France, Belgium, Holland and into Germany itself. At last on May 8th 1945, Germany surrendered unconditionally and VE day had arrived. It was with relief that we realised that there would be no more heart-rending partings on Cambridge station. Vera Lynn could stop singing “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when”. Peace had returned to our lives.

Grace Evelyn Taylor nee Ivall (1922-2006): Her Life Story Part 1

Grace Evelyn Taylor nee Ivall was my mother. She wrote her life story in 2005, the year before she died. It is quite long, so I propose to add it to this blog in sections. The first one covers the period from her birth until the start of the war in 1939.

My Childhood

I was born at 9 Linkfield Road, Isleworth, (close to Isleworth Station) on 20th January 1922. My parents were George William Ivall (born 1880) and Emma Ivall (nee Armitage, born 1883). My parents had one other child, another daughter, Florence Rose (Flossie) born 1908. Flossie died, aged 14, in August 1922 just 7 months after I was born. I have three keepsakes of Flossie, the sister I never knew. They are a large framed photograph, a gold bracelet and some beautiful auburn coloured ringlets cut from her hair the day she died. All of these souvenirs are amongst my most precious possessions, all are irreplaceable.

During the First World War my father saw active service in the Royal Artillery. Unfortunately, a shrapnel splinter severely damaged his hearing and made him almost totally deaf in one ear. This meant that after the war he could no longer work on the buses as he had always done and he had a long period of looking for alternative work. However, sometime before I was five my parents were offered the job as caretakers of the offices of the The Licensed Vehicle Workers Sick Benefit Club. This was at 30 Brixton Road - there was a flat on the top floor (two floors up) where we could live. I have vivid memories of my life here where we stayed for all my childhood. One of those memories is of an unexpected benefit that living there brought into my life and that was an introduction to the pleasure of dancing. The basement of the building was occupied by The Vincini School of Dancing. This was run by Mr Vincent and Miss Vicini (she was very Spanish). Mr Vincent made a bargain with my mother - she would do the refreshments in the interval at the dancing school and her “little girl” could have dancing lessons free. So I grew up to learn ballet (oh those hard block toed shoes!), tap dancing and modern ballroom dancing (eventually doing demonstrations of the latter with Mr Vincent). Although I certainly never became a “star” (or anything like it) at ballet or tap, I developed a lifelong appreciation of these terpsichorean arts.

Grace with her parents in 1929

30 Brixton Road was in Kennington, South London. Just along the road a short way was Kennington church where I went to Sunday School (in the crypt) and where, when I was fourteen, I was confirmed into the Church of England. My religious faith is deep within me and has certainly shaped my life, giving me an anchor to hold on to when I’ve needed one. It was from 30 Brixton Road that, aged 5, I started school. My first school was Hackford Road Infants School. It was a tall, ornate, Victorian building. Within a few days of starting school an important event in my life took place, I made my first friend. Her name was Cathie Bilsland (now Bunting) and she has been my “best” friend all my life. Without Cathie with her lovely nature and impish humour my life would have been duller and greyer. I still value her friendship beyond words. Cathie and I were always together, at school and at play, until we were eleven when Cathie’s parents moved to Aldershot. However, we took note of our first school’s motto “Keep faith” and remained friends. I spent many happy holidays at Aldershot and later, Farnham.

Grace and her friend Cathie in 1930.

At aged eleven Cathie, I and five other girls all won the Junior County scholarship, which meant we went on to what is now a Grammar school (called then a Secondary school). One of these girls became another lifelong friend - Edna Watkins (now Farmer). Edna now lives at High Wycombe and I visit her whenever I can. The secondary school chosen for me was Charles Edward Brooke school for girls. It was a church school which had strict standards of dress and behaviour. We were in dire trouble if we were ever seen by a prefect or teacher out of doors without wearing our hats or our white gloves!!! I did very well at school and was always at or near the top of the class (mainly I think because I was blessed with a good memory). The head mistress had my career mapped out for me. Firstly, I would pass my exams and gain matriculation (the highest academic grade), then go to college and finish up with a brilliant career teaching. She was wrong. When she read out the examination results she got to my name, paused and said “Now comes the biggest surprise of all - Grace - you’ve only passed at General School level, not matriculation.” What terrible humiliation for me! Especially as my arch rival Ida Garrett (now Browne) had passed. I locked myself in the lavatory and cried for hours. I was beginning to learn life’s hard lessons.

My career in ruins, my mother decided I should take the entrance exam for a vacancy with the LCC (London County Council) to do clerical work at the County Hall, Westminster. This was in 1938. Fate was taking a hand. I passed the exam and it was here that I met my husband to be in 1940.

But I have left a few important events out so let me go back a bit. In 1934, when I was only twelve years old, suddenly and unexpectedly, my Dad died. He had acute appendicitis, not diagnosed as such by his doctor. He was taken too late to St Giles Hospital, Camberwell where he died while undergoing an operation for peritonitis. This was a dreadful blow to my mother and I. Everyone loved my Dad. He was kind-hearted, loving jovial and helpful to everyone he came into contact with. My mother struggled on with the caretaker’s job getting help with the heavy cleaning, but home life was never the same for either me or her.