THE LAMPLIGHTER CHAPTERS

We’re not here for very long at all really, are we?

I can remember several old relatives telling me when I was a girl that, they didn’t want to live forever. And they didn’t. The life they were born into was going to limit a great many of them, whether they cared for it or not. Too many Dripping sandwiches and bottles of fizzy orange. Too many packets of fags and a lack of open space. Dentists were not a priority. Weekends were. Paydays.

Products of the societies their parents before them were born into. It would be some years before generational shifts and divides would be more noticeable. The difference between one family and the next though, could be quite startling. Location often made a difference. Ambition. Money.

As a young girl I was never very career driven but that didn’t stop me wanting to work and become independent. I enjoyed earning money and later contributing to improving our new home. I always knew though, that my hearts desire was to be someones wife, mother and home maker. Two out of three ain’t bad!

I’m not afraid of hard work, I just knew that I wanted all my efforts to be invested in my home and family before and other venture. There is something very special and rewarding about creating a place people want to come back to at the end of the day and I get very cross if something upsets the balance I’m striving to maintain.

As the years have passed, I have leaned more and more into simplistic ways of life. I will never be a Trad Wife in the true sense of the term but I do feel my work is at home. That being said I (like most people I know) still acknowledge that my work is as crucial as my partners, who works outside it. We both bring our unique skills and to the table. Regardless of gender, our roles align with my values and beliefs on how I want to raise my family in a modern world. I don’t believe “A Womans Place Is In The Home.” Simply, this way of life suits my personality.

FOR A BEAUTIFUL A THOUGHT PROVOKING POEM FOR THE MODERN DAY DEPTH OF A MOTHERS EMOTIONS CLICK HERE

When I look across the internet today I see thousands of accounts, blogs and videos of others doing similar. It seems that a great many of us in western society, long for a slower paced, back to nature and basics kind of life. Of course, we can never go back. We, none of us, will be able to fully return to the world that once was and in truth, we wouldn’t want to. Change has brought about a greater respect for each other. Understanding and equality in many areas. Long may that continue! But many also want to hang onto being appreciative of having less as opposed to more of everything. In the persuit of happiness and finding joy in living I often look to my ancestors for direction.

Grandma had seven children and Grandad was determined that they would be a respectable family. He found a good house in a smart Cul De Sac and worked hard driving lorries for the Co-Op. Each lunchtime he would come home to Grandma, who was most likely pegging bedsheets out in the breeze, wearing her pinafore and expecting him. He would make the lunch and then off back to work! 

They didn’t drink, except at weddings. Didn’t smoke, after they got married. They didn’t gamble, except for once a year on the Grand National and they spent all their time together. Grandad wouldn’t nip off to the club after work on a Friday for a quick half. Grandma wouldn’t get dressed up and go out on a Saturday afternoon to the Bingo with friends. Married young, their only goal was to raise and be a happy family. Magic in the mundane.

Of course, they weren’t always happy. There were trials sent to test them but even as their children grew and came home to tell of their own woes, Grandma and Grandad appeared to have a secret pact together that they would never take sides, speak ill or judge openly. I never once heard them gossip. Never once heard them tell their offspring what they really thought of their misendeavours. They would simply offer tea and sympathy. Were they as perfect as they sound? Of course not!

In private they would set the world to right, of that I have no doubt, but being each other’s only and best friends, nothing discussed went further than their bedroom door. 

I knew Grandma to be lonely but I learnt it at the wrong time. My life was just beginning. A visit to Grandma’s house no longer held the appeal it once had when I was small. The pound pocket money on the windowsill. The plate of cold Yorkshire puddings on the table. The fire in the living room and the hob in the kitchen. Always left on low. I still loved to visit and the unexplainable feeling of “home” I felt when I did, would be a tonic but I had my own little house and family now. 

Grandma’s letters would occasionally hint at feeling glum. She would find the odd frustration with living only with men, now the rest of her children had flown the nest but she would chuckle through her written words, “I don’t know eh, Juliette?” Her life was very simple. A trip to buy a new skirt, grocery shopping done daily, to give respite from routine. She would take her toast each morning, cold, with a cup of tea in a china cup, hot. She might knit a while before or after cleaning. Occasionally the phone would ring or a letter would arrive that was just for her, from her brother’s daughter or her own daughter, or me. Her other children and grandchildren would visit regularly. I began to realise how much of a difference it must make to her days and how patiently she waited. Without expectation.

I fretted a few times, being of a modern generation where women worked and were entitled to grand educations. I had access to good books and my voice and opinion were heard if not always valued. I could strive and stride forward. Entering Grandma’s cosy home, time would stand still. It was lovely for me to step off the ferris wheel for a while into the secure and familiar. I felt nothing but love and was certainly pampered and treated. But what of Grandma when I would go? I would think about her and wonder if she had achieved all she had hoped she would.

What a naive and childish fool I was! Grandma would have been hurt and offended for sure. She was not a stupid woman! Far from it. I was selling her short. Presuming she should want more from a life she had happily chosen for herself. Who was I to tell her that she could do better, work harder, aim higher? She had managed to harness a peace that most of us spend a good portion of life longing for!

20 years on and I am without her. All I want and what I wouldn’t give to have her hold my hands in hers again, while I ask her to tell me the meaning of life. To tell me the secret of being a good parent and how to get back to simplicity. To watch her cup my own children’s faces and gaze into their young eyes with her old, kind ones.

Smiling and knowing.

“… , grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Reinhold Niebuhr

YOU CAN READ MORE BEAUTIFUL POETRY FOR WOMENS GROWTH AND MOTHERHOODS JOURNEY HERE.

MY POETIC MEMOIR “THE LOVE REMAINS” FEATURES THE LIFE OF A 1950’S, HOUSEWIFE IN LEICESTERSHIRE, ENGLAND AND THE SON WHO LOVED HER DEEPLY.

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