Ten years working as a cook in my son’s household and nary a word of thanks
Today, I find myself reflecting on my old friend, Margaret Pierce. An English teacher by trade, she stepped into retirement at the age of fifty-five. For the next ten years, she lived with her son David and his family in Birmingham. We met for tea just last week, and she was positively beamingshe told me it felt as if shed retired for a second time.
I remember vividly when Margaret, fresh from her final days at the school, packed up her flat and moved in with David. Her own place she left untouched, never letting it out, perhaps out of worry or a reluctance to have strangers in her space. Who can say?
Margaret always spoke kindly of her daughter-in-law, Emily. There was seldom a cross word between them; their arrangement worked in a way thats rare these days. When Margaret moved in, little Oliver had just celebrated his first birthday. It was meant to be a short-term solution, but ten years slipped by almost unnoticed.
Emily returned to work when Oliver was just a toddler, and Margaret assumed all the domestic duties. I dont exaggerate when I say she was both nanny and housekeeper, dawn till dusk. The responsibility was immensethere arent many who would sign up for such a task. She saw to Oliver, cooked every meal, scrubbed, washed, tidied; the routine was endless. The young couple returned from work at seven each evening, at which point she could finally rest, only to rise again before daybreak.
When Oliver started school, the daily routine shifted but didnt lighten. Margaret ferried him to lessons on the bus or by foot, collected him in the afternoon, and ensured he kept up with homework. Her roles as chef and housekeeper never disappeared; they merely evolved.
Margaret confided that some evenings she barely managed to switch on the telly before nodding off from exhaustion. She gave up seeing friends, hobbies, even simple pleasures. Bank holidays or Christmas, if the young ones had plans with their mates, Margaret stayed behind with Oliver, always ready to serve.
Oliver reached ten, and I think if fate hadnt intervened, Margaret might still be there, quietly keeping the household afloat. One evening, she overheard Emily quietly tell David, Your mum uses too much washing powder, I think. The laundry reeks of chemicals. Perhaps mention it gently? Ten years, and suddenly her laundry skills were doubted.
Margaret swallowed her upset, tried to let it go. Not long after, Emily suggested it was time the boy had his own roomand that Margaret shift into the box room, which doubled as the corridor. That’s when Margaret realised it was time to reclaim her space.
She packed her belongings, returned to her untouched flat, gave it a deep clean, and settled back into her old life. Afterwards, David and Emily were offended shed left, as if they’d expected her to be there forever. It was cleartheyd grown so used to having her around, they didnt consider how she might feel.
What saddened me was the lack of appreciation, as if it were perfectly normal for her to slave awaycooking, cleaning, washing, caring, day in, day out. As if she had inexhaustible energy and no desires of her own.
Communication ceased; the connection became strained. Despite it all, Margaret retains her optimistic spirit, convinced things will right themselves in time.
She told me that now, for the first time in ages, she can live just for herself. No rush, no burden, no pressure. And really, how much does a person need? At sixty-five, she has rediscovered joy. Theres an old tune: A second youth comes to those whove cherished their first. Margaret knows that feelingthe relief of liberation, the right to put herself first. A true act of self-sacrifice, though rarely recognised.
Most children, I reckon, never fully grasp what it means to have someone quietly keeping house and child, every day, every hour. You get used to beds being made, food being on the table, clothes always clean, homework supervised, your child cherished and safe.
And the lesson I take from this? Gratitude shouldnt be reserved for grand gesturessometimes the steadfast love in the background is what keeps life together. I hope I remember that, should I find myself on either side of that kitchen door.
