Right, got this memory that always gets me. Lost both parents by six. Mam died giving birth to me little sister Rose – wee thing. Remember it all. Mam screaming, neighbours rushing in crying, then… silence. Why no doctor? Why not get her to hospital? Still don’t know. Village too remote? Roads blocked? Had to be a reason, right? Left just Dad, me, my other sister Eleanor, and baby Rose.
Da was lost after Mam died. No family nearby in the Far East, all back west. No one to help him cope with us three. Neighbours told him, “Get wed quick.” Less than a week after Mam’s funeral, he went courting. They suggested the village teacher, said she was kind. Off he went. Proposed. She said yes. Suppose he charmed her? Young, handsome fellow. Tall, fit, eyes proper dark – nearly black. You couldn’t help but look.
Anyway, he brings her home that evening.
“How do, girls? Brought you a new mam!”
I felt sick, this bitter knot inside. Just a kid, but I knew it was all wrong. The house still smelled of Mam. We were still wearing dresses she’d sewn. And here he was with someone new. Now I understand why he did it, but back then? Pure hate for him and her.
God knows what she’d imagined us like, but she came in arm-in-arm with Da. Both a bit tipsy. She looks at us:
“Call me Mam, and I’ll stay.”
I nudged Eleanor: “She’s not Mam. Our Mam died. Don’t call her!”
Eleanor started wailing. I stepped forward.
“No! We won’t! You’re not our mam! You’re a stranger!”
“Well, aren’t you a cheeky one? Won’t stay then, will I?”
She headed out. Da made to follow, then just froze on the doorstep. Stood there head down. Turned back, came over, hugged us tight, and started crying his heart out. We joined in too, proper howling. Even little Rose grizzled in her cot. We cried for our Mam, he cried for his wife, but our tears held more raw grief. Orphans’ tears – they’re the same the world over. The ache for your mother – one language fits all. Only time in my life I saw Da cry.
He stayed maybe two weeks after. Worked on the logging crew, had to head back into the wilderness. No other jobs round Threshfield. Left money with neighbour Mrs Nugent for food, took Rose to another neighbour, and off he went.
So there we were. Alone. Mrs Nugent popped in, cooked a bit, lit the stove, then left. Had her own brood. Entire days spent cold, hungry, and scared.
Village talked it over. Needed help. Needed a special woman. Not just any – one who’d take strange kids as her own. Where d’you find that? Word was a distant cousin of Mrs Smith in the village knew a woman. Young. Husband had left her ’cause she couldn’t have kids. Some said there’d been a child who died, others weren’t sure. Anyway, got word to this Brenda Harris through Mrs Smith.
Da was still out logging when Brenda turned up. Crept into the house so quietly we didn’t hear. Woke up to footsteps. Sounded just like Mam. Clatter from the kitchen and that gorgeous smell! Pancakes!
Eleanor and I peeped through the door crack. Brenda was working away: washing up, scrubbing the floor. Finally, she knew we were awake.
“Well then, come on my little blondies, let’s eat!”
Blondies? Seemed funny. Me and El were proper little blondes with blue eyes – like Mam. Got brave, stepped out.
“Sit yourselves down!”
Didn’t need telling twice. We demolished those pancakes. Felt like trusting her already.
“Call me Auntie Brenda. That’ll do.”
Bathed me and Eleanor then, washed all our things, and left. Next day we waited… and she came back! The house changed under her hands. Clean and tidy, like Mam had kept it. Three weeks passed, Da still out on Dartmoor. Auntie Brenda cared better than anyone, but she seemed… guarded. Didn’t let us get close. Eleanor really warmed to her, mind. She was only about three. I held back. Brenda was strict. Quiet. Our Mam had been lively, loved singing, dancing, calling Da “John-jo”.
“Your Da coming back? Suppose he won’t want me… What’s he like?”
I started all wrong praising him, nearly wrecked it! Said:
“He’s good! Proper quiet! Has a pint then off to sleep!”
Auntie Brenda froze:
“Drinks often?”
“All the time!” piped up Eleanor. I kicked her under the table.
“No! Just Sundays. Maybe Christmas.”
Brenda left that night calmer. Da got back that evening. Walked in, looked around, stunned:
“Thought you’d be down in the dumps, living like princesses!”
Told him everything we could. He sat quiet, thinking. Then:
“Right then. Best go meet this new housekeeper. What’s she like?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eleanor rushed, “Bakes pancakes, tells stories.”
Still makes me smile. Brenda? Beautiful? By what measure? Thin, small, plain as anything. Wasn’t beautiful. But what do kids know? Or maybe… we saw something else. Her beauty? Maybe kids see that best.
Da chuckled, got his coat, and went next door to Mrs Smith’s.
Next day, Da brought Brenda himself. Went for her early. She came in shyly, like she feared something.
I whispered to Eleanor:
“Call her Mam! She *is* good!”
We both belted out:
“Mam! Mam’s here!”
Da and Brenda fetched Rose together. *She* became Rose’s real mum. Doted on her. Rose never knew our mam. Eleanor forgot. I remember, always. And Da remembered. Overheard him once, looking at Mam’s picture, soft as anything:
“Why’d you go so soon? Took all the sunshine with you.”
Didn’t live with Da and Brenda long. Boarding school from Year Five, our village school wasn’t big enough. Training college after Year Nine. Always rushed to get away. Why?
Zenaida never hurt me, never unkind. Looked after me like her own. But I kept my distance. Ungrateful? Probably.
Midwife – chose that job for a reason. Can’t turn back time. Can’t save my Mam. But I’ll save another mother.
