The wonder of literacy by Paul May

Last month I wrote about my late wife’s family, and in particular about her grandmother, Bessie, who gave birth to illegitimate twin boys in 1925, in a remote Suffolk village at the age of 37. Some of you wanted to know what happened to the boys, so I will tell you—eventually. But before I do I want to write about Daisy, who was Bessie’s sister, and about Daisy’s writing. Every time I see her letters they remind me what a wonderful thing it is to be able to read and write.

When Robert, father of Bessie and Daisy, got married, he 'made his mark' in the parish register. Thinking about it now it seems extraordinary that a grown man couldn't even write his own name, but that's how it was. Fortunately for Robert’s many children, the rector of Monk Soham for  half a century had been Robert Hindes-Groome, who had not only restored the mediaeval church but had also started a school in the village. 

Robert Hindes-Groome—rector of Monk Soham and Archdeacon of Suffolk

Daisy was born in 1894, and she left school in 1905. The school’s logbook recorded the occasion: A. J. Swinburne came today and examined Mary Collins, Daisy Elliott and George Stone, whose parents had applied for Labour Certificates.

In 1899 the school leaving age had been raised to 12 years, but younger children could leave to go into employment provided they had reached the required standard and attended school regularly. A. J. Swinburne HMI was something of a local celebrity who had been inspecting schools in East Suffolk for over thirty years and wrote an extraordinary account of his life entitled ‘Memories of a School Inspector’. It’s a kind of early Gervase Fen, very entertaining and remarkably enlightened about primary education. The book was privately published—in vast quantities to judge by the number of copies still available.

The text is available free online, but
the book is a nice thing and not expensive.

So, Daisy left school and went into service. She married in 1920, but her husband died two years later, and when Bessie gave birth to the twins, Peter and Paul, in 1925, Daisy took on the raising of Peter with the help of her mother, Sarah, who had lost two of her own sons in the war. 

Bessie took Paul with her when she found work as a housekeeper, but for the rest of her life Daisy kept Bessie in touch with events in the village through her letters. And because Daisy and Bessie learned to read and write, and because Bessie never threw anything away, I have this letter which describes Daisy’s brother-in-law, Charlie, visiting Peter and his wife, Gwen, and their baby daughter, Barbara. Barbara was my wife, also known, much later, as Ellie. 

Gwen called in yesterday she had been to her Aunt’s funeral. She was buried up hear at Monk Soham. It's a funny thing but three brothers all lost their wives in a year. Peter had a half day off to look after the little girl.  Charlie went over to see them Sunday night and he said she was a contented little soul. Charlie nursed her a little wile and he said she kept looking at him as if she knew him. Gwen put her to bed at six but she had kept her up a little longer because he was going.  

Letter form Daisy.  12th June 1956. 'Little Barbara' was 6 months old.

Daisy’s writing was always vivid. I have several of her letters. They are like fragments of a lost world. In another letter she thanks Paul and Bessie for getting hold of some adrenaline for her. Obviously you could do that sort of thing back in the 1950s. And she is always concerned about the state of the vegetables in the garden. Daisy writes as she must have spoken, a clear voice speaking from the past thanks to her brief six years of schooling.

Letter from Daisy to Bessie and Paul.  About 1955.

And so to the twins. Paul received an education at boarding school thanks to one of Bessie’s employers. He became an engineering draughtsman and he lived with his mother until the end of her life in 1977. He never married, and it was only after his mother died that he saw his brother again for the first time since infancy.

Paul at work in the drawing office

Peter had grown up in the village and lived and worked within ten miles of it for the whole of his life except for a spell in the Royal Navy during WW2. He and his mate, Jockey Clemence, are the only children recorded as playing truant from the village school in nearly 50 years. When he grew up he became an agricultural labourer and a publican.

Peter plays truant.  He was often absent.

Peter at work in the pub. A rare smile!

The brothers saw each other regularly after their reunion, largely because Peter’s wife, Gwen, enjoyed Paul’s company. And their meetings were always arranged by letter, because Paul never had a telephone. 

Paul was cheerful and friendly, fond of a joke and a party, but Peter was often surly and grumpy, and he never had a good word to say about Paul when Paul wasn’t there. Last month I described how Bessie lived on in a seaside boarding house, after her husband died, for another thirty years, changing nothing in the house. After his mother died, Paul himself lived alone in that house by the sea until he died, thirty years later. He, too, changed nothing. Even the bills were still in his mother's name when he died.

He loved going to stay with his relatives in the country, and he would have such a good time that a weekend stay would turn into weeks until his relatives would start to worry that he might never leave. But when he was at home he was always restless. Someone described how they used to see him about the town, always walking and walking, always on the way to somewhere else.

Both brothers are dead now, and they lie, side by side, in Monk Soham churchyard.

Paul May's website is here.