My father was English, and I have been able to trace his ancestry back as far as 1770, probably because the ‘clan’ remained largely in one small Northamptonshire village until around 1890 before family members started to move away due to increased mobility of labour. Individual family units tended to be large, and it was not unusual to find a grandchild living with his widowed grandfather.
Tracing the family ancestry has proved to be a rather interesting but time-consuming pass-time, nothing of particular note has been discovered, other than a yet unproven deportation to Australia! They appeared to be of quite genuine peasant stock, mainly gardeners working on large country estates. The women folk generally seemed to be engaged in the Northamptonshire cottage industry of lace making.
Dad was born in the village of Evenley in the county of Northamptonshire on the 24th. September 1893 and was the youngest of four, two sisters and one brother.
From Evenley, dad moved with his parents to Monk Hopton, then Trysall in Shropshire, where dad appeared to finish school winning the gardening prize; Beetons Book on Gardening Management. At age 16 he left home working as a gardener at Coton Hall, Bridgenorth, a large country estate. I am not sure but judging by some of his books in my possession, he had a passion for exotic stove house plants. At age 19 he seemed to make a career move training as a mechanic in Wolverhampton.
I have not been so fortunate tracing my mother’s ancestry, probably because she is of Irish-Welsh descent; it has been rather difficult tracing as far back as my great, grandparents. Again, nothing of significance has been discovered.
Mum was born in the village of Bushbury in the county of Staffordshire on the 23rd. September 1900 and was the second born of three, one sister and a younger brother.
I have little knowledge of what mum actually did after leaving school other than she worked as an accounts clerk and by all accounts was extremely good with figures. This was something I witnessed for myself on several occasions while watching her checking such items as grocery bills in pounds, shillings and pence. It was interesting to see her finger rapidly moving down a long column of figures far quicker that I, or anyone else, managed to do. Following this employment she worked as a nursery attendant at the New Cross Institution, Wolverhampton, for a period of some four years immediately prior to her marriage.
My parents were married at Bushbury Parish Church on 20th. June 1925, and I am the youngest of three, the eldest a brother and a sister.
So, my pedigree is very ordinary, nothing of distinction, a peasant indeed!
Britain declared war on Germany 4th. August 1914. Dad volunteered before conscription, which came into force on 2nd. March 1916, and on 23rd. January 1915 joined the Royal Flying Corps., as a fitter. He was demobilised on the 10th. March 1919 with the rank of Sergeant.
Following demobilisation, he eventually started his own business as a haulage contractor and in 1924 he purchased a two-acre plot of land for £185 and built a house which later became the marital home; ‘Beechwood’, on Stafford Road, Wolverhampton.
By all accounts dad’s business was quite successful until the great depression of the nineteen thirties. Businesses were collapsing like houses built on sand when storms come along. The ripple effect resulted in bankruptcy with the loss of everything, including my mum’s engagement ring, which was a bitter blow to her, more especially so since dad never replaced it.
My father was declared bankrupt on the 18th. October 1932 and the business finally wound-up on the 5th. of January 1933. Between these two dates I cannot possibly imagine the trauma they must have gone through seeing the home and business they had worked so hard to build-up carried away by bailiffs.
Then something quite beautiful must have taken place. My father and mother came together. In Biblical parlance, they ‘knew’ each other. In one spontaneous act of profound love, commitment and union, I was conceived; the beginning of a miracle which would continue to unfold over the coming months.
Dad, together with his now pregnant wife and two small children moved into lodgings sharing a bug infested, two and a half bed-room house, with another family of seven. No bathroom, no internal toilet, in fact the toilet was one of a row of four serving eight houses and some forty yards away from their lodging house. Each comprised of a long wooden board with holes of varying sizes over a pit dug into the soil below and newsprint for toilet paper.
Then I came into this world. The umbilical cord was cut, the creator of the universe breathed life into my lungs, and I became a living soul, independent and capable of both good and evil. Then they named me ‘Brian’, meaning ‘Noble’, and placed me in a drawer in a bug infested, overcrowded room.
Two thousand years previously another child was conceived, this time to a virgin through the ‘over-shadowing’ of the Holy Spirit.
Then He also came into this world just like me, independent but sinless! There was no room for Him either so they placed Him in a crude wooden manger in a stable filled with common cattle, and they named Him ‘Jesus’ because He would save His people from their sins.
What a privilege was mine to be born into poverty, just like Jesus my Lord and my Saviour.
The general consensus within the medical profession is that breast feeding is best for a baby in its first six months in that it contains all the nutrients, vitamins and disease protection substances needed for its development. This was an advantage denied me as mum needed to work and would be found in the fish market, fingers frozen, at six every morning, so I was put to the bottle. Also, I was denied the comfort, warmth and security of suckling at my mother’s breast, and mum too was denied the privilege, maternal satisfaction and physical pleasure of offering it to me.
By all accounts I was a contented and healthy baby and am not aware of any illnesses or ailments either during my childhood. Looking back, I wonder if my contentment and general health as a child was a gift from the Lord to me and a reward to my mum for her love and commitment, this ‘unwanted child’. I really do believe mum was content with her lot, not resigned, but content. Maybe it was that contentment which rubbed off on me.
Much later, during my middle and her later years, I felt I owed her so much for the love she lavished upon me during those early years but was denied that privilege too; the privilege of returning her maternal love due to the ‘Doctrine of Separation’. I will address that issue later, but for now it will have to wait.