Unexpectedly
coming across a photograph on-line of my maternal grandmother, Margaret
Constant apparently taken not too long before her death, got me thinking about
her again. My brother and I always knew
her as Old Nan and we were definitely intimidated by her of that there was no
doubt. Not surprising perhaps because
so was our mother and most of her sisters and it would be true to say that
Margaret Constant was not a woman you could easily warm to. She always sat ramrod straight despite
decades as an itinerant field worker, hair scraped from her face and she was
rarely seen to smile. The on-line photo
was a perfect depiction of this.
Because
she had many children, over time she accumulated a great many grandchildren and
largely her family lived around and about her in Crayford and Dartford, just a
few absconding to Thameside towns and villages further afield such as
Swanscombe, Greenhithe and Northfleet.
It would be true to say that whatever passed as filial love between her
and her offspring caused most of them to vie for her attention and goodwill for
the duration of her life. Not easily
loved she definitely inspired a certain amount of respect and deference.
Although
she would routinely hold a new baby in her arms and examine it closely, often
asking questions or passing comments on its appearance, as we grew older I can
never remember sitting on her knee or being the recipient of a loving hug from
her. I don’t think she ever gave any of
us a grandmotherly kiss. It could be
that she was simply reflecting the emotional relationship that once existed between
working class children and their parents and grandparents. It would be true to say that over the past
120 years this has undergone a major change.
Formality has given way to informality, authoritarianism to
libertarianism and distance to closeness.
Perhaps this trend has been particularly evident in families like ours,
situated as we were at the very bottom of the heap because the working classes
definitely did not escape the accepted norms of the times, in fact their very
situation often accentuated the trends.
During
the first decade of the twentieth century childhood could be a traumatic time
for all levels of society rich and poor.
But poor housing, and lack of healthcare meant that many children were
extremely unhealthy and could expect to experience more serious illnesses than
most in their earliest years. At the
turn of the century the worst infant mortality figure ever was recorded with a
third of all working class infants dying before their first birthday. Of those who survived babyhood one in four would
not do so beyond the age of five. The killers included whooping cough,
diphtheria, scarlet fever and measles, all conditions we immunize against
today. And now growing numbers of us feel
free to be outraged at the very idea of immunization and might even join
pressure groups with voices loud enough to object to the idea of such an
assault on an innocent child.
It’s
all too easy to forget that where population density was high, overcrowding
rife and poor sanitary conditions endemic, infant death became a fact of life. Where
children survived many continued to suffer from dental decay, ear and eye
infections, rickets, ringworm, headlice, pneumonia, bronchitis and general
under nourishment. In 1901 a survey in
York found that on average the boys of working class families were nearly four
inches shorter than those from upper class families and weighed eleven pounds
less. As recently as the 1960s an
evening spent in an East End pub might confirm that the locals when reaching
adult status seemed still to be smaller of stature than their counterparts from
Public Schools.
A
hundred years ago survival itself was difficult for children but so was their
relationship with their parents.
Overcrowding demanded discipline and obedience was of prime
importance, to be fiercely encouraged in the young. Questioning superiors, particularly parents
for whatever reason was often punished.
The acceptance of these attitudes undoubtedly led to a general lack of
affection.
The
manner in which children referred to their parents captures the transformation
of attitudes over time – they were Mother and Father in 1900, were likely to
become Ma and Pa by 1910 and somehow in the middle of the 1920s became Mum and
Dad where for most they have stayed ever since.
The more avant garde had by 1960 almost dismissed what was beginning to be seen as the rather twee Mummy and Daddy and
had given way to the use of first names only, a trend that horrified my mother
who said that only over her dead body would she be known as Nell by her
children.
A
tough life invariably results in the following generation becoming as emotionally
resilient as necessary in order to protect itself. Perhaps there simply wasn’t room for a great
deal of love and understanding.
Certainly Margaret Constant’s children ended up as tough as they needed
to be and it took several generations for a tenderness and affection to grow
and prosper sufficiently to become the family norm. There
were of course exceptions to this and little pockets of warmth and affection
germinated against all odds. This was
the case with Aunt Mag, Margaret Constant’s oldest child who unlike her sisters
bucked the trend to grow into a harsh and punitive mother. Somehow or other she was able to rise above
the unforgiving conditions of her upbringing and treat her four children with
an excess of indulgence and understanding.
Her siblings described her as Soft and Aunt
Maud observed that she could sometimes be as Soft as Pigshit and Twice as Thick. Aunt Rose who had been married to Uncle
Mervyn long enough to know better than to be unnecessarily profane said she was
making a rod for her own back and that was a fact. My mother tut tutted and commented that Mag
would rue the day she didn’t give that Ann of hers more hidings because she
certainly needed them if ever a child did.
Mag sensibly ignored such advice and refused to be what she called Too
Hard on the kiddies. In the long run,
she maintained, it didn’t pay to treat them harshly. And in their turn each of them grew up to be adept
at making rods for backs and themselves parents to children cushioned by love
and as my mother was wont to observe – not a lot of discipline.
I've been looking at old census records. One of the questions on the forms was 'How many children have you had and how many have died?' On one particular form I saw the reply 'Fifteen and eight'. I was a bit taken aback by this seeming acceptance of the situation.
ReplyDeleteI have one family where they'd had 17 children and 2 were still living. Unimaginable.
DeleteThanks for this interesting piece of social and family history.
ReplyDelete