MY BIRTH
I was born on 24th June 1942 at 238 Laburnum Road, Redcar, East Yorks., the home of 'Aunty Mary & Uncle Jim'. They had been family friends for years in Rock Ferry, but had 'emigrated' for a job at the steel works. Jim had two loves: trains, and the Isle of Man TT races. Their bungalow backed onto the North East main railway line (Jim could train-spot from the comfort of his living room), and every year they would break their journey to and from the Isle of Man by staying with with my mother at her flat in Rock Ferry. They were happy to accommodate Betty during the final stages of her pregnancy and my birth. I arrived a fortnight later than expected; probably the only time I've ever been late for anything. Mary had recently given birth to a boy, but had been desperate to have a little girl whom she would have called Patricia so, although Betty and Jock had wanted to name me Helen Thelma, I was named Patricia Margaret, to please Mary.
Having given up her job at Lee's, and spent some time in Redcar, Betty returned to the Wirral as 'Mrs.' Mitchell. At some point during the war her flat in Rock Ferry suffered bomb damage. Luckily she heard of an unfurnished, two bedroom, sitting room, living room, kitchenette and bathroom bungalow for rent in Bebington. This was ideal for her, me, and her father (when home from sea) so she presented herself at the agent's office and was accepted for the tenancy. 13 Green Lane became her home until 1978.
Betty was virtually disowned by her brother, Alan, who was three years older, married to Doreen, who had worked on the Jacquard looms in the tapestry room at Lees. Alan had learnt to play the piano as a youngster, progressed to learning the organ, and had become the deputy organist at his local church in Tranmere at the age of thirteen. When the organist retired Alan took over the position for the next sixty years and became a pillar of the Church community for the rest of his life. My mother would have been an embarrassment.
My father took an interest in me and helped to support my mother financially, but life must have been difficult for her without having a steady income of her own: there were no state benefits or a National Health Service at this time. During the first 18 months of my life I was hospitalised twice, the first time for an umbilical hernia, the second for the removal of a tumour/cyst on my stomach said to have been the size of a grapefruit or football, depending on how dramatic the story teller wants to be. On discharge I had alopecia (hair loss) which, on my mother's insistence, was treated by the hospital; which meant regular visits, having my head completely shaved, and having to wear a bonnet until my hair grew again.
When I was about three Mum took a temporary job in Garston, Liverpool, as a live-in home help and companion to a couple who weren't coping with the husband suffering from shell shock during the war; fortunately Mum was able to take me with her.
In August 1946 Betty's father died at home. Without his financial support any more my mother needed to find some means of supporting us. She saw an advert in the local paper for a live-in housekeeper for a widower whose wife had recently died of cancer, and his young son who was about the same age as me. Again, Mum was able to take me with her. I don't remember any of the time there, but apparently the son, Brian, and I did not get on: I suppose we were both protective of the relationship we had with our respective parent.
In the winter of 1946 – 47, an exceedingly cold period, Brian's father slipped into my mother's bed to keep warm and forced himself on her, which resulted in her becoming pregnant. What was she to do? She had tried to be equally fair to Brian and me; if she bought gloves for me she bought for Brian also, but this was not reciprocated: she had no affection for Brian's father, and thought that the friction between us was damaging, so we returned to Bebington.