Continuing Chapter. One

I'm sorry this is short, but I haven't been feeling too well and this was the most I could manage this time around.


Granny and Grandad settled down and opened a boarding house in Eton Square, Victoria, London. They still had good connection with America and so, many rich Americans stayed with them including, according to Aunty Sissie, the Vanderbilts.
One of their ambitions was to own a country club in Canada, and that became their next venture. Mummy’s younger sister Frederica (my Aunty Sissie) was born in Canada. She was named after her father Frederick, but Mummy always called her Sis and the name Sissie stuck, at last with our side of the family. Her husband George and all his family always called her Freddie,
When Sissie was three months old, Grandad had to go away on business, leaving Granny and their two little girls (our mum and aunty Sis) alone. The snow was very deep reaching the windowsills, and there were no other houses, nothing but trees for miles around. Two large bears came to the cabin door and started scratching to get in.
Granny, who was only four feet eleven inches tall, dragged all the heavy furniture she could handle, and piled it up against he door. When help finally came, the bear’s claws had almost gone through the door! Soon after this, Granny and Grandad decided to take their two little girls to America where it would be safer.
Once in the States, Grandfather Fordham found himself a job in the film industry as an actor. I don’t know exactly how that came about; perhaps it was the novelty of him being English. During this period of time, my mother and aunt were engaged by the studio to appear in crown scenes.
They both appeared in a silent movie epic. I can’t remember now if it was ‘Birth of a Nation’ or ‘Ben Hur’ but it was certainly one or the other. In one particular scene the two children, accompanied by my grandmother, were up on a balcony cheering and waving to the soldiers as they marched past. Aunty Sissie didn’t want to do this, and was throwing a tantrum, screaming and flaying her arms about. At the end of the shoot the Director complimented her on her fine acting and show of jubilance! However, it was my mother who caught he director’s eye, and she went on to appear in several movies, mostly with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks Snr.

The French Connection

Dad finally got work and for a time all was well. We lived in the same house as Granny Fordham who originated from Southern France, where we still have French relatives.
Granny’s father, Edmond Barthouel, was a master butcher and a very important and respected man in their village. He and his family owned property, farmland and a pork butchery. My mother told me the following tale about Granny Fordham, my French grandmother.
It seems that Granny was a somewhat rebellious teenager, and would not confirm to the rules and regulations laid down by her strict Gallic father. I don’t know exactly what prompted him, but my great grandfather had her sent away to a convent where she became a novice Nun. I’m uncertain how long she stayed there but, as a novice, she was required to have her head shaved.
My granny’s pride (which was considered a sin) and joy was her beautiful, waist-length hair. The thought of losing her crowning glory mortified her. Being of a headstrong nature, she hid in a laundry basket awaiting collection from the convent and, like Mr Toad escaped.
Her name was Marguerite Barthouel. During the course of her employment she must have made her way from Europe to America, because it was there that she later met my maternal grandfather, Frederick John Fordham, whose father was a publican and was deceased before Granny and Grandad Fordham married.
There’s an amusing little story about their meeting, which was told to me by Aunty Sissie, Mummy’s younger sister.
Grandad was a gentleman’s valet and Granny was a ladies companion. Both their employers happened to be staying at the same big house on the edge of a lake or river that I understand is part of the border between Canada and the U.S.A. My Aunty Sissie said that it was possible to sail on a boat to the middle of this expanse of water and be in both countries at once.
The story tells of how, on this particular day the weather was glorious and the staff of both parties of gentry were out in rowing boats, having fun on the water. Grandad Fordham doffed his straw boater and asked Granny if she would honour him with her company on his boat. And offer she graciously accepted. Grandad Fordham began joking and fooling around in an effort to impress his newly found ladylove, and fell overboard.
I don’t know whether or not he could swim, but he certainly got into serious buoyancy troubles. As he sank beneath the waters for the proverbial third time, he was fortuitously plucked from the sea by a companion and, accompanied by the sounds of my grandmother’s hysterical crying, conveyed to terra firma. Whilst they were attempting to resuscitate him, Granny, being an ex -novice nun and a good Catholic, prayed to God to let him live.
Grandad fully recovered from his ordeal, and he and Granny became a little better acquainted. It wasn’t long before Grandad Fordham proposed to my French Grandmother. She didn’t know him terribly well but considered God had answered her prayers and bought them together, so she said yes.
When they returned to England they were married at St Catherine’s Church in London.
I must break the story here to tell of an interesting and puzzling piece of information that I stumbled across during the research for this book. I have Granny Fordham’s death certificate in my possession, and on it is recorded the fact that she died at the age of sixty-three in the year 1934. This would mean that she was born in the year 1871. So far, so good.
I recently acquired my grandparent’s wedding certificate and on examination it appeared that they were wed on 28th March 1909. This made my grandmother thirty-eight years of age when she married her beloved Freddie. I was always aware that she was considerably older than him, but here is the interesting and strange thing I unearthed.
The wedding certificate gave Grandad Fordham’s age as twenty-one, and Grandmother’s as twenty-six! This must mean that she falsified her age on her wedding day to appear to be only five years older than her husband when. In fact she was seventeen years his senior. I assume this was done for Grandfather’s benefit: who else would care? Whether he ever became aware of this fact, I really don’t know.

LIKE COLOURED SHADOWS chapter one

LIKE COLOURED SHADOWS by Leeta (an abridged version)

Introduction

When my parents died, first my mother, then my father, I realized that they had left so many questions about their life and that of my ancestors unanswered. Also that the generation that came before me, is now either dead, or too old to remember the finer details of their lives with any guarantee of accuracy.

There are some periods in my life that I can recall and put a date to without effort. Other childhood memories are difficult to pin down to and pigeonhole. When did I receive my first three-wheeled trike? Was it before or after I started school? Was I two, three or even five years old when I went to my first tap dancing classes? At which age did I develop double pneumonia?
Thankfully I can remember and date some of these incidents that go back seventy-five years. Those memories that I can’t put into chronological order, I will slot into my story to the best of my ability.
Apart from the reminiscences stored in the corners of my mind, there appear anecdotes and information handed down to me over the years by various members of the family, mainly my parents, and I have no reason to doubt their validity.
Some of my siblings may feel disappointed that I haven’t written about their achievements and what they’ve made of their lives. This isn’t because I am not very proud of them all, but because I feel it is for them to tell their history in their own way.
I dedicate this humble life story to my mother and father; two wonderful people who shared their lives and their love for fifty-four years, and who made this story possible.

1: The beginning of it all

My parents Jeanette Fordham and Sidney Leach were married on the 31st of August 1930 in Westminster Cathedral, London. The Wall Street Crash had occurred the previous year, and England was now experiencing mass unemployment, and deep in the throes of the Great Depression, or the ‘slump’ as it was generally known. Not a good time to be starting out in married life, but my parents were very much in love and they felt that two really could live as cheaply as one.
I was conceived the following February, and my mother and father arrange for the local midwife, Nurse Stroud, to deliver me in their small one bedroom flat.
On the day that I decided to make an appearance the midwife and my dad did the best they could. I understood from my father that he had to hold a torch for the midwife while she stitched my mother up after my birth. Of course back in those days there was only gaslight in most homes, and this didn’t afford much illumination!
And so it was that I made my way into a troubled England that 15th of November 1931, at 95, Hugh Street, Victorian Westminster.
I was duly christened in Westminster Cathedral, my Godmother being my mother’s only sister Sissie.
Dad was desperately looking for work so that he could support his new family.
The Assistance Board gave him tickets to obtain free food. He told the Relief Officer (truthfully) that, owing to the lack of proper nourishment, his wife had ‘lost her milk’ and could no longer breast-feed their new baby. He was informed that if he reported to the ‘Welfare’ each Friday, they would give him a supply of Cow and Gate baby milk. This he did, as well as walking miles to get coke for the fire, and to look for a job.
Things got worse, and Mum and Dad were subjected to means testing. The Assistance people came and poked around in their home, to see what possessions they had, and how much food remained in their food cupboard.

LIKE COLOURED SHADOWS

All this talk about the 50's has awoken in me thoughts of times long gone by. As a lot of you know, ten years ago I wrote a lengthy but concise history of my family. This was done mainly for my children and any grandchildren I might have. When my darling mother died, all our family history and stories funny, herioc, and sad, died with her. Being the eldest child most of it was only known to me, and there was a lot that I didn't know either. I thought this such a waste, that I decided to write our family history, warts and all , so that this didn't happen to my children when I died. All of my siblings have a copy of my book, but I'm sad to say that a lot of them haven't read it! This is a great shame because it's not my autobiography, but the history of their family, and loaded with tales that they have never heard before. It's with this in mind, I wondered, if I wrote an abridged version in a series of blogs, whether they, or anyone else, would be interested enough to read it. It's not just the 50's , but starts at the beginning of the 30's and continues right up to 1998.
I have no desire to bore any one, and will only do this if people want me to.