Page 37 - My Story (final)

Our other good friends at the time were Freddy and Johnnie (Joan) Carter who had been
introduced to us by Norman and Pauline. Freddy was a WWII veteran who had had a leg blown off in
France. I think he might have been working with Norman in the city before Norman decided to become
a lecturer. Anyway, when we first met them, they w

ere engaged, and they got married around the same time as us. Freddy was a tall, fair, outgoing,
very jolly man while Johnny was tiny, dark and introspective. They bought a house in Sydenham which
was not far from us in West Dulwich and had first Jane and then Simon ahead of our babies so that Simon
was about a year and a half older than Helen. We spent a lot of time with them as long as we lived in
Thurlow Hill and inherited many of their toys. I can see wooden engines and tricycles being driven around
our lawn and lots of noisy toddlers laughing and shouting and having a wonderful time while the parents
endeavored to have a quiet drink and chat amongst themselves.

Debra was born to Jackie and Peter in March of 1960. Helen was fascinated by this baby, as Lesley
had been by her. This put an end to Lesley spending days with us, so we had to make time for the children
and their mums to see each other. I remember going over to Jackie and we’d grill a herring, cost seven
pence, for lunch.

Helen was a brilliant child – walking at thirteen months, talking whole sentences and best of all, potty
trained long before the arrival of Susan in September 1960 when she, Helen was twenty-one months.

Susan was born at home. In those days there were so few hospital beds in London that if you had had
a normal delivery with the first child the second and third had to be born at home. You could go to hospital
again for the fourth – probably because you needed the rest!

Giving birth at home is a bit like giving birth in Grand Central Station. Helen kept appearing to see
where I was and when Peter finally hauled her off to have lunch, I had him yelling up the stairs, “Does the
baby want peas with her sausages?” and “How many potatoes will she eat?” and so on. The baby arrived,
delivered by a lovely young midwife and while we waited for the doctor to arrive from his golf game – it
was Wednesday, Doctors’ day off – I was entertained by Helen, Peter, Mrs. Arscot and sundry others either
in person or on the phone.

Susan arrived laughing and hasn’t stopped yet. She was a solid eight and a half pounds with a
shock of black hair and Helen adored her. The care after a home birth was fantastic – the midwife was
there twice a day and always allowed Helen to wear her hat. The doctor came in frequently and, of course,
all the friends and neighbours made sure we were fed and entertained.

Susan was a happy and inconspicuous baby. You fed her, she smiled at you. You put her in her
pram, she smiled again and fell asleep. Indeed, on boxing day of 1960 I bathed her, fed her, put her
outside in the pram and forgot her. It was only the gentle snowfall that made me look out of the window
and say, “It’s snowing – arggh, the baby……” and I rushed outside and carried her in looking rosy and
smiling and not at all concerned!

Susan was about a year old in October of 1961 and I was pregnant with Hilary when the Bachs
invited us for a visit to Dusseldorf. We were received royally, the babies whisked away by the Bach girls
and Peter and I sat with the adults and were allowed to be real grown-up people again. I don’t know how
long we stayed, maybe two weeks, but I hardly saw my children during that time. Only mothers of young
children can appreciate this – the rest, the freedom! Hans suggested we take a trip into Holland with Ute
as guide and I, who hesitated to leave my babies with a grandparent in case there were an emergency and
the grandparent couldn’t cope, went off quite happily, knowing that Helen and Susan already adored the
Bachs.

I remember very little of the actual trip into Holland but coming back we passed through a small
town called Kleve, where Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII’s second wife and named by him, “The mare of
Flanders” had come from. Ute insisted we take Kaffee and Kuchen at the Café Lindeberg where they sold
an amazing cake called Grillage torte which consisted of layers of meringue, ice cream and frozen whipped
cream all sprinkled with chocolate. I make my own version of this today, but it never tastes the way it did
that first time. Yum!
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