Or should that be May Rose Betts? That was what was on her birth certificate (see The Bermondsey Connection, below). But she was always known as Rose to her family and friends – and to me she was just Nan. Not Gran, Grandma – she rejected those as sounding old and frumpy: bear in mind this was in the 1950’s when her first two grandchildren, my cousin Tony and myself, arrived.
I have written elsewhere about our regular visits to Nan and Grandad in Mendham, and how this idyllic time was sadly cut short by my cherished Grandad’s death in 1963. My childhood memory of my grandparents is of a devoted couple and indeed, everything Nan always said in later years served to confirm that William George Warnes was the love of her life. They had, I believe, lived briefly with his parents at the start of their marriage but by the time their children were born they had moved to the council house in South View, Mendham where I remember visiting them.
In the aftermath of losing Grandad, Nan couldn’t face living alone in the house in which they had lived together and brought up their family, so she gave up the house and moved in – temporarily at first –with her elder daughter Peggy who at the time lived in St Margaret’s, South Elmham.
She lived with Peggy for the rest of her life, moving with the family when they bought their bungalow in Bungay. There were times when she regretted her hasty decision, especially when she saw her best friend, Daisy Thurston (Aunt Daisy to us children) allocated a small retirement bungalow in the centre of Mendham, where Nan’s heart still was. She had to make do with a weekly trip into Harleston or Mendham to meet up with her friends and sisters, and enjoy a ‘good old natter’.
Although she lived with Peggy, Nan spent time with us too – not only did we see her when Mum and her sister visited each other, but Nan would come and stay with us in Dickleburgh a few times a year, especially when she was particularly needed, such as when my little sister and brother arrived.
She also always spent Christmas with us, arriving a couple of weeks before ‘the day’ to help out – it was the busiest time for Mum and Dad in the shop, so having her to look after us children and contribute to the preparations was, I’m sure, invaluable.
One of my treasured memories is ‘helping’ Nan with the Christmas baking. I’m not sure how much help I was, but while Mum was often in a rush when making cakes and I just got in the way, Nan had plenty of time to let me play with bits of dough, putting currants in them and cheerfully popping the grey dough into the oven to be later proudly presented to Dad to eat with his afternoon cuppa – and as far as I remember he always obliged by consuming whatever was offered.
Aside from my puny efforts, a day’s baking would result in mountains of home made mince pies, sausage rolls, fairy cakes, Suffolk rusks and other treats to be carefully boxed up and not touched until Christmas Day.
In later years, Nan’s role in both our and Auntie Peggy’s house gradually moved from being the domestic support and rock for her busy daughters to relying on them for her own care, and at times this led to cross words – like many people as they grow older, she could be difficult. But she never had any doubt that she was loved by her devoted children and grandchildren, and one of the highlights of her later years was her 80th birthday party, when she was surrounded by family and friends.
I was able to provide her with a great-grandson and remember well the day I first took my newborn up to Norfolk: Nan had been in a care home for respite care for a few weeks and Mum was due to pick her up to take her home – Nan had no idea I was visiting until I walked into the dayroom behind Mum with my baby in my arms – and I’ll never forget the look on her face. Delighted didn’t cover it.
She insisted on taking us round to everyone in the room, introducing us with: ‘And this is my little great-grandson who’s come all the way from Hertfordshire to see me.’ In his turn, Joe adored his ‘Great Nanny’ too, so when she died, aged 84, I worried about telling him. With typical two year old matter-of-factness he asked if Jesus would make her foot better – in later years she had suffered gangrenous toes which were very painful, as she had explained to Joe when he asked why she was wearing her slippers outside. When I assured him that Great Nanny was not in any more pain, he was quite satisfied – he could cope with not seeing her again if her pain was gone. Why aren’t adults as empathetic as that??
Sadly, although she knew my second child was on the way, she never got to meet my younger two, but we did ensure that Caroline bore her name, while Joe’s third name is George, in honour of Nan’s adored husband, next to whom she now rests in Mendham churchyard.