Aunty Vee, 14 Dec 1996


My memories of Elizabeth are of a quiet, enigmatic old lady - seemingly unemotional, silver-haired, rather flat-faced woman who wore long skirts, usually black, and took snuff. It could be perhaps that she was long-suffering. She had lost one son, Willie, Dolly's twin, who died when his taxi crashed in the fog, aged 21. Then she had the old fellow, confined mainly to the upstairs bedroom, paralysed down one side following a stroke. He had at some time entered a mental hospital as a voluntary patient after he had run over and killed a little boy outside a church - again in a fog - Willie's death must have been like a horrible retribution.

He nevertheless ruled the household from his bed. Stanley the second eldest had to creep silently into the house by the back door - he had been banned for courting and subsequently marrying an Irish widow who lodged in the basement.. Conversations between Stanley and anyone else had to be conducted in low voices. The old fellow had ears like a bat and the slightest suspicion that Stanley was in the house would bring forth a frenzied thumping on the bedroom floor with his walking stick and bellows demanding if "that bugger was there?"

These episodes were naturally enthralling to an 8 or 9 year old but there was a price to pay. Grandma Elizabeth always dispatched me to go up to see the old man. This was a scary experience.

The window in his bedroom had been modified to one huge sheet of glass for the maximum light and there he was, ensconced in his bed, wearing a striped nightshirt and a bowler hat. He took off the bowler hat to show me the £1 notes packed into the lining. He was very fierce and given to mocking everything you said - actually mimicking your voice. The room always smelt fusty and it was a relief to escape.

Aunt Dolly (like my Dad) was black-haired and swarthy complexioned. She was very thin, fashionably dressed but unfortunate to have the Nolan generous nose. She excelled in ballroom dancing and the house was full of the trophies she'd won. Her bedroom was, to my young eyes, fascinating. It smelt of perfume and her bed had a rose pink eiderdown (we had many coats on our bed at home, so you can imagine how that eiderdown impressed me). There was a crucifix over the bed and rosary beads on the dressing table.

51 Great Howard St had two sitting rooms, one converted to a bedroom, and the front parlour, which must have been Grandma's pride and joy. There was a piano, a sofa and a big tiger-skin rug with the snarling head still on - then a massive turtle shell in front of the fire-grate. I doubt the room was used very often - all the visitors, i.e. family, headed straight down the hall to the kitchen. This was a small narrow room which had a sink and gas stove, besides a black wood dresser, a wooden table and a number of wood stained chairs tucked under the table. There was a fireplace and a huge fire halfway up the chimney. Opposite the fireplace was a narrow horsehair couch (very prickly to sit on) and above that a shelf containing Dolly's trophies. There was a picture on one wall - Dolly posing in a white tulle dancing dress.

On the dresser there was a teapot covered by a fat velvet tea cosy, a glass hen with a red glass beak in which the eggs were kept and a stack of blue and white Willow patterned plates. The door opened directly onto a flight of steps leading to the yard - this was Stanley's entrance and escape route.

Grandma Elizabeth cooked bacon and eggs for almost everyone that arrived - I certainly never saw anything different. It was normal to see Victor guzzling or Stanley eating furtively (the old man could negotiate the stairs - but it was a hellishly noisy performance and very rare but I suppose Stanley was on pins.)

No wonder poor Grandma looked long suffering - with him upstairs to contend with, Stanley making illicit visits and my Dad appearing with one of his ever-increasing brood - and she couldn't have approved of Protestant grandchildren. Life must have improved enormously after the old man died and she and Dolly moved to a little terrace house in Goldsmith St, off West Derby Rd.

Phyllis claims that she was with my Dad when he found the old man lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. She swears that she saw this but I find it hard to believe. We were living in the Mount House in Newburgh in 1942 and Phyllis would have been 4. I can't see my Dad taking her to Liverpool when there were still air raids going on. Mother told me that the old man had gassed himself. I suppose we'll never know for sure.