ONLY THE STRONG WOULD SURVIVE
I have no portrait to post with this. There are no newspaper
cuttings, no articles in magazines or books. Few even know this lady’s story.
Born in a family ravaged by the Great War (1914 -1918), her
father had his lungs poisoned by mustard gas in France in 1917. He returned to his
farm, but never recovered, thus dying young and leaving a widow with 8 children
to struggle on alone. Where were the male relatives, the uncles and brothers
who might have helped out? Sadly, the battlefields of France and Belgium had taken their lives or
their health.
For years this lady and her older sister milked 40 cows in
the morning before riding their bicycles 8 miles into the nearest town to work,
and after they returned home in the evening, they milked 40 cows again and did
other farm chores. Needless to say, they handed their weekly pay packets,
unopened, to their mother.
Years passed, and when the younger siblings were old enough
to help things became easier. The lady was able to enjoy a social life.
As the black clouds of World War II hovered overheard, she
became engaged to a young man before he marched off to war. And she waited,
like thousands of other women, for her man to return, stoically working in the
munitions factory and helping with the war effort. Soon the love letters stopped, her soldier
was listed as Missing In Action, believed Prisoner Of War. For two years she
didn’t know whether he was alive or dead, but finally the news came. He had
escaped his captors.
On his return home they married, had three children and
settled into suburbia. Money was tight, but having been trained at a young age
to be frugal, she managed to keep things going, and all was well.
But fate had another cruel card to play. A slow moving
muscle wasting disease. But did she give up? No. She enjoyed her children and
grandchildren, took holidays with her husband and did charity work. All the while
this hideous disease spread it’s ugly tentacles throughout her body, sapping
her strength, but never breaking her spirit.
After her husband died, she stayed in her own home for a few
more years. The disease spread, hungry
and evil, it could not be stopped. Finally,
when she could no longer walk, she bravely set about finding a suitable nursing
home.
Thankfully, she died before she had to leave her beloved
home and cherished memories.
How do I know all of this? The lady was my mother.
My message to everyone is – cherish your mother, because the
world is a sad and lonely place without her.
Please raise your cyber glasses of champagne, and drink a
toast to yet another unsung heroine.
3 comments:
Your mother was an amazing woman and a true unsung heroine. Thank you for sharing her story, Margaret. I'm raising my cyber glass in salute!
Margaret, you come from strong stock and I can see clearly where your perseverance, sticktoitiveness, persistence came from. My cyber glass of champagne is also raised...Cheers!
I'm seeing a pattern here of writers coming from strong mothers. This is a true testament to your mother's strength. I believe she would make an ideal heroine for one of your stories.
Post a Comment