Andy Vining’s Podcast: My Mother’s Diaries 1948 -1976: Episode 2 – January to February 1948

Andy Vining shares his mother’s diaries in his new podcast. Listen to these beautiful stories on Spotify.

Andy Vining’s parents were John and Peggy (later known as Be Be).

In this episode, the name of Be Be’s father was Herbert Miller, originally Muller as he was German and became a naturalised Englishman before the First World War.

January 1948

My Father (Dad) has been quite poorly that week, and the worry of it sat quietly with me as I went about the ordinary business of the days. Still, life had to be kept moving. I went into Winchester with Betty my sister. Grateful for the small distraction of the trip.

While there we had Heather’s Polyphotos taken — she looked such a picture, bright-eyed and beautifully turned out. I bought new shoes for the children too, which cost £3 and 4d, (£160.00 Today), a sum that made me catch my breath, though it couldn’t be helped. Later, Eric and Phillip came by and we let them have the goose. It felt like one of those days full of little errands and bigger concerns, all jumbled together.

The next morning brought a small measure of relief: Dad seemed a little brighter. The white bougainvilla in the kitchen had opened fully and filled the house with a sweet, unexpected fragrance, lifting my spirits despite the dreadful weather. Rain fell endlessly, outside drumming on the windows as if it had no intention of stopping.

Still the rain was with us when Heather and I walked to Beechcroft. Dad had had a bad night again, and I carried that worry with me as we went. Heather wore her fur-trimmed bonnet, which everyone admired as we passed. The news everywhere was of Gandhi — poor old Gandhi — assassinated. It cast a sombre shadow over the day, as though the whole world had taken on the grey sky above us.

But life continued, quietly and stubbornly, as it always does. I gathered a bunch of snowdrops from the garden, their white heads nodding as if spring were already whispering from far off. John went to the football; Saints beat Newcastle 4–2, which cheered him immensely. Marjorie and Malcolm West called in, bringing a warm familiarity to an otherwise tiring day. And that night, thankfully, Dad rested better. It was only a small mercy, but enough to end the month with a touch more hope than it began.

February 1948

February began with snowdrops everywhere, more than I’d seen in years. I picked masses of them — eight dozen bunches in all — their white heads bobbing like little lanterns of hope. Bet and Fred called in; it was Fred’s birthday, so there was a bit of cheerful talk in the house. Father had a better night and seemed a little more himself, which lifted us all.

Leslie Willis arrived the next day to begin a month’s training with John, fitting into the rhythm of the farm almost at once. Father even managed to get up for a short while, and when he telephoned that evening he sounded brighter. The rain came down endlessly after that, grey and persistent, though it cleared by evening. I cycled round to Beechcroft just for the change, and found Father up again and looking much improved.

There was snowdrop picking at Flexford later that week, and Fred and Jess Ropley dropped by in the evening. Life was busy, as it always seemed to be. John and Leslie went out hare shooting and came home triumphantly with six. I spent the day making Jennifer’s birthday cake, the kitchen warm with baking smells and children drifting in and out.

Her birthday arrived with great excitement. We gave her a kilt, which she was utterly delighted with, twirling about to see it flare. I spent the whole day cooking for the party. And what a party it was — hectic from start to finish. But a good one, full of children’s laughter and that pleasant exhaustion that comes only after a full house. John managed to slip away to the football. Saints won, to his delight.

After all the chaos, we ate one of John’s hares for Sunday dinner. Bet and Fred dropped in again later. Monday brought the washing, as usual. A lovely day meant everything was dry by ten o’clock, a small triumph. I met the children from school and saw to the pig being killed — just the ordinary business of the household.

We had pancakes with lemon the next day — a real treat — and Auntie Bella took Heather out while I went to the hairdresser’s. John fetched the pig offal. Soon after, Leslie drove us all the way to Exeter to see his farm. The drive through Dorset and Devon was beautiful, picture-book countryside. His farm was charming too. Mother watched the children for us. But the day ended on a darker note: Father was very poorly when we visited him, and a letter arrived from Bob saying Bunty had pneumonia.

A pig day followed — brawn, trotters and all the rest — and in the evening we went to the Conservative Ball in Winchester. Not a bad evening, all told, and John won £3 7s 6d (about £200.00) on the Pools, which felt like a windfall At least it paid for the shoes I had brought last month!

Next day I slipped over to Beechcroft for half an hour. Heather’s Polyphotos arrived, and they were jolly good. John Buckett (A farmer in Allington lane Eastleigh) came in later and he and John talked farming long into the evening.

Then came the blow: Father was taken into hospital. John went to Hursley Lodge, and Bet and Fred came to supper, their company a comfort. The next day I picked the last of the snowdrops. Mother visited Father; he’d had another slight heart attack. John and Joan Buckett came to tea with young David. David is such a lovely baby. It was a day of mixed emotions: flowers fading, babies thriving, Father struggling.

Time moved on. It was Michael Adkins’ birthday and another washing day, all done by lunchtime. Mother came back from the hospital worried — Father was unable to keep anything down. The cold weather continued, though at least it was dry. I planted old bulbs out on the lawn. John and Leslie went to a meeting. Father worsened again. The days were suddenly running on worry.

I took Heather to Dr Sibley for her immunisation and then went to the hospital with Mother. Father seemed better — genuinely better — and we dared hope. But the weather turned bitterly cold again, though sunny. Betty was starting a rug and had bought wool and canvas. I wondered idly when on earth I would ever make mine. John and Leslie went to a silage demonstration, and John won 26 shillings on Littlewoods.

The cold stayed with us. John and Leslie went to Salisbury and brought home a shorthorn bull. Then the kitchen beam caught fire over the stove — a fright and a half — but we got it out in the end. Snow began to fall. The next day it was thick, the whole world white. Doug, Marge, and Malcolm West came, and we spent most of the day trying to warm the house through. Father was no better, still fragile.

The snow deepened overnight. John spent all day preparing for the chicks due on Wednesday. The roads were dreadful, so I couldn’t get to the hospital. Mother telephoned: Father was very bad again. Monday arrived bitterly cold. The pump was frozen, so no washing. Bet and Mother made it to the hospital this time; Father remained desperately ill.

But at last the weather brightened. Heather and I walked to meet the children and felt the sharpness ease a little. John and Leslie went to Norman Cooper’s that evening. The chicks arrived the next morning — one hundred and fifty Rhode Island Red pullets — tiny scraps of life cheeping in the cold house. Father, though, was still weak.

The days stayed cold but sunny, seeming to promise better things without quite delivering them. Betty bought wool for another rug. I wondered again when I’d make mine. Father was unchanged. John and Leslie went to Winchester. I visited the hospital at last; Father seemed a little brighter, and I thought I saw real improvement. The children all had coughs, of course, as children always do in winter.

Another fire in the beam began one morning right in the middle of cooking dinner — quite ridiculous. We dealt with it as best we could. Marjorie and Doug West came, and John went to the football and the flicks.
Saints lost this time. On Sunday, South came to inspect the troublesome beam. The weather was beautiful, almost springlike. Eric Coates called in the evening. Andrew and David stayed home from school with bad colds.

And Father was struggling again — the month ending as it had begun, with our thoughts circling constantly around him.