Edith

As it's Mothers Day meet Edith, my mum, who died in 1994.

About a year ago I posted an entry about George, her husband and my dad.

It was a bit strange how she met George. She, George and one of her five sisters all worked in the same woollen mill. George and the sister hit it off and got married. The sister died not long after, and George and Edith then married and remained so for just over 25 years until George died.

Despite being quite different in many ways they got along just fine. George was quite adventurous, Edith was less so; George was quiet and reserved, Edith was lively and outgoing. Both were kind, hardworking and sometimes a bit bewildered by me.

After George died, having been ill for several years with heart problems, Edith moved from the 3-bedroomed council-owned property into a 1-bedroomed flat in a council-owned development aimed at older people who were able to live independently.

Edith flourished here, as many of her mates from her younger years were also housed in this development and it was within staggering distance of her favourite pub where she and her mates would hold court each weekend on Friday evenings, Saturday evenings, Sunday lunchtimes and Sunday evenings.

Her 70th birthday was memorable for many reasons. She was very clear about the kind of celebration she wanted me to organise and pay for, which I was really happy to do. And so it was that, after a couple of phone calls with the landlady of the pub to sort out the catering, I arrived at about 1pm at the pub to see the slogan 'Pakis fuck off' splattered across the back wall, some of the windows boarded up and scorch marks across the car park.

Mum and her gang had been in there since 12 noon and she explained that there had been 'a bit of bother' the night before and please don't sit on that seat over there because somebody took an axe to it last night and they are taking it away in a bit'. She was a bit pissed off with me because I was late, and the band would be arriving any minute and would need paying (first I'd heard about a band). By 3pm the pub was heaving with my mum's mates and she was worried that there wouldn't be enough food, in which case I would have to arrange for fish and chips for everyone. Thank god some of her mates had brought their own grub.

It was an absolutely brilliant day and Roland was lovely - not objecting to being called Rupert by several people. By 7pm I was ready for home and bed, as I hadn't had so much to drink in years. Mum was a bit disappointed, as she wanted 'her girl' to be with her for the full length of her birthday bash. I later learned that she and her mates were chucked out at about 2am the following morning.

She died a few years later, very suddenly, and her last words to me - in a phone call a few hours before she died - were: 'When you come over on Saturday I've got something to tell you about your Uncle H and that woman. I can't tell you on the phone because you never know who's listening. All I can say is, your Auntie C is going to go mental if she finds out.'

At my mum's funeral - which was packed out - I couldn't help but watch Uncle H, Auntie C and 'that woman' like a hawk. I think sex may have been involved.