Chapter 8 - The Children

Jane's descriptions of her children for her parents' benefit.

Jane and Eric had four children, three of them born during the war, and one after the family emigrated to Western Australia.

They were all beautiful, gifted, intelligent and entertaining " well, if you were to listen to Jane, they were;  this about her first-born, Richard in May 1940:

 

            Tiny Wee went off to be weighed, and is now 8¾ pounds, having gained ¾ of a pound this past week, and he is simply wonderful.  He's got to the dearest little face, still just like his mother, at the same age, but when he comes out of his bath he looks like his godfather Richard.  His hair goes into a mass of fine little curls and frills, just like Richard's does, when it is wet.  I don't think he will lose any of this hair, it is so thick and strong, and goes like this
 at the little back of his neck.  I put a kiss there this morning, from his Favourite Grandmother, also one in each palm, according to your instructions.  He gets these every morning, from you via me, while he is in his bath, and seems to appreciate them.  He has got policeman's feet, and long fingers too, and he is terribly strong and beautifully made.  He gives me such kicks in the tummy with his great strong legs, and beats me to death with his fists if I don't give him his tucker when he is ready for it.  He uses his bright little eyes such a lot, though I suppose he doesn't see yet, and there is nothing spindly and weak about his neck either, because he shakes his head furiously and bunts at me with loud snorting noises, and has a mouth like a young cuckoo, before he starts his meals.  He only has one real vice just now, and that is that the minute I release the last fold of his nappy, before sitting him on his little yellow potty, he makes a most comprehensive fountain, and then thumps his chest and makes bird noises, and looks immensely pleased with himself.  I think he fancies himself as a member of the auxiliary fire service.  Anyway, he is very cunning, and despite many ruses on my part and lots of careful manoeuvres, he always gets the better of me, and Eric thinks it's funny!

 

            ‘Tiny Wee’ was Richard’s in vitro nickname.  All Jane’s children had one, including her second child, Gillian, whose nickname was ‘Lulu’. She made her appearance in December 1942.  This was one of Jane’s early descriptions of her:

 

            Gillian is growing lovelier every day " and is a model of deportment.  She sleeps solidly between all her feeds, gains 9 or 10 ounces every week, roars with laughter at everything I say, and is the exact replica of her own Mama.  Aunty Tommy came to lunch last week, and called her “little Jane”, and so she is.  Her curls are simply bewitching, but are getting slightly fairer, though her eyes are still very dark.  I am searching every shop for a film, so that we can photograph her, but with no success so far, but a faint hope of getting one soon from our own chemist.

 

            And later, at three months of age:

 

            I hope you and Daddy like our little girl, with all the hair and curls, and the pendulous cheeks.  In the full-face picture she is striving to sit up, which is why she has such a worried look. 
We’ve got some more film, and hope to take some more pictures in a month or so, when she shows a change in her looks and progress.

            She is going ahead wonderfully well, gaining weight steadily, and getting so bright and exciting.  Now she looks exactly like Peggy, because of her colouring, which is just the same as Peggy’s, and she has beautiful pink cheeks.  The only naughty thing she does is suck her fingers " a thing Richard never did, at any time.  I am going to wrap her up firmly so that she can’t do it, and hope that she will forget about it, because it looks kinda daft.  It isn’t hunger that drives her to it, either, it’s just that she fancies the taste of her hands.  In another photo [not shown here] she has yanked up her coat, and this is her other wicked habit, especially when partially disrobed, when she grasps the front of her frock and petticoat and pulls the whole lot up to her ears so that she can kick her beautiful little legs the more vigorously.

 

Then Phillippa, aka ‘Ponto’, came along in August 1944.  There was a long gap between letters at this point,

 

            ... She’s been rather a source of worry since the Allberry Invasion caused her natural source of nourishment to vanish completely and without warning.  I had to fuss about with various artificial foods, the first of which didn’t suit, the second of which suited but was buzz-bombed and so went off the market just as she’d grown used to it, and it has taken her a week or so to accustom her innards to the third food.  All that time she was sad and cross and gained no weight, and I was anxious about her. Now she is in fine fettle and has a pretty colour and fat cheeks, and this morning she indulged in wild transports of glee and displayed two dimples, so I think she must be all right.  She sleeps and wakes according to plan and is quite a pet.  Her eyes are still dark and brownish, so I have hopes of her staying dark.

           

Later, after Phillippa’s christening, Jane sent a photograph to her mother and had this to say about it:

           

I’m very pleased with the Christening groups, as everyone is looking happy except that wild hussy of a Gillian, who said she preferred to race about the lawn showing off her paces to her menfolk.  She is struggling furiously in all the pictures and in case you should wonder what she’s wearing " it’s NOT a straight-jacket. Believe it or not she has on a pretty organdie frock, pale blue with pink sprigs all over and smocked in pink and blue silk. Over it she has a little blue angora hug-me-squeeze I knitted for her. It is this shape: the buttons are at the back and the two curved bits cross over at the front and button on. It is ideal for sunny days when there is a cool breeze, and she looks a pet in it. Can you see how ‘Peggy-ish’ she is?  All you can see of our tiniest one is the usual mop of hair and a tiny hand " probably frozen, too, it was a cold day. But you may be able to see that she has the same kind of forehead as Richard and is getting more like him every day. Her eyes are still a definite brown. And her hair is only a little lighter than it was at first, and is curling quite strongly. She has lots to say now, and is looking very pretty and behaving beautifully.

 

            Now follows an extract from a letter written in April 1942, in which Jane describes how children were medicated in those far off days.  There was no such thing as child-strength medications available from the local pharmacy, and a lot of the home treatment of children was shrouded in thick layers of traditional treatments and ‘snake-oil’ doctoring.  It is interesting to discover that a lot of the children’s medications were made up by the local chemist rather than the present-day pharmaceutical companies.  Jane makes the following mention in her letter:

 

            Last week I nearly died of a heavy cold in my head and sinuses because Richard was terribly poorly with a heavy cold (now mine) and I think he’s getting a few more teeth.

            I gave him a Steedman’s Powder which generally restores him in a minute, and he was very upset by it.  I had two or three sleepless nights and was very miserable about him.

 

            One of the main ingredients in a Steedman’s Powder was opium.  Anthony S Wohl, in an article Diet and Infant Mortality (which can be found on the web at www.rmhh.co.uk/files/diet.rtf ,) states: ‘Medical officers were convinced that one of the major causes of infant mortality was the widespread practice of giving children narcotics, especially opium, to quieten them. At a penny an ounce laudanum was cheap enough -- about the price of a pint of beer -- and its sale was totally unregulated until late in the 19^th century. The use of opium was widespread both in town and country. In Manchester, according to one account, five out of six working-class families used it habitually. One Manchester druggist admitted selling a half gallon of Godfrey's Cordial (the most popular mixture, it contained opium, treacle, water, and spices) and between five and six gallons of what was euphemistically called ‘quietness’ every week. In Nottingham one member of the Town Council, a druggist, sold four hundred gallons of laudanum annually. At mid-century there were at least ten proprietary brands, with Godfrey's Cordial, Steedman's Powder, and the grandly named Atkinson's Royal Infants Preservative among the most popular. In East Anglia opium in pills and penny sticks was widely sold and opium-taking was described as a way of life there.’

            It is a wonder any of us survived to tell the tale!

            Finally, in a letter to her other sister Celia, Jane had this to say about her children:

 

            Richard is a terrific handful now, ready for school, but they won't have him or can't fit him in until after he is five. I’ve just succeeded in putting him down for the Edinburgh Royal High, one of the oldest schools in Scotland, and with quite a good name for itself. It is handy too, being on the tram route to town. Gillian is growing up very fast too, and is learning to say a few well-chosen words, some of them more polite than others, but the less polite ones are also less intelligible, which is just as well. Phillippa will be the beauty of the family I think, she is exactly like Richard but with smaller, more delicate features, and a lovely pink and white complexion and long black eye-lashes. She is getting very lively and attractive.

           

            So much for a modest appraisal of her children’s attributes.  Jane and Eric both had a high opinion of their parenthood, and were very pleased with their efforts.