Up Yer Kilt (A reflection of my mother)
March 19/20222
She was a strong and unique individual with a multi faceted life story.
Born in Aberdeen, on the north coast of Scotland in 1919, she grew up to work at the BBC, then at the beginning of WW2 she joined the WRENS and moved to London, England. Her youngest sister, with whom she was very close was also a WREN.
Her father worked as an engineer for a hospital in the suburbs of Aberdeen, and the family lived in a housing complex on the hospital ground. Prior to working at the hospital, her dad was an engineer on ships that regularly went to India and the far East. He brought home many exquisite souvenirs which now are in possession of his grandchildren. I have several, and glancing at them gives me thoughts of the great experiences he must have had. She lost a baby brother to pneumonia but lived happily with her mom and dad, and sister leading up to her eventful life.
My memory is not perfectly clear, but after joining WRENS, she met and became engaged to another Scot who was in the RAF. Unfortunately, he was killed in service, which was quite the common occurrence at that time.
She eventually again fell in love… I think the love of her life… with a handsome dashing Scottish soldier in his kilt, swept her off her feet.
London England at the time was a very exciting but dangerous place to be. The battle of Britain was turning in favour of the allies but our raid sirens, bomb shelters, and taped up windows were in considered normal. Soldiers from many countries were in great abundance. It sounds as if the social life was exhilarating, probably because of the dangers involved, the risks and the tendency to live life at its fullest before you became a war casualty.
She had a great many friends in the WRENS and these were major supports with each other.
She became despondent when given the news that her bonny Scottish husband to be was killed in a tank battle in France shortly after D-Day. Overcome with depression she gradually withdrew from her friends and the life she had.
Some time later, her friends convinced her to go to a dance, sponsored by YMCA or Red Cross. She reluctantly went and there met my father, a Canadian soldier with the Highland Light Infantry. She was not impressed at all but my dad was blown away. He persisted in his attentions to her and his love grew deeper. Momo admitted she did not love him but felt he was a decent man, so she accepted his proposal of marriage. She told me later that the events of war often ended up with life altering decisions.
Her sister seemed to have similar circumstances. She had lost previous loves, but was now being courted by a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot who flew Wellington and Lancaster Bombers. That is another story, for another time, but he went on to win the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for valour.
They arranged for a double wedding ceremony in Craigribuckler Presbyterian Church in Aberdeen, followed by a brief honeymoon. My uncle was off for more orders into Germany in his Lancaster, and my dad was shipped overseas for action in Holland as a lieutenant in the infantry. Mom received a telegram in January 1945 that he’d been severely wounded in action. He suffered machine gun bullet wounds to both lower legs and was treated first at a field’s hospital, then back to England. Because of the severity of his wounds, he was repatriated back to London, ON, Canada where he suffered through a series of operations and rehabilitation.
My mother was again devastated but decided to leave her beloved Scotland to follow her new husband to the wilds of Canada.
After saying goodbye to her mother and friends, she was taken to the dock by her father to board a “War Bride Ship” about the cross the Atlantic Ocean. Her dad, who had been a heavy smoker, was now in poor health and mom suspected she would never see him again. What an ordeal that must have been.
She often gave me great stories if ger ship board experiences. Most of the brides were English and Scottish, but there others from France, Belgium, Holland and other countries. They left behind all they had known for a new life in a new country, and a new husband for whom there were plenty levels of happiness, worry, sadness, and everything in between.
Some remained in their cabins and some openly flirted and cavorted with the male crew members aboard the ship.
Finally, the ship docked at Halifax NS (Pier 21) and the passengers boarded a train to take them across Canada. The train made frequent stops to drop off the brides. All through the Maritimes, Quebec, Ontario, the Prairies, the Mountains to the end of the line in Vancouver. I can imagine that each of these would be an eventful story, most of which have not been told.
She Was awed at the size of this country, although she was not nearly half way across when she deboarded in London Ontario. The next chapter in her new life.
My dad, still in uniform, but in a gurney with a large hoop over his legs. He was accompanied by his sites and his mother. That would have been very interesting to witness. My aunt was very kind and supportive to my mother and did all she could to make her feel welcome and comfortable and welcome. My grandmother, not so much, which unfortunately remained a pattern until her death.
Initially they all lived together, until, my parents found a place of their own. It must have been so difficult for mom. No friends, her new husband, requiring repeated hospitalization and only 1 truly supportive relative.
To have survived all of this, and not give up and return to Scotland required a strength of character that we rarely see any more. She was going to make the best of it and resigned herself to that fact.
As my dad recovered, they moved to a wartime house, the first 3 sons arrived.
Their friendships grew and it seems she was definitely getting adjusted to her new surroundings.
The next move was to a new house in the North end of London. There were plenty of new couples with young kids, who had similar background stories. It was here that both mom and dad developed deep and lasting friendships with many people. This was a very happy time in her life.
With a promotion at work, the family now with a 4th son, picked up and moved to the Windsor area, again leaving behind so much of was important and comforting in her life.
Our new residence was a larger but older home in a small town next to Windsor. To pattern again repeated itself. They quickly developed another large group of very close friends to add to the list in London. The 4 sons were now growing and enjoying a loving, filled home. She was again very happy and by now really did not regret her life choices.
As the four of us left home my parents remained very active with frequent parties, bridge clubs, church activities, volunteering, among others.
If I drew a map of this house and its location, there would be far too many stories to pursue.
The weddings of all 4 of us and the arrival of grandchildren further enriched their lives and the seemed to glow with experience.
The 4 sons got together to give the a Christmas present, a trip to the UK including the places they met, worked as well as a train trip up to Aberdeen Scotland.
We had arranged with our cousins for my mom’s sister and her husband to join them for the trip down memory lane. They even visited the church where the 4 of them were married so long ago. The minister was still there and remembered them very well as it was an unusual double wedding ceremony during the war. He showed them their signatures in registry. What an experience that would be. They all thoroughly enjoyed the trip and my mother was so thankful. She did tell me that she was very content, would not go back to Scotland to live, and happy with the decision she made.
For a 50th wedding anniversary we gave them a rescue dog that they named Annie. Although both were quite skeptical when we presented the dog, they made a brave face, eventually absolutely loving that dog to pieces. Annie became a very important part of their lives.
But time marches on, and my father was hospitalized for heart failure. We received a call at about 4 am that he had died peacefully.
Our Windsor family picked up mom and brought her to the hospital. We held hands and surrounded my dad who was lying on the bed. We said our goodbyes as best we could through our tears. We sure loved that guy.
After leaving the room and heading to the elevator, my mother fainted and was caught before falling to the floor. She explained to me later that there are many levels of love. Romantic, infatuated love, love for a child, love for a friend, but the love my mother developed for my father started out a low level but gradually and steadily deepened to a type of love that actually surpasses other types of love. She said this is what happened to her with my father. With our encouragement she did write an autobiography, which describes what I’m describing but in a much different way. It was partially an autobiography, partially a memoir. She did this for her children and grandchildren.
It was so good, a copy of it is at Pier 21 in Halifax, the place she first arrived in Canada as a war bride so many years ago.
To have endured a life like she had, one must have toughness, resiliency and a sense of humour. One of her favourite expressions was “Up Yer Kilt” while putting a thumb on the top of her nose and waggling fingers at you.
If each challenge in her life was a different colour, her many experiences would contribute to a magnificent tartan.