Farewell To The East End

Hospital in Hampstead.
    I was climbing the ladder, as anticipated. But then I met a certain young man, and ideas of becoming a hospital matron seemed rather irrelevant. We have been happily married for about forty-five years at the time of writing. After our children were born I gave up full-time nursing, but continued part-time.
    In 1973, after a twenty-year nursing and midwifery career, I left nursing altogether. All my life I had been a frustrated musician, and with intensive study, supported by my husband, I achieved a Licenciate of the London College of Music and later a Fellowship and started twenty-five years of music teaching.

IN MEMORIAM CYNTHIA

    This book was dedicated to Cynthia as early as 2004, but she never read it. In June 2006 Cynthia died. She had had cancer six years previously, which had been successfully treated, and she and Roger had continued their adventures, but in 2004 he developed congestive heart failure, from which he died about eighteen months later. Clinical depression returned to cloud Cynthia’s mind during his last illness, and then there was a recurrence of the cancer.
    She died as she had lived, quietly, peacefully and with no fuss. Gently she let go of life, and had said to many people that death was what she wanted. She knew it was approaching, and was content. ‘I hope I have been useful,’ she whispered to me a few days before her death. Cynthia received her last communion and she, who was virtually sinless, made her confession and received Holy Unction.
    Her stepson, her sister and I were with her during the last five days of her life, and on the final day, when to all appearances she was unconscious, I said to her slowly and clearly, ‘I am so thankful I have been with you.’ Her eyelids flickered, and she breathed rather than spoke the words, ‘And so am I.’ In my experience the dying always know who is with them and need the love they bring.
    Cynthia was Godmother to my elder daughter, Suzannah, who had sent a card to her during that week. It was a complete surprise to me, and I read it aloud to Cynthia. The words were so beautiful I cried as I read them, and Cynthia smiled her slow, sweet smile, and whispered, ‘I remember too.’
    It may seem pointlessly sentimental to those who do not know either character, but for me a testimonial to my dear friend is necessary, and so I quote my daughter’s card in full:
    Dear Cynthia,
    I am thinking about you a lot at the present time, but most especially I am remembering past times and what you have meant to me over the years.
    When I was a little girl, I remember dropping a bowl of jelly on the floor twice, and the second time the bowl broke! I was so upset I cried, but you didn’t get cross.
    I remember what fun it was when you took us up into the bell tower of Roger’s church. You let us ring the bells – you said it wouldn’t matter if all the people in the village thought it was the wrong time.
    I remember sleeping in the caravan and being kept awake all night by the owls and the bells. More recently I remember visiting you when our girls were little. You took us for a lovely walk along the coast, and you made them a special pudding with smiley faces on.
    Most recently you sent me some of your jewellery, and you patched up my old bear, which you made for me when I was christened.
    All these things are memories I will treasure forever – they remind me of you, my Godmother. Over the years I have come to realise that you are essentially what a Godmother should be. Thank you for being you. Bless you, now and always.
    Your loving God-daughter
Suzannah XXX

FAREWELL TO THE EAST END

    The Sisters had opened Nonnatus House in the 1870s to meet the needs of women living in dire poverty. However, during the 1960s things began to change rapidly, and the old way of life vanished.
    One by one the docks closed; air freight had replaced the old cargo boats, and the dockers became redundant. At the same time demolition of bomb-damaged and slum property started, and people were rehoused out of London in the new towns. For many this was life-shattering, particularly for the older generation who had lived their entire lives within a radius of two or three streets, close to their children and grandchildren. The rehousing programme tore apart the extended family, which had provided the unity and been the strength of East End life for generations. Families in the suburbs started a new, more affluent life, and began to feel ashamed of