_John O'CONNELL ___
_John Maurice O'CONNELL _|
| |_Margaret WELCH ___
_John Vincent O'CONNELL _|
| | _Vincent REID _____+
| |_Marguerite Teresa REID _|
| |_Teresa CURRAN ____+
|
|--Maureen O'CONNELL
|
| _Thomas AMBLER ____+
| _William AMBLER _________|
| | |_Sarah Ann HOLMES _+
|_Myrtle AMBLER __________|
| _Henry DICKINSON __+
|_Hannah Eliza DICKINSON _|
|_Hannah WILKINSON _+
Complete list of names in tree
URL changed? Try Dale or Debbie's tree home site.
[423]
[423]
During WWI some German prisoners of war were billited with their family.
See https://docs.google.com/document/pub?id=1sDedPx4FHN8tHzGzGRvTTH_Os89Xr5xyTNJMEY4mDDI
for images and details.
Maureen said that her father was very mean and cruel to her.
A family friend gave her a scooter and her father broke it up saying that she was not to ride a scooter or bicycle.
She did not want to leave England and her father promised her a bicycle in South Africa but never made good on his promise.
Her father sent her to a doctor to have her virginity checked when she could not get back into the house after being out with a boyfriend and they went to his parent's house.
Stoty of her life as put together by her daughter Debbie Broderick:
Pieces of my Mother's Life
Meet Maureen
My Mom died unexpectedly at age 79 in South Africa, following a standard kidney stone procedure, and I mention this not to evoke sympathy, for she was obviously aging, but merely to bring attention to the fact that I found myself left with snippets and anecdotes from her life that I had never explored with her whilst she was alive. Perhaps I always thought I'd ask her later, when the time was right or more appropriate, and sometimes it was a matter of, "hmm, that's too delicate and personal, so I'd better not ask." Though my Mom was a closed book in many respects, it is ironic to me that it is her surviving diaries that have provided me with some insights into her feelings. So the narrative that I've been able to reconstruct is based on her recollections and retelling of stories and incidents over the years, as well as her writing. It wasn't often that she recorded things that were personal or reflective, and much of her journaling was merely listing events that happened each day, like washing her hair, cleaning windows, or how busy it was at work. However, I was able to find glimpses of her feelings scattered here and there amongst the banality of her everyday routines. I hope that I've painted a reasonably accurate representation of her life and have captured at least some of the essence of what her life was like.
Throughout her life, she didn't easily express her feelings verbally, and I regarded her as a very private person, making it difficult to really know her. I think the word enigma might be the best description of her. Though she didn't talk about her feelings much, and seldom opened up about what she really thought, she knew how to be in touch with her feelings when angered. She had a volatile temper and sharp tongue, which she would usually attribute to the clichéd 'hot-tempered redhead.' I think this gave her an acceptable explanation for her outbursts, in her mind. In one of her diary entries about work, she wrote "I lost my temper today. I banged things on the counter and the Manager said 'Temper!" And on more than one occasion she expressed the wish to be nice, as in this excerpt: "I am in such a bad mood today, that everybody and everything gets on my nerves. Poor Maurice! He certainly does go through it during the day, because I'm always grumbling and snapping at him. I wish I could be nice."
My Mom was born in Islington, and grew up in the suburb called Ilford, a working-class district in the greater London area, and laid claim to being a 'Cockney,' since she was born within earshot of the bells from Saint Mary-le-Bow church, as tradition has it. Her father came from a wealthy, well-to-do family (we've traced his ancestry to a watchmaking family in Dublin in 1850), complete with housemaids in black uniforms and white aprons, as well as a butler, that made an impression on my mother at a young age. Her father wasn't closely connected with his family, and so she had very little contact with her paternal grandparents. Eileen says her father would cross the road to walk on the other side if he saw a family member ahead. Her mother's family were working class coal-miners from Yorkshire, and her mother tells of being raised by an older brother since her mother died young. When my grandparents married, my grandfather was a 31 year old bus driver and my grandmother, an 18 year old seamstress, who converted to his family's Catholicism, though she wasn't very devout. He was very possessive and jealous, and resented his wife being admired by, or in the company of others. For her part, my Gran was flirtatious and loved to dress up. She would be sure to keep new clothes in her closet for about 3 months before wearing them, so that when her husband queried never having seen that outfit before, she'd respond with "I've had it for a long time." My Gran and my Mom were afraid of him and his moods. His angry outbursts were scary. My Mom told us that he had burnt her mother's clothes after Eileen was born so that she could not go out. Eileen says she didn't see them show any affection towards each other, and there was very little emotion expressed. Her Dad would sit at the table and read his newspaper without talking or sharing. He came alive at Christmas, and would even offer drinks to guests at that time. He'd be the one to cook the Christmas turkey and trimmings (Eileen says her Mom wasn't a very good cook). The family would attend church together and get simple gifts - an apple, an orange, nuts, a hard covered book and a doll.
It seems that my grandfather may have resented the arrival of a baby, my Mom, a year after they were married. He referred to her disparagingly as "the kid" throughout her life, not by her given name of Maureen - she didn't see this as a pet name or term of endearment; she found it dismissive and impersonal. Her father was a stubborn, cruel and moody man - he is said to have pulled the legs off crickets and other insects, and then watched them burn on the hot plate of the stove. Though it was never confirmed or acknowledged, my Mom intimated that her father had had an affair, and had a son by his mistress. It is not clear to me what she knew or why she believed this to be so, but I have no other information on this, and she would never have dared ask him about it. A sister was born when my mother was 9 years old and it appears from all accounts that she was doted on. My Mom recalled reading to her, and sharing role-playing games in which they imitated the door opening and closing making the sound "click-bang, click-bang." They were not close, and there was obviously a certain rivalry between them; my Mom often made cynical remarks about the blatant favoritism and leniency towards her younger sister. My mother often laughed lightheartedly remembering how she'd been told she'd been mispronouncing 'recipes' as 're-syps.' She wasn't a good student at school, and would have to wear a Dunce's cap and stand in the corner when she didn't do well at her studies. She was teased at school, and was called names such as 'carrot top' and 'copper knob' for her outstanding, fiery hair color. She was good at music and played the piano, but lacked the interest and discipline to pursue it formally and continue practising her scales enough to proceed. She adored music and dancing.
My Mom's family lived through the Second World War in London, and she spoke of having experienced an incendiary bomb come down their chimney, though it never actually ignited. She would walk to school through rubble and bombed out brick walls and buildings, and spoke regretfully about having been invited to a birthday party that never materialized - tragically, a bomb had killed the birthday girl and her family in their home before the event. Her father constructed an Anderson shelter in their backyard, where they would hide during drills and air raids. The family told the story of a picture of the virgin Mary turning around to face the wall when the air raid sirens went off (my take on it is that her parents did that every time they raced into the shelter). Eileen tells of her Dad trying to get her a quick glass of milk before heading into the shelter, but in his panic and fear, he spilt most of it before getting inside. Eileen recalls that he drove an ambulance during the war. He also served as an Air Raid Precaution Warden, who would monitor the blacking-out of neighbors' windows during a raid. My Mom never got over hearing air raid sirens and would flinch and cover her ears during a movie or soundtrack that recreated those situations. It's said that when the sirens went off and they had to shelter in their garden bunker, my Mom would ask, "Are we going to be killed tonight, Mommy?"
Their family participated in a program that allowed German prisoners of war to spend time with British families, until they were repatriated. They had two different young men stay with them. It is thought that there had to have been some monetary compensation for my grandfather to have opened his home to strangers, but this has not been confirmed. My mother, at the very impressionable age of 16/17 when these young men stayed with them, developed a crush on either one or both young men, and she kept photographs and a love poem amongst her cherished memories, which are now in my possession. They wrote a few love letters after returning home, but nothing ever came of any of those relationships. The link below is a document Dale put together to try and find the family of one of the young men who stayed at their home after the war
https://docs.google.com/document/pub?id=1sDedPx4FHN8tHzGzGRvTTH_Os89Xr5xyTNJMEY4mDDI&urp=gmail_link
In 1948, after the war, 2 punishing winters in England, and fed up with the rationing system, my mother's family packed up their lives, and immigrated to South Africa. Eileen recalls her Dad coming home one evening telling them they would all be moving to South Africa, to which her Mom simply said "Okay, that's fine." My Mom was 17 at the time and didn't wish to leave England. Her father had promised her a bicycle, something he had previously forbidden her to have, to entice her to move with them to their new country. She acquiesced, though he never made good on his promise (he also forbade her to ride a scooter, and had previously destroyed one given to her by a family friend).
They traveled to South Africa on a cargo ship, the 'S.S. Menelaus' that had some passenger berths (about 16), which Eileen thinks took 3 weeks. My mother and grandmother apparently both flirted with the sailors and crew, with many thinking that they were sisters, much to my mother's chagrin. They passed some of the time playing deck quoits, a kind of ring toss game. My mother had many crew members sign the autograph book she carried with her during the voyage. Their first stay in Durban was at an hotel in the run-down and seedy area known as Point Road, where sailors and prostitutes met. Her sister, Eileen, recalls sitting in a hotel room with a very soft, plush duvet and a box of chocolates each, though my Mom never talked about this as a memory. They then took a train to northern Rhodesia, where their father had been promised employment. The job didn't materialize and so their move there was a disaster. They returned to Durban, staying for a while in an outbuilding in a friend's backyard, where the door handle was a nail sticking out of the wood. Eileen recalls their Mom being sick with malaria, and her attempts at cooking an egg and bread on the fireplace for her. Eileen thinks this may have been in Umbilo - she recalls she and my Mom taking walks to a nearby cemetery to read all the headstones. My grandfather was hored to help paint the Durban train station, and then managed to get a job with a shipping company. He loved going to the wharf to fish, and he often took Eileen with him. My Mom also spoke of him running a plastics factory after having a furniture haulage business.
Early in 1949, just six months after their arrival in their new country, there were violent racial clashes and riots by Zulus against the Indian businessmen. My mother claimed that amidst all the chaos, they were assured, "It's okay. Don't worry. It's not you we're after, it's the Indians we want to kill." Eileen recalls some Indians taking shelter behind their brick verandah wall. This must have been an incredibly frightening and unnerving time for an immigrant family trying to start a new life, especially after having lived through a war already.
Without having completed high school, my Mom began working as a typist in a local bank, being given more and more weighty tasks when other employees got promoted, went on vacation, or left. She didn't enjoy her job, finding the balancing of the books very difficult and stressful, and expressed a wish to find other employment. In expressing her work frustrations, one of her diary entries says "I'm sure I'm a little bit simple, because I feel proper dopey today."
She lived at home with her parents until she got married, shortly before she turned 27. She often wrote in her diary about how cruel and unkind her father was, and how badly he treated her. He ruled the household with an iron fist and controlled her daily life. She was expected to do the household and gardening chores for the family, which she did dutifully and obediently, sometimes at the expense of being out with friends, right up until the time she got married - she mentions washing windows, polishing floors and furniture, sweeping, cleaning bathrooms, ironing, laundry, fetching the newspaper for her father each day, shelling peas, peeling potatoes, cleaning out the refrigerator, and washing the car. (Her father also insisted on having boiling water to shave each day). She also wrote about watering the garden and mowing the lawn (before they had a lawnmower, she was made to cut their little patch of grass outside with hand shears). She made many of her own clothes. Her attitude towards all these chores was recorded as "I must do my share of work seeing as I go out quite a bit now." It seems as if her sister never helped or participated in these chores, although she does mention her mother helping and working with her on occasion. She attended Benedictions and Devotions during the week, as well as Holy Hour, Rosary, First Friday of the month- and Sunday- Masses. She wrote that her father made her go to many of these, even though she had expressed her wish not to attend. Eileen recalls going to services with their Dad very early every morning, and participating in religious processions in Durban.
My Mom told of having once sneaked out of the house by climbing through a window to meet a young man, John Smith, who had proposed to her, but whom her father hated and had forbidden her to see. Unfortunately they were involved in a car accident in Cowies Hill and he suffered a broken arm and leg. My Mom says she was thrown from the car, and got taken home, but she had a few cuts and scrapes, which her sister Eileen helped her clean up. Her father got to hear of the accident when someone who worked with him asked how his daughter was doing after her accident - he was livid, and had her physically examined by a doctor to ensure that she was still a virgin. She had a series of different, uncommitted boyfriends, but the rigidity with which her parents ruled her life seemed to ensure that no suitor persisted. On another occasion she recalled being out with a boyfriend, Buddy Melamphey and not being able to get back inside the house because her father had locked the door. Buddy took her to his parent's house and put her in their spare room. Her father came over to get her, claiming that the door was not locked.
I found it strange when reading her diaries, that her 15 year old sister was participating in the same social events and circles of friends, and young men, as my mother, who at age 24 was being firmly regulated and controlled by her parents. Perhaps they regarded my mother as her caregiver and protector? When a young admirer invited her out to the cinema, at age 24, she wrote "I was so scared to ask Mummy. I left it right until the very last minute, before I finally plucked up courage … I was so surprised when she said - 'if you want to go' - I could have hugged her there and then I was so grateful for her letting me go out with him.'
In her diaries she also expressed her wish to run away, and find refuge in the local Catholic girl's hostel called Walsingham, but she never carried through with it. One of her entries reads "I'm so upset this morning because I'm not going to the party tonight, in fact, while I was typing the tears just poured down my cheeks." She often despaired of ever being relieved of her miserable home life, and considered entering the Convent. She wrote
"I'm so terribly depressed and fed-up with life today. I think it must be the weather. There doesn't seem much to live for really, because I can't go out with who I like because Mummy and Daddy don't approve of Red Hill people, in fact I don't know whether to enter a Convent or not, because at the rate things are going, it doesn't look as if I'll ever get married, so I might just as well go into a Convent."
******
My Mom and Dad met through both her father and my Dad's membership of the Catholic organization, the Knights of Da Gama (akin to the Knights of Columbus in the United States). The Knights hosted many fundraisers and events, and my grandfather arranged for my Mom to accompany one of the young Knights to a dance, without having met (so, yes, it was planned as a blind date). Well! My mother had to help out in the kitchen for many of these events that her father attended, and towards the end of one of them, her father brought her out of the kitchen to meet and have a dance with the man who'd be her date at the next event. My Mom was mortified - not only was she not 'done up' for meeting her future date after working in the kitchen all night, but she'd had several moles removed from her face that day, and still had little band-aids over them in various places. My father hadn't had time to shower and clean up after a day's outing driving a group of visiting Hungarian men around all day - he was apparently grubby and unkempt. My Mom was helping prepare Hungarian Goulash in the kitchen, and was intrigued to hear that one of the guests didn't want any carrots or vegetables in his goulash - that was my Dad! They danced together after being introduced unexpectedly, and followed up with the 'so called' blind date some weeks later. They began dating! They always joked about their initial appearances at their first meeting, and for their 50th Anniversary celebration, my Mom stuck little pieces of tissue paper onto her face to replicate her band-aids all those years ago! They spoke fondly of how my mother tried to impress my father on one of their early dates, by ordering a 'Bloody Mary," but my father ordered a Coke - she wasn't aware at that point that he was a tee-totaler, having sworn off alcohol due to his Dad's being an alcoholic. The first movie they saw together was the 1957 version of "The Barretts of Wimpole Street" starring Virginia McKenna, Jennifer Jones and Sir John Gielgud. They never forgot it.
At age 25, they were both inexperienced (my Mom through her overprotective, domineering father and my Dad through clumsy shyness) and looking for love. Initially, my grandfather had approved of my father as a suitor since he was not only a young Catholic Knight, but he arrived for each date in a different car; my grandfather thought this meant he must be wealthy enough to own multiple vehicles. As it turned out, my father repaired cars for other people and borrowed said cars whilst in his care - he never cared much for possessions, and probably thought nothing of borrowing a friend's car on a whim. Approval quickly became disapproval. I have a vague recollection that my grandfather might have physically threatened my Dad, and I'm not sure if fisticuffs actually occurred (my Mom had written of other instances where men were told they were no longer permitted to have anything to do with her). But my father wouldn't go away, and staunchly stood up for my mother when things got rough. He knew of the way my mother was being used at home, and of her desire to take up residence in a hostel elsewhere, so he didn't abandon her. He was my mother's knight in armor, and eventually removed her from a miserable existence and home life. It seems as if he married her, not only because they were in love, but also to rescue her.
One night, on a drive to see the city lights, my father began describing what kind of a woman he'd want to settle down with, mentioning fathering his children, and cooking for him, as one did in those days. My mother's response to this was "Is that a proposal?" and my father responded with "well, yes, I suppose it is!" And that was that! They became engaged, and were married the following year.
When they got married, my grandfather apparently took my father aside and bemoaned the fact that he had taken away his source of income. It is also said that my parents had to reimburse their in-laws for the wedding gift they'd bought for them. I believe my grandmother, a seamstress by trade, made my Mom's lace wedding dress, and later made Eileen's as well. But they refused to provide a wedding cake which my mother so desperately wanted, and at the last minute, her future sister-in-law, having seen my Mom's tears 2 days before her wedding day, stepped in and organised a beautiful cake on very short notice, as a surprise. This obviously made my Mom very, very happy, since she wasn't used to personal acts of kindness towards her - as it turns out, she and her sister-in-law became like real sisters, and forged a strong bond of support for each other. On her wedding day, her father made a point of keeping her waiting for him to walk her down the aisle, as was traditionally expected - one of her future brothers-in-law drove her around the block of the church 4 times, without any sign of her Dad, before he comforted my Mom by declaring that, if her father was not there on the next pass, he would walk her down the aisle. It appears that her father's controlling behaviors almost marred her big day.
My Mom always felt very welcomed and accepted into her husband's large family. She found a sense of belonging and acceptance there, though she initially had to get over some ingrained hurdles from her years of growing up as a proud housekeeper in her own home. Her in-laws were not welcome to stop by on a whim or short notice for a visit. It had to be pre-planned and arranged way ahead of time, presumably so she could wash her windows, scrub the floors, and plan a formal menu. She gradually let go of this kind of expectation, and became a lot more informal and relaxed about visitors. I believe my mother gave up her paying job as soon as they got married, and she'd spend her day preparing for her husband's return at the end of the day with a three-course meal set up for him. She pandered to his tastes and desires, restricting her cooking to fit in with his no-vegetables dogma. Given that she'd hated her job at the bank, which made her miserable, and that she wanted to be the perfect housewife, with a spick and span home, this made sense at that time.
Both my parents would fondly relate how my mother flew into a rage after my father helped fix a car for a young woman (I'm not sure if this was while they were on their honeymoon, or another time, early in their marriage). When my father remarked that she was "a very pretty woman, with beautiful red hair," my mother's jealousy got the better of her, and she stormed off along the road, walking away as if to leave him. My Dad drove along the streets in search of her and brought her home! When my mother was pregnant for the first time, she had no knowledge about what to expect. When she called my father one afternoon to say that water was pouring out of her body, he realised that her waters had broken, and urged her to get to the hospital. Another story my Dad relayed was that they had mistakenly been administering an oral antibiotic into my brother's ear, instead of giving it to him orally, and wondered why he wasn't getting any better!
My mother ruled the roost at home. My father gave her complete freedom over finances and parenting decisions, and was happy to relinquish all adult responsibilities and control over to her. That freed him up to focus on his charity activities and interests in helping others, and be taken care of whilst he was doing it. After being controlled so rigidly by her father, my mother must have really enjoyed the freedom and independence that her new life afforded her. It did come with lots of responsibility though, for they had six children together, and since my father was absent much of the time earning a living to support his large family on a diesel mechanic's salary. He worked long hours for a trucking company, often working overtime to repair a vehicle in time for a scheduled trip from their depot, or traveling far and wide to do repairs to a truck by the roadside that needed to bring supplies to a remote destination. He would often come home after his kids were all fed, bathed, read to (my mother special-ordered British comics to read to us each night), and asleep in bed. My mother took care of all five of us at the time on her own, which was not an easy feat, though they did employ a maid to help with household chores after their family started growing. By the time my father showed up at the end of his day, she was ragged, and would lay into him, berating him for his absences from their family. I recall hearing them fight when I was a lot younger - perhaps I heard more because we were living in a small two-bedroom home for 7 people. My Mom would then give him the cold shoulder treatment and stew in silence for days afterwards. My father would then just bide his time until she'd thawed out again, and all was forgotten. This was a pattern throughout their lives, and I recall experiencing the silent treatment growing up, especially in my teen years.
My mother would spank us as punishment for having done something wrong when we were little, and sometimes she'd threaten us with "wait till your father gets home," but that didn't always materialize. He didn't have it in him to discipline us, and one of my brothers was particularly adept at making him laugh at the crucial disciplinary moment! Though my Mom had had a strict upbringing with a cold disciplinarian for a father, and though his parenting style made her unhappy and miserable, she herself could be harsh and punishing as a parent. I know she didn't mirror her father's attitudes and behaviors anywhere near as badly, nor consciously, but the ingrained beliefs of compliance and discipline were there. She seemed so much stricter and demanding on her daughters than her sons.
She was not openly demonstrative towards her children either, and didn't show affection or tenderness towards us, in my experience. She had a practical, no-nonsense kind of attitude, and was immensely proud to be the mother of 6 children. She relished the wonder and admiration of strangers whenever she set out in public with her brood of "ducklings" in tow, and revelled vicariously in our various accomplishments over the years. I recall being taken aback when I emigrated to Germany at age 30, and in saying 'goodbye,' she told me she loved me - it was the first time I had heard her say it, though I always knew I was loved. I didn't know how to respond and felt uncomfortable.
Piecing together the memories and anecdotes of my mother's life has been a little like trying to fit the pieces of broken china back together with glue - some slivers are lost, some too small to find their way back into place, others are too sharp or delicate to be incorporated, while still others don't fit because there is too much glue in the way. I hope I've managed to create a sense of wholeness, a full picture of my mother's unique life, in piecing together the bits that I do have. Along the way, I've come across pieces of myself that now fit into place.
She remained a British citizen throughout her life, and always referred to England as 'home' even though South Africa was her permanent abode for over 60 years.
She also outright rejected one of my sisters, never developing a bond with her, despite having experienced that kind of mistreatment herself. (This deeply altered my perception of her when I became a mother later in life.)
[425] Role: Occupant
[426]
Role: Occupant
address used in a letter from one of the POWs who was billeted with the family during the war
[NF79] Emmanual Cathedral with Fr. McGrath