There is little doubt in my elderly mind of 2022 that I was an exceptional baby, but must confess that in reality I have no memory, and need to consult the wisdom of Professor Google to find out what was happening in my world of 1943 and 1944.
.Of course, I have the basics, name of mother, father, place, date of birth, and first street address. But for everything else involving my first year, I must admit to second-hand knowledge.
I am gratified to find that Maida Vale was considered a fine address back in 1943, and indeed, still is, although the additional 80 years may have tarnished some of the original lusters. Google Earth describes it thus:
Affluent Maida Vale is a residential neighbourhood with elegant Victorian houses and quiet wide roads.
Daytrippers cruise down the Little Venice waterway and stroll its tree-lined footpaths
Having done the deed of copulating and impregnating my mother – my father needs be out of the saga of my life for many reasons. There was a war on, he joined Special Forces in the Army, and soon after became a prisoner. He was also a Jew – which complicated matters quite considerably on the domestic front. And of course, Jew-Gentile relationships were frowned on back then, so my mother and I were not particularly welcome on his side of the family. He will reappear in my memoirs – briefly.
My mother’s immediate family back then consisted of Grandpa, Grandma Emmi-Vi, and Uncle Jim. He was two years older than my mother and a dedicated Conscientious Objector. They were known as Concheys and considered Cowards more than Pacifists and often imprisoned.
So I think it is safe to say that in addition to the bad timing of being born in the middle of a war, I began life with a double whammy against me. Of course, I was totally unaware of these complexities, although obviously mother was only too conscious of them. So, whether or not it was due to her strong sense of nationalism, or simply a desperate need to get away from them, she joined the Land Girls, which took her out of London for months at a time.
This left me with Grandpa and Grandma Emmi-Vi – who became my principal caregiver. I don’t think we ever ‘bonded’. But we did endure each other in a sort of comfort zone relegated to people who have no option but to live together on the outskirts of each other’s lives. More of that later.
While Uncle Jim was a genuine Pacifist, Emmi-Vi was simply a trouble maker. She believed in efficiency, and wars are not efficient. She could see no value in people fighting to the death, bombing buildings, carving up property and land, and stopping everyone from having a good time. And Emmi-Vi did like having a good time.
Of course, back in the 1940s women did not have careers, but they did have jobs – especially during the war when there was a severe male shortage. As history dictates, many women found themselves in factories, not only undertaking male-oriented work but now employed in the manufacture of bullets, bombs, parachutes – and coffins. These were the sort of jobs Emmi- Vi’s friends and neighbours were involved in. I know this as instead of going to bed with fairy stories, my grandmother would recount to me the happenings of the day – as she saw it. And I now have reason to believe that was an extremely subjective viewpoint.
I know little about her background, but she was undoubtedly highly accomplished, and if born 50 years later – would have given Maggie Thatcher a good deal of competition. But as a toddler, I knew nothing of her political persuasions, other than the fact that we seemed to go on an enormous amount of rallies and protest marches and often found ourselves in District Courts, then on the front page of newspapers. I say we, as being aware that she was indeed my unofficial ‘Caregiver’, I went everywhere she went. Now, back then it was common for toddlers to wear a harness called ‘reigns’, which was strapped around the body like a back to front waistcoat, with small bells sewn on as optional. I do have vague memories of this contraption, but also have memories of Grandma sometimes using other methods of keeping us entwined, such as a bicycle chain and padlock!
One very feminine skill that Emmi-Vi enjoyed was that she was an extremely fine and creative dressmaker. Much the same way that Scarlett O Hara bedecked herself in the green velvet curtains, in Gon with the Wind, 1939, so my Grandmother could convert leftover silk from parachutes or black market blackout material into couturier gowns worthy of the House of Hartnell, the Queen Mother’s dressmaker.
She applied this specialty in many ways, one of which was to be a dresser at the WindMill Theatre, just off Shaftsbury Avenue.. This was quietly gaining fame as an elite strip theatre….. I guess, thinking back, she may have had me in mind, as of course, it was an evening job, and by taking me backstage, she had a bevy of babysitters all keen to “Ooooh and “Aaaah” over a baby – so long as it wasn’t theirs.
From its opening in 1909, as a revue of singers, dancers, and showgirls, The Windmill Theatre struggled to remain financial, but a saucy introduction of nudes in 1932 set it on a legendary path of staying one movement away from closure due to the show then being considered “Dirty” rather than ‘Artistic’. Basically, it was ‘Alright to be nude, but if it moved it was rude’, was the slogan, so, along with the usual revue based show, beautiful young girls were displayed nude in artistic tableaux such as Phoneix arising from the waves, Boadicea in full battle charge… well, you get the idea.
As the war commenced,, the theatre captured the phrase – We never closed‘ – which rapidly got memed into We never clothed. It managed to stay open, even in the midst of The 1941 Blitz, and is now considered a mighty attribute to the war effort.
So, while I have little personal input, I can assume that my first two years on earth were reasonably uneventful and for the most part were well nurtured, if perhaps a little erratically.
