Annie Webster was the first live child born into a poor working
family in St. Helens, Lancashire in 1914.
Her father was conscripted and spent the war years in the trenches.
In 1928, the death of her mother brought Annie’s education
to an abrupt end, as she became the primary caretaker for her father’s
household – a two-up two down with a coal fire, gas lighting and no indoor plumbing, shared by
Annie, her two sisters and her baby brother.
The Second World War (to end all wars) opened up factory
jobs for women -- as well as requiring the participation of the family
breadwinner in the hostilities -- and so Annie was put to work. Working,
Annie met a boy, they became close; she became pregnant. She did not explain her condition to the
young man, but she explored the possibility of his being willing to give up his
heathen Methodism and return to the true Catholic faith, but he was not willing
to consider it. So they separated.
Annie hid the pregnancy.
She wore tight bindings under loose clothes. She was petrified of her father (who was a
gambler and a drinker, and sometimes violent) so she told no-one what was going
on.
She gave birth to her only child, my mother, alone, in the
tiny back bedroom she shared with her three siblings. When Catherine came into the room, and saw
Annie with my mother at the breast, she became the second person alive to know
that Annie was ever pregnant. That my
mother survived to later give birth to five healthy sons, after such a pregnancy, is astounding.
When grandfather came back from the second world war, he was
not an easy person to live with.
Margaret, and Catherine and Sam all married and moved out. Annie stayed to look after father, and her
daughter, Marie, whom her grandfather would frequently refer to as ‘the bastard”. Annie went to early mass every day, as she
did for her whole life, and she and her only child became very close. There was never another man in her life.
Annie went back to work in the factory. For thirty years she slaved away, doing the same
job as the men, and getting paid half as much.
At the end of thirty years, an imitation gold watch, no pension,
thank-you, goodbye.
She was still living in that two up two-down. Electricity had been installed in the sixties,
and there was hot water in the tiny little kitchen that had been added at the
back. The toilet remained outside, at
the end of the yard, for as long as my grandmother lived, there was no bath, or
shower.
I remember my Grandmother and her sister Margaret (Auntie
Meg) coming to babysit for the ever growing tribe of little Rigby boys, every
Monday night. Mom and Dad were both keen
on singing, they had choir practice (which eventually included all five of us)
and amateur performance of musicals and light opera which usually included me.
Mother taught me how to make a pot of tea, and I remember
competing with my brothers to see who could provide the most correctly brewed
beverage. Annie was a lovely
person. I remember her as being very
kind, and how anybody I met in her company was always very nice to me.
She was an excellent cook, and could produce the most
delicious pies and pastries in her tiny ill-equipped kitchen.
After she retired, she would spend all day at our house on
Mondays – helping mother with the laundry.
She taught us how to iron our shirts, and press our pants. She let us know when things were different
from what she was used to, and she supported all kinds of traditions that were disappearing
from the world.
The last time I saw her was in 1980, and she looked
absolutely radiant. She was all dressed
up for my younger brother’s wedding. She
had rented a fine white hat, and gloves.
She was clearly very happy to be on her way to a huge wedding with 400
guests. She was immensely proud of her
grandsons. I kissed her, and said, “see you in church”.
On the way to the ceremony, she became so ill, my dad had
the limo go by the hospital emergency room.
She was clearly in great distress, but what do you do, you can’t miss
your son’s wedding.
In the church, the ceremony was underway, after a delayed
start, and the groom’s parents were not present. Father was due to give a reading. He went straight from the door of the church
to the altar, didn’t even stop at the pew.
Mother sat down in front of me, and Grandma was nowhere to be seen.
We found out later that Grandma died during the service. Her only daughter Marie, knowing this, but
not allowed to speak of it, sat at the high table, in front of 400 jovial
wedding guests. We were told she was not
feeling well, and she was being taken care of at the hospital. When the guests were leaving, father told us
what had really happened.
I was living in Texas at the time. I stayed in England an extra week to help
with the funeral, and one of the things I did was to call a house clearance
company. They agree to completely empty the
house, and they will pay cash for anything of value. My grandmother’s assets, after a lifetime of
work, amounted to 30 pounds sterling. In
1980 that would have paid for a halfway decent meal and a cheap bottle of wine.
