Question and Answer

You ask me how to live with the absence within you, and I stop before a photograph, a sheepdog’s white face, a bicycle beside a tree.

You ask again, and I walk in the garden my feet making prints, bright shadows on the grass.

And still you ask, so I say to you, each night we practise the art of dying, but in the morning open the day like a window.

Jean James

Her first driving licence photograph.

Mummy (Maude)

My mum was never one to complain, although I wish she had been. I wish she had admitted how tough her life was when dad was smitten down by multiinfarct dementia and I wish that, when she herself succumbed to the frailty of old age, she had asked me straight out, to take her into my own home and look after her. I still live with the guilt of my not asking. It is easy to look back with regret now of course and I often do, but I genuinely believe that we, as a family, acted with integrity at a time when big decisions needed to be made.

After my dad died, mummy continued to live independently in her small semidetached house in Fivemiletown, County Tyrone. She was a 5-minute walk from her older sister, Lily, and seemed happy within an environment that was familiar and supportive in terms of friends and neighbours. She had her garden, her cat PussPuss, her church, and her regular visits from family two or three times every week. She was loving and loved, gentle, kind and generous, and fiercely independent. But she was also vulnerable.

I suppose my brother, sister and I knew that it would take some kind of crisis for the status quo to be resolved. Mum was always adamant that, no matter what, she would not forsake the familiarity of home, even though there were times when she must have been aware of her increasing frailties and forgetfulness. She managed well for a while, with the many ‘informational’ post-it notes that we had scattered around her tidy semi-detached house, but she did, finally, allow us to approach Social Services to ask them for relevant support. During the last year that mum lived at home, we used jotters to help us communicate with the lovely home helps who provided care for mum and to whom we will be forever indebted. While re-reading the jotters recently, I was reminded of how important it was for everyone to work together and to keep the lines of communication open.

Then, the crisis that we all knew was likely to happen, happened. Mum fell and broke her hip. Even in the hospital, she was convinced that she would recover and return home quickly, but she picked up an MRSA infection followed by one UTI (urinary tract infection) after another. It was decided that there would be too much risk involved in returning mum to independent living and thereafter she resided in two nursing homes - the second very close to where I live. Although well cared for, her spirit had been broken and she died not many months after leaving her own home for a final time. The sorrow of her loss remains with me every single day.

Transcript of mummy’s hand-written article for the family archives

I was born Rebecca Maude Morton on the 26th April 1924 at Lisnabane, Co. Fermanagh.

In January 1929 I had my first sight of our new home at Drumackin. I was nearly 5 years old and remember the excitement of it all.

My parents had sold their farm at Lisnabane, having bought this larger place in the townland of Drumackin, about 2 miles from Tempo in Co. Fermanagh.

The day we ‘flitted’ was dull and cold, and a neighbour brought my mother, my sister Lily, brother Sam and myself in his pony and trap.

As the hills (or braes) were steep and stony we had to alight from the trap and walk up them before we reached the house that was to be our new home.

I remember thinking how nice the house looked.

It was long and rambling, painted red with lots of white windows and outside there was a glass portico leading to a big kitchen and scullery with a lovely sitting room and parlour.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms.

The dwelling house was built near the roadside, across the road from the farmyard. The barn loft was especially of interest to me as there were steps going up to it, with a back door leading to the ‘black field’.

All the fields had names.

Our belongings were brought from Lisnabane by our neighbours in horsedrawn cart loads – my mother gave everyone a meal and Lily helped her.

Billy, my younger brother, was born a few weeks after we came to Drumackin. He was a big baby and grew into a big man.

I CAN’T REMEMBER ASKING QUESTIONS

about your bicycle the black one with the basket where you put the tabby the bike with that tinny-voiced bell never loud enough to put fear into anyone not even the policeman who stops you on the road

I can’t remember your house with its singing name and ivy clinging to the walls where one day in June a family of six sit outside on straight-backed chairs to stare into a lens

I can’t remember the flowers foxgloves purple straight and freckle filled speedwell a thrust of blue through cracks dog roses a pink fleshed doorway frame

I can’t remember strawberries spread wild across the banks a tang upon the breath and mushrooms brought early from the fields a buttered melt upon the tongue

I can’t remember why I never asked

Jean James

There were 2 farms at Drumackin. The upper one was mainly grazing land and mountain, with plenty of turf banks that were cut by turf spades and dried out for our fire, and very good it was, too.

The lower farm was down by the river that surrounded the Quarter Meadows, so called because they were divided into quarters for each neighbour around. That meadow was beautiful.

Each summer, before the hay was cut, many wild flowers bloomed – bluebells, wild orchids, buttercups, violets, Loose Strife and Meadow Sweet were but a few. A kingfisher stayed around there for long time.

Sam, my older brother, had a great love of the outdoors. He fished in the river for brown trout and he snared rabbits – they were healthy and plentiful then and although Sam only got about sixpence each, it was pocket money for him.

Money was scarce in the 1930s and most people, including ourselves, were poor then, but we always had enough.

Mother made most of our clothes on her sewing machine. She also baked wheaten, soda and potato bread in an oven on the turf fire. Our parents were strict and we mostly did what we were told, to have respect for others and show kindness to animals.

On Sunday there was Sunday School to attend and we stayed on afterwards when Mother joined us for the church service and that took about 2 hours. Going home we mingled with the Chapel people coming from their place of worship and we all walked home together. Our church was at Tempo Church of Ireland.

Our day school, Emaroo, was about a mile from home. It had 2 rooms and 2 teachers. Both were kind and willing to teach us. I especially enjoyed music, geography, history and drawing. It seems a pity that we could not have had further education then.

The Blacksmith’s Forge was at the bottom of the hills and we often sheltered in it coming from school. Sam, being handy, helped the blacksmith. There was a little planting of fir trees beside the forge and one Christmas we children wanted a tree. Sam was willing to cut it down, and when we arrived home our parents were very cross. We were made to go to our neighbour and say sorry, for it was his tree. He forgave us.

Spring and summer seasons were especially enjoyable on the mountain. The skylarks were soaring overhead and all around the cuckoos, corncrakes and curlews were calling. Birds’ nests were difficult to find as they were so well hidden in the grass and heather.

I wanted, for ages, to climb Killaculla mountain, a hill I could see in the distance from our bog, and one lovely day in May, Sam brought me; what a thrill it was to reach the top and look around the countryside. I was about 10 years old then.

Billy, my younger brother, was a big strong boy and he helped me build my dream house. It was outside our kitchen window, complete with a bedroom and big enough for me to get inside. I spent many happy hours there playing with my dolls for company. I had many pets. Our collie dog called ‘Daisy’, was very clever. Father had only to go to the gate and send her off for the cows –she seemed to find them all and bring them home for milking. Sometimes our horse, called ‘Dan’ would be with Father and I would get a ride on its back as he was very quiet.

Mother was fond of gardening and had many flowers and shrubs growing. Father had a large garden near the house where he grew vegetables and fruit trees. Sometimes, Mrs Howe’s goat from further up the road would break in, and what a row that caused – Father often threatened to kill the goat. I remember we also had bees. There was a spring well further up the road with lovely clean water. In later years we had it piped down to our house so our parents did not have to carry the water in buckets anymore.

We had the odd musical evening when we sang and danced. Father played for us on the accordion and mouth organ. There were often friends dropping in to join in the fun. I learnt to do Irish dancing in a house further up the road –that family was very talented. I used to watch the woman telling fortunes and reading the tea leaves in the teacups!

Changes came to us, as they always do. Lily was living away in England, near London with friends, when the war broke out with Germany. She was caught up in the bombing and later was sent to the country, much to my parents’ relief. I would have liked then, to join the Women’s Airforce but Father thought that one daughter was enough to be away from home, so I had to be content with a job in Enniskillen, about 10 miles from Drumackin. I became the owner of a brand-new sports model bicycle. It cost £7, a lot of money then. I loved that bicycle and got around a lot on it. About that time my parents took on the task of caring for 5 children, all from one family. They were evacuees from Belfast, having been sent to the country because of the danger during the war years. They stayed with us for years and afterwards still kept in touch. We called them our parents’ second family.

These are just a few good memories of Drumackin. I can think of some not so nice ones when we had storms and sometimes a lot of rain when the river would flood. We would have to walk a long way to and from school, and the crops were difficult to harvest owing to bad weather.

Sometimes, on a nice sunny summer day, I still return to wander about the mountain and again feel the lovely fresh air, thinking too, of Father and Mother, now long since gone, and of all the love and care they gave me. I know how good my life was growing up at Drumackin, and now, aged 66 years old, it’s still so very good.

*My mum and aunt always referred to their parents as Mother and Father. Later, we the grandchildren, also referred to them in this way and I am not entirely sure why this was, as it seems quite unusual.