Chapter 3
My Family
‘Being a part of a family, means you are part of something wonderful. It means you will love and be loved for the rest of your life.’ Lisa Weed
My mum was the youngest of seven. My grandma had been widowed since my mum was two, so she never really knew her dad and so we never knew our grandad. We have no photographs to show us what he looked like, which is of course, a real shame. Today, it’s so different. With mobile phones we can take thousands; even millions of photographs every single day.
My maternal grandma played a significant part in our young lives. Living close by, she was never far away. I don’t have children of my own, but as I have grown older, I now understand the importance of daughters living close to their mothers when they have children.
My grandma must have been a very strong character. Continuing to work after my grandad’s death to keep everyone fed, she would have been the matriarch that kept the family strong and solid.
Mum’s brother Walter, died before she was born. He was knocked down by a bus at the age of five and buried in a pauper’s grave. No shame in that, at least not today, but an unfortunate turn of phrase. Mum said grandma never quite got over his death and became deaf not long after. I cannot imagine the horror of that day or how they ever truly coped.
Born to my paternal grandparents my dad was born on March 16th 1942 and is a twin. This was grandma’s third marriage. Named Joseph Stalin, he was born first. Auntie Mary came a close second. They were the youngest of eight. My auntie told me they were born so close together they could have been touching. Auntie Mary died when she was just 34 from heart problems. She went for a lie down as she was feeling unwell and when her daughter went to wake her, she’d died. The grief was unbearable and I am sure many of the family never truly got over her death. Remembering what my auntie told me, I like to think of my dad and auntie Mary being so close, neither life nor death, could truly separate them.
I have absolutely no idea why dad was called Joseph Stalin. A Russian political leader, Joseph Stalin was renowned for his ruthless persecutions that led many to literally starve to death. Estimates differ as to the number of people who died as a direct result of his leadership and policies, but it runs into millions. Perhaps grandma and grandad didn’t really know the associations with the name, or maybe they just liked it.
Joseph and Mary is an obvious reference to the birth of Jesus Christ, although I don’t think my family were particularly religious. Just another anomaly; I suppose.
Grandad died when he was only 57. My dad was the same age when he died. Mum told me grandad worked at Middleton Colliery and then Lofthouse. When he came home from work his feet used to be so swollen, mum used to have to help him remove his shoes.
When he left the pit, he took to his bed and died from cancer. His body riddled. He died three years before the Lofthouse Colliery Disaster when the mine flooded, killing seven men; some from Middleton. According to internet sources, crawling on hands and knees, some managed to flee; others were not so lucky. Not only was it water, but also sludge, which limited the time the rescuers could stay in the mines. Some bodies I believe remain there today. In 2013, a memorial was erected in Wrenthorpe above the point where the miners were trapped and details the names of the miners who died. The week-long attempt to rescue the men grabbed the nation’s attention, much like the Chilean Mine collapse of 2010, when the world held its breath. The rescue effort, as with the Lofthouse incident brought help from far and wide. A stark reminder of the danger of working in the mines and also of the camaraderie. But unlike the mine collapse of 2010 when the trapped miners were rescued, sadly at Lofthouse this was not the case.
My paternal grandma was to live for quite a few more years after grandad’s death and died in 1978, in a care home in Middleton close to where we lived.
My maternal grandma was to die a year later on 15th July 1979, my sister’s birthday, and was the catalyst for a career in nursing. Like so many of life’s experiences, they can be a strong impetus for things to come. We just don’t always know it at the time.
Many of my family and in-laws worked in the mines. Those dank, often foul smelling, dangerous places have crippled the lives of men, women and children for centuries. The fascination with working lives, past and present is what fuelled much of my interest in occupational health and led me to write blogs about the women in particular who challenged the paternalistic views of the day and won. Stories such as those associated with the matchstick girls and the radium girls. These women and girls who acted so courageously and fought so hard against the owners of the matchstick and radium factories, deserve our admiration.
Perhaps in some way my family were involved. We will never know. Or am I destined to fly the flag for women and women’s equality. As an attendee at the Women’s Equality Party Conference in November, I expect to have my eyes wide opened. As they say…watch this space! Perhaps my true destination is yet to be revealed.
