Tea Gardens

Part 3 - conclusion - of Tea with Rose by Erin Sankey “Well, he farted. He had a couple of rounds in him and he just couldn't hold it anymore, so he let it go!” Rose let out a loud laugh. “Oh, my Marv, I loved him so, but man could he crack 'em.” Rose paused for a moment. “Marv, he was an excellent father. He worked at the local factory where he built equipment for machines. Every Sunday we would take a drive out to the country. We'd pick apples, sometimes we’d harvest strawberries, but I think our favorite pastime was to pull the pickup to the outskirts of Midway airport and watch the airplanes fly over our heads. We'd climb into the bed of the pickup, Christopher would sit in between us, and we'd just wait. It was such a rush —as my granddaughter would put it.”

She took a sip of tea. “But things were about to change. Our carefree life as we knew it disappeared. The 1940's came and Marv was called off to war. My mother came to live with Christopher and me. It was a big help. I became a taxi cab driver at night to fill the void. I'd been with Marv since I was fifteen. I didn't know anything else. I’d pick up fares from downtown Chicago. Fares like Lana Turner, Orsen Wells, Errol Flynn, Burt Lancaster, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They were some of my regulars. I knew the streets like the back of my hand and I’d take my fares to low key places—no paparazzi, if you get my drift.” She stopped to take a sip of tea.

“Errol Flynn,” Blake said sneering. “I've heard about him.”

Rose sneered back at him and nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She ashed her cigarillo, took a drag and shook it off. “I was excited at first. I mean, big Hollywood stars in my cab. I was living the dream! Or so I thought,” she said, shaking her head. “But, as time went on, the stars would bring their friends or business associates with them. The dirt that came out of their mouths—it would make a seasoned Navy man blush. But that's a whole 'nother story. I lost my innocence driving that cab. And I was a mechanic!”

Blake cringed and laughed at the same time. “Why’d you keep driving ‘em around?” he asked curiously.

“It paid the bills and then some. I made four hundred a week. A lot of it was hush money.” “Hush money?”

“You know, don't tell the papers where they went. They really didn't want to be bothered, the big Hollywood stars. My advice, just enjoy them on the big screen.” She took the last drag off her cigarillo before putting it out.

“In 1945, I turned thirty, Marv came home, the war was over. He was different, distant. He still loved me though. I had two more children with him, one right after the other. They call that Irish twins. I named them Grace and Adam. In 1948, Christopher left home—he was eighteen. He joined a carnival and sent me postcards from every town he set up. Marv and I opened a small grocery store, nothing too extravagant, just a corner store. We did well, Grace and Adam went to school, I was an adult raising them, but we still did crazy things now and again. Like one weekend we packed the kids up in the car and drove out to a rodeo. Marv knew one of the rodeo guys—they became friends during the war. He got to ride a bull straight out of the pen. I have the picture to prove it,” she said, picking up her purse.

She dug through it and found the picture. She handed it to Blake. He took the picture from her and looked at it. There was Marv sitting on a bull in a pen wearing a cowboy hat and a flannel shirt with a lasso on his side and a meanlooking bull straddled between his legs.

“For the most part, we settled down,” she continued. “We raised Grace and Adam much differently than we raised Christopher. School was every day. And the grocery store was a consistent job for both Marv and me.” Rose stopped to take a sip of her tea.

“Whatever happened to Christopher?” Blake asked.

“Oh, he eventually got married and had eight children. He quit the carnival and gained worked as a mechanic for the union. It was a good job. Grace and Adam grew up and they went to college. Grace became an animal rights lawyer. Adam went on to become an electrician.”

Blake sipped some more tea. “Where are Grace and Adam now?”

“Grace lives in California with her husband. She had two children and they’re off and married. Adam lives in the suburbs. He had three children. I'm a great-grandmother to many great-grandkids.” Suddenly Rose became sullen. “Marv passed away in 1993, he had a heart attack. He was seventy-eight years old.”

“Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that—my condolences,” Blake said.

Rose shook her head. “You never get used to it. Sometimes I turn the TV up really loud just so I'm not alone in the house at night, but it's just not the same.”

“So, why do you come to this factory to have tea, did your husband ever work here?” Blake asked, eating the last bit of the cake.

Rose sipped more tea. “Oh, no, honey, I work here. I feel that if I threw in the towel when Marv died, I might as well have laid down with him. Work, it keeps the mind young and strong. I didn't live this long to sit in some retirement home. I drink tea every Wednesday to keep Marv's spirit alive. When he came home from the war, he needed at least an hour to himself every day. During that hour, he had his tea— he said it calmed his nerves. After he died, I found tins and tins of tea in his office. Green teas, oolong teas, white teas, fruit-infused teas, tea tonics and the spicy rum tea we are drinking now. The list goes on and on. I don't know what happened to him during that war. He never spoke to me about it. All I can tell you is, war changes people. Every week I try a different tea from his stash after he died, and I'll keep going as long as my body allows it,” Rose said, drinking the last of the tea. “I like you, you can come join me if you would like to. I'll be here every Wednesday drinking, Marv's tea, eating crumpets and cake.” “Right about what?” Rose asked.

“My mama told me that if I was confident, spoke clearly, told you my name and the name of my school, you’d be just as cool.”

“Your mama is a smart woman,” Rose stated.

Blake smiled. “Well, it’s getting late and I have to get home for dinner.”

Rose got up and cleaned up her tea and plates. “Yeah, my break is over. I have to get back to the grindstone. I'm here till seven o'clock. Wednesdays are my late days. On my way home I stop off at the little diner and have dinner—they make some great meatloaf.”

“Does your family come visit often?” he asked.

“Every Sunday,” she said, while cleaning. “We have a big family dinner. Christopher brings his wife and Adam brings his family. Most of my grandkids are here so depending on what they've got going on, I usually see them. I never feel lonely. I miss my daughter though, but I do see her from time to time.”

Blake helped her with the last of the clean up. “It was awesome to meet you, Rose.” Blake picked up his Backpack. “I'll be seeing you around.”

“Likewise Blake. Don't be shy,” she said, walking towards the door of the building. “Be safe walking home.”

“I will,” Blake said, heading out towards the street.

And from that Wednesday on, he had tea with Rose.

What would the tea world do without the Dutch? Not only did they transport the coveted stuff throughout Europe, but also introduced the idea of the tea garden, as 17th century public house owners provided patrons with portable tea sets (complete with warmers) that invariably made their way into the establishments’ gardens.

The practice of taking tea in the garden was soon adopted by the English and by the 18th century, tea gardens and their more imposing siblings, pleasure gardens, flourished in London, seeing their zenith in the 19th century. Cuper’s Gardens was a prime example of the tea garden, while Vauxhall Gardens typifies the grand pleasure gardens of the time.

Working class frequented the tea gardens while the aristocracy made only the occasional visit. Their ‘tea entertainments’ at the posh hotels that hosted tea dances.

Artwork depicting a dancing pavilion at Vauxhall Garden