Joyce in February

By Jenny Sanders

Well, thank goodness all that is over!

Christmas seemed to go on forever this year; and as for new year – what a fuss about nothing. Honestly, everyone goes crazy for the sake of one night, and for what? A sore head and, just when you’re thinking about a fresh start, a day when you can’t think straight. Perhaps I’m just too old for it all.

Don’t get me wrong; I had a lovely time with my friend, Viv, on Christmas Day. Seems ages ago now; but I’m not one for a big fuss. Frankly, I’m always glad to reach February. Not just because I don’t know how many more of them I’ll see, what with age and health and what not. No, it’s just that January is so dark and dismal; but when February comes around, I always think spring can’t be far behind. It’s a much more hopeful month, don’t you think?

Mind you, we’ve been caught out a few times haven’t we? Plunging temperatures and a dump of snow that sees us all checking our larders for tinned goods. Soup, mostly I think. And hot chocolate. Those will get you through most crises, I’ve found.

Weeks like that remind me of the war. Really; I was still a toddler then. A child of The Blitz; that was me. I was born in January 1942 you see, right at the end of it, but somehow conceived during it. I say, ‘somehow’… I don’t think we need details, but suffice it to say my parents said I caused quite a stir when I arrived: created my own mini blitz in the family, apparently. My big sister, Phyllis, and brother, Tom, were already making their mark; but I don’t remember them ever being unkind to me as a child. I think that’s something children learn as they get older.

Anyway, there it is. There was still rationing then, of course, so it can’t have been easy for my poor old Mum and Dad. Probably very inconvenient for them I suppose, having another mouth to feed. Well, I don’t know; it’s not like you choose, is it? No contraception in those days, of course. Truth to tell, I think there were a few miscarriages between us kids all arriving. Health care wasn’t what it is now, even with the strain everything’s under. You can bet your boots no-one had any counseling either. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, mind.

Another sister came along after me: Joan. I think she brought a lot of joy into the house as the war came to an end. Mind you, Mum and Dad were always the cheerful sort; never made a fuss about anything as far as I can remember. That stood us all in good stead for the post-war years and some of the challenges we had. They worked so hard; always set us an example in that.

So, you’ve worked it out, I suppose. Yes, I’ve just had my 84th birthday. Can you believe it? Mum didn’t make it past 66. Born the year the first world war started. What a life, eh? You never know what’s around the corner, do you?

I never thought I’d make it this far. I’m not being pessimistic; I just couldn’t imagine this age. I suppose you can’t, can you? When you’re a young ‘un, you think anyone in their twenties is all grown up, and pretty past it once they’re in their thirties. You can’t imagine reaching fifty, let alone anything on the other side of that. You know nothing and think you know everything then. We believed we’d conquer the world somehow. I’m not sure what we thought we’d do.

Of course Terry, I’ve told you before, he just wanted to drive a bus; but he flourished when he opened his mechanics business.

‘You’ll never change the world doing that’, Phyllis used to say, disdainfully. Proper catty she could be. Terry wasn’t bothered. ‘I certainly changed it for that person,’ he’d say, as he looked her square in the eye and closed the bonnet on another successfully repaired car. That shook her. Bless him; he said his bit and she didn’t have a leg to stand on. He was the best of brothers to me. Until that lung cancer took him out, of course.

Phyllis? Well, she always had big ideas, but she was cautious. She could have thrown herself into the swinging sixties, but she held back; bided her time. She was looking for a husband from the start, I think. Had her eye on young Joey who lived next door to us after we moved down from the moors. Shame; he never made the cut. Not ambitious enough for our Phyllis.

Joey became a bin man – dustmen we called them then. Did a sterling job all his life as far as I know –never missed a shift – but Phyllis thought that was beneath her. Silly girl. She eventually snagged herself some chap she met through a friend who worked in an office. Donald. I think she thought that was respectable; good, steady income and all that.

Useless piece of work, he was really. Had her running around like I don’t know what. She’d have left him if she’d had the courage, I think. He didn’t hit her or anything; don’t go thinking that. Just dull as ditch water. Trying to get blood out of a stone, it was talking to him. I couldn’t look at him without thinking of Donald Duck, so that didn’t help.

Joan was a much better judge of character. She had ambitions to be a seamstress and open a couture shop of her own. Perhaps that was a bit too ambitious; but she worked at Selfridges for many years. She ended up managing on the shop floor and overseeing a load of staff. She could sell dresses like nobody’s business; always had an eye for it. The customers loved her. She had regulars in Selfridges like they do in the pub.

Extraordinary; some people must have had money to burn. I mean, how many dresses do you need? Anyway, by the time she got there, you could still get married and keep your job, but Joan wasn’t having it. She loved her independence. Kept up her own business on the side, mind you, altering garments for paying customers and did very well for herself until the day she died.

Poor love; knocked over by a taxi cab outside the store, she was. The rotter only served half his sentence, but what can you do? No point holding on to bitterness, is there? My grandmother used to say you could tell a bitter person just by looking at their face. She wasn’t wrong.

So, that leaves me. Last woman standing; who’d have thought it? Eighty-four. You have to chuckle. And me? Well, I won the lottery with Tom. We had a lovely life together; not an easy one, but full of laughter. I’ll never stop missing him.

Our Matthew and Corinne made us complete as a family. We were always proud of them and they both married lovely partners and gave us some grand-children too. I was always more interested in the type of people they were than what they did, but they’re both doing clever things now and still bring me a lot of joy.

How do you celebrate a birthday at eighty-four?

I’ve done everything I wanted to do in life; and if I haven’t, it’s too bad now. Of course, if I were twenty- four, forty-four, or maybe even sixty-four, I wouldn’t have minded a trip to Paris.

Tom took me to Blackpool once and we looked at that tower and promised ourselves that one day we’d go off to France and see one that’s twice as tall and ten times more impressive. Never happened what with one thing and another; but it was a lovely thought. I wouldn’t be tackling all those stairs now, that’s for sure!

I don’t want to go that far from home these days anyway. Into town on the bus is beginning to get too much for me with this wretched hip. Never mind. I’ve much to be grateful for and moaning never helps anyone.

I had tea and cake with Viv on my birthday, and some lovely flowers sent through from the kids with a little message on the side. The grandchildren signed the card themselves this year too. I appreciate that. I treated myself to a small sherry (heaven only knows how long that bottle has been sitting in the cupboard), made myself a nice shepherd’s pie and watched a programme about traveling down the Rhine. Or was it the Danube? I forget now; but it was perfect. I’m quite content; just a bit chilly this time of year.

Keep your chin up, Joyce; just got February to plough through, then the evenings will start getting lighter again. A bit of warmth will filter through and spring will be along soon.

Thank goodness! I’m looking forward to it, aren’t you?

Jenny Sanders is a writer, speaker, encourager and mentor. She loves writing, reading and walking in nature whenever she can. For the past several years she’s lived between the beautiful cities of Bath, UK and Cape Town, S Africa. Her exciting and humorous new children’s book The Magnificent Moustache and Other Stories is now available published by The Conrad Press.