Grandmother James' Story

Grandmother James’ Story:

         I am old now, and a grandmother several times over, but I remember being young, being a wife, being a mother, being deserted, being betrayed, living through two world wars – I remember everything.

         Old Granddad William James came from Ireland to Portsmouth in 1870.  He was a military man of the Royal Horse Artillery, and he was posted to Hillside Barracks.  Not long after he met and married my Grannie, whose name was Hol Crosse.  They had four boys – Albert, Percy, Bill and Leonard.    On reaching the age of fourteen, every one of those lads became drummer boys in the Royal Horse. 

         Leonard and I both grew up in Southern England, in what the historians called “La Belle Epoch” – the beautiful time.  Well, it may have been a beautiful time for the rich, especially the aristocracy, for not for the poor working classes. I left school at fourteen, just like the rest, and was apprenticed as a seamstress. At first I was kept in the back, doing plain “straight stitch” sewing on the treadle machine – seams and suchlike.  As I learned more I was able to sew the tailored traveling suits and day dresses the gentry came in to be fitted for.  I loved sewing the gored skirts and low-cut evening gowns.  By 1909 the skirts had lost their fullness and the silhouette was slim, and women showed their feet again.  But I did not enjoy the treatment I was often given by our clients.    Many of them were what I would call “stuck up.”

         As much as I enjoyed making my own wages and living at home with my parents and sisters, our life in Farnham was much the same from day to day. Farnham is in a valley, and a river flows just south of town.  But one day as I was walking home I saw a crowd collecting around the narrow bridge that fords the river.  The river was quite swollen after the heavy winter rains, and I could see a horse and cart under the arch.  The driver, one of the village lads, seemed trapped under the cart, and a number of people were shouting advice to each other as to how to rescue the boy.  I saw Mr. Bourne the schoolteacher handing one of the local bricklayers a rope. The labourer fashioned a noose, descended into the river and secured it under the driver’s armpits.  By then several other men were down in the water and they hauled the poor lad out.  Mr. Bourne had had the foresight to cut the horse fee of its harness, and it scrambled up onto the meadow.  The driver was carried to the nearby inn.

         Mr. Bourne is really rather a handsome man, and my younger sister Emily says he is kind and patient, especially with the younger children.  He replaced old Mr. Johnson who retired two or three years after I left school.  I knew he is not married, so I persuaded mother to ask him to tea, so I could formally meet him.          

         I wore an afternoon dress I had made myself, and I knew I looked well in it.  The talk around the tea-table turned to Germany and how Mr. Bourne was certain the Kaiser was preparing to challenge Britain for mastery of the seas, and was openly hostile to France and Belgium.  I paid little attention to the talk of war between my father and Mr. Bourne, but by the end of tea found myself liking him more and more.  He was so different from the village lads!

         Well, to make a long story short he and I started walking out together, although in Farnham there were few places to walk to.  A stroll in the woods, or along a back lane to view the flower beds that grew in almost all the cottage gardens or tea with his friend the doctor and his wife made up our courtship.

         Then in August of 1914 an archduke and his wife were murdered in Austria and although this did not cause the war, somehow Britain, France and Russia declared themselves against Germany and suddenly all of Europe was fighting.  John Bourne asked me to wait for him until Christmas, when the war was sure to be over, and then we would be married. 

         Our village emptied of all the young men, those who were not disabled, and we at home were left to worry.  Christmas came and went, and families started to receive telegrams regretting the death of our boys.  Among those was Captain John Bourne, who died in France. 

         Despite my grief I knew I had to do something besides sew fine clothes for ladies.  My friend Lily and I decided to train for nurses, and so we joined the Great War, as it came to be known.