Gladys my heart to see you !

When I read the recent press coverage concerning Brian Coleman becoming mayor, one thing brought a rather large grin to my face. It is reported that Mr Colemans redoubtable mother, Gladys Coleman will be his official consort. Why should this amuse me? Well, and I would have been strung up if I'd written this when she was alive, my own dearly departed mothers name was Gladys. This may come as a surprise to any readers who knew her. You see she absolutely hated the name. She also hated her second name, Mary. When she was confirmed, she chose the name of Cecilia as her confirmation name. She immediately adopted this as her preferred name and woe betide anyone who referred to her as Gladys. She was also none to keen on her surname - Fanning. I am quite convinced that one of the reasons she was so keen to marry my father was his surname was Tichborne, a fine old English aristocratic name, even if he was born in a mining town in the outback of Australia. Of course the fact that he was an extremely handsome, dashing, funny and brave officer in the Royal Australian Air Force probably helped.

My mum was born to an extremely poor family living in Oldham, Lancashire. Her father was an out of war, invalid Irish immigrant, who'se health was destroyed in the trenches of the first world war. He loathed pomposity and snobbishness. Once my mother brought a potential suitor, a British army officer home for tea. My Grandfather greeted him by demanding my grandmother brought a bowl of water for his feet. He sat drinking tea, making objectionable comments and smoking his pipe. My mother was mortified. The officer made his excuses and left. My mother was furious at this display. My grandfather retorted "If he liked you he wouldn't give a stuff what your old man was like. He'd be keen to rescue you from such a terrible family". My father passed the test with flying colours, he thought grandpa was a real character and a wise man.

My mum's family moved to London for work in the 1930's. As soon as she arrived in London she set about shedding her Lancashire accent. As the fifth of six children in a very poor family, she was determined to move upwards socially. In common with all of her brothers and sisters, she was remarkably intelligent. She achieved a scholarship to a very good school and was at the top of her class. Like my daughter, she was also a champion swimmer. In 1938, disaster struck. She contracted diptheria and nearly died. She spent 6 months in hospital. She told me how other children would appear in the bed next to her. She'd make friends. Then they'd disappear. She'd ask what happened and the matron would tell her "They've gone to heaven". My mum confessed that she was jealous, as it sounded so nice. After the war, my parents started a local business and built up a successful firm. By the time I arrived in the early '60's they had a four bedroom house and were comfortably off. My mother once told me that she honestly believed that she had never really been "Gladys Fanning". She said that she'd only been called Gladys as she had a rich aunty called Gladys, who my grandmother thought may look after her if anything happened. She said that when she announced to her family that she was to be called Celia, they all took the mickey mercilessly. They'd greet her with "Gladys my heart to see you" in the morning. Boyfriends would be informed of her real name. I once asked her why the aversion to the name. She said that there was a famous character called "Gladys Conk" who she was teased about when she was a child.

The picture above is my mum, with my big brothers at her 80th Birthday party. Despite her age, chronic poor health, stroke induced speech problems, she wouldn't leave the house without "getting ready". She was a fiercely proud woman. Surprisingly maybe, given her social aspirations, she was a life long socialist. This caused much friction as my Dad was a Tory! I once asked her, if she was able to change anythig about her life - The Cancer, The Stroke, The Diptheria, anything, what would she have changed. She told me she'd have changed her name. As a result, I really thought long and hard about our childrens names. When my eldest daughter, Madeleine was born, we had kept the name under wraps. When I rang my mum to tell her the news - a daughter - she said "What is her name" I replied "Madeleine". My mother spat back "Oh no, you can't call her that. I have a book full of really nice names you can borrow". I'm pleased to say that Madeleine is happy with her name and my mum soon adapted. She never stopped interfering though. My wife's early attempts to raise the children as vegetarian were thwarted by my mother cooking them steaks when she babysat. Madeleine came home and announced "Mummy, meat is lovely, you should try some". End of that plan. As I said above, had I written this blog when she was still alive and well, I'd have been murdered, or at the very least disinherited. As it is, I suspect she's looking down chuckling.

Towards the end of her life, following a fairly major stroke, when she became very old, doddery and frail, I was out with my mother. I was staggered when she introduced herself as Gladys to someone. Later at home, I asked her why she had done this. She replied "because it's my name". I asked if she no longer wanted to be called Celia. She replied "look at me, who do you think I am trying to impress". Shortly after that she stopped putting her curlers in every day. Shortly after that she died.