My Mother-in-law & Father-in-law…
Margaret (Sharples) Morris & Roland Isaiah Morris…
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| BEST BEARD I EVER GREW. ME WITH ROLAND & MAGGIE... |
I recall the lady as intelligent, maybe rueful of her family’s upheaval from 42 Links Street Court in Kirkcaldy, Scotland when she was a teenager to live in Aston, Birmingham to help with the Sharples’ family business, which was a shop selling linoleum at 6/343 Summer Lane, originally run by William Sharples.
To move from a more rural area of farmland with horses must have been a real shock for such a bright girl, who ended up living in a tough Aston environment.
I believe that she was so far ahead educationally when she arrived in Birmingham that she was used basically as a classroom assistant to help other pupils, despite only being in her early teens. She would have loved to have received further education but that would simply never have been an option for her…
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| MAGGIE, DECKCHAIR, SWANAGE... |
She met and married Roland Isaiah Morris, who was apparently a sporting chap, yet like many men around that time, he smoked heavily. He was a clever guy with his hands and was an accomplished carpenter. He worked for many years for a family firm with a promise of being included in a will when the owner’s wife passed on. He had visited her regularly after the firm had closed down but when the will was produced, he had been left virtually nothing.
I drove him and his wife to the woman’s funeral in Wales too, in shocking rainy motorway conditions but Roland’s life seemed to lose meaning after that. Although he carried tablets to ease his angina symptoms, he had gone into St Peter’s College on Good Friday, 1974 in his own time because he was involved in building an organ for the college but he tragically died there from a heart attack, apparently with a piece of wood in his hand…
A fitting way for a carpenter to end his life one might argue and he was born and then died on a Good Friday…
He once told me that he had impressed Margaret with his strength by winning a prize at a fairground on a high striker, using a mallet to swing over his shoulder and strike the machine’s base, hoping to make a bell at the top ring. Few achieved that apparently. He did, though…
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| A HIGH STRIKER... |
His mother Annie (Tonks) Morris lived with Maggie and Roland for many years and she even outlived her son by four years. She commandeered Roland’s chair after he had died and continued to drop snuff upon her pale blue nylon housecoat. She would also ease the lids from her Mackeson stout bottles using the underside of a drawer handle, which meant she didn’t have to move. She professed deafness too but it was thought that she heard a number of conversations when it suited her.
We were all watching a TV pantomime on ice on one occasion, during which a panto’ horse skated across the scene. She remarked:
“Good how they got that horse to skate…”
Aston Villa once played a Turkish team in a European tie and before I set out to walk to the match from mother-in-law’s house, the old lady asked me who Villa were playing. I told her and she responded with,
“They’d better be careful, the Turks carry big curved swords…”
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| MAGGIE WITH MY DAUGHTER WENDY... |
I recall that Margaret worked in a factory/office canteen on Summer Lane when I first knew her, so close to where her family’s shop had once been, curiously and she introduced me to strong tea, which I had never experienced growing up. When my daughters were babies and if I was squeezing out a towelling nappy at her house, she would grab it from me, muttering,
“Give it here, I’ve got a better wring than you…”
She liked evening Bingo sessions and betting on horses, albeit small amounts but she often won cash from both of those leisure activities. If she was on holiday with us, she would immediately explore the shops to find a betting office nearby and when we holidayed in Swanage I would pop her along to the local hall to win a few quid at the weekly Bingo session. I always called her ‘the professional’ but in truth she simply won regularly…
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| A FAMILY HOLIDAY, MAGGIE FAR RIGHT... |
I recall one Bingo caller referring to the number 7 as ‘One little crutch…’ and 77 not as ‘Sunset Strip’ but as ‘Two little crutches…’ Nobody laughed, due to the ‘eyes-down’ mode in the room, but as I waited to take mum-in-law back to the caravan, I nearly wet myself…
Maggie’s house was like a clearing house for her family on weekends, especially Sundays, when from early until late afternoon she would provide a conveyor belt of food for when each group of visitors arrived to see her. Salad, trifle, cake, numerous pots of strong tea, apple pies and other delights were always to be found on her dining table and folks simply dipped in when they arrived.
The pre-Villa match cobs with cheese and slices of onion on them were always a feature of my Saturdays at Maggie’s, where not only did I lay a lawn in her back garden, the first decorating I ever attempted was the marital bedroom, as a surprise whilst they were on holiday. I decorated the front room too, sometime later…
I recall staying there one night when Maggie and Roland were away on holiday and I slept in their bedroom, overlooking Witton Cemetery, a grave outlook. They had a votive figure of Christ about 50cm high on a piece of their furniture and I was genuinely spooked by it, especially as one of the hands held out its heart… So, I asked Jenny if she would remove it, which she did by placing it inside a large wooden wardrobe. That seemed OK to me and with Grannie Tonks-Morris asleep in her small bedroom, I lay down to get some rest. And then one wardrobe door began to creak open…
I was totally terrified as I dashed from the bedroom, before banging on Jenny’s bedroom door and demanding that the offending statue be moved elsewhere. She did so, laughing at my discomfort…
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| HARD WORK, CHRISTMAS... |
When Roland was alive, he would sit back on his chair, smoke a cigarette and often make a contentious statement, often politically left-wing and usually controversial, so that at least one of his siblings would take the bait and begin arguing until a few of the guests were debating, often rather loudly. I was horrified at first but one time, after Roland after begun an argument, he looked my way and winked as the atmosphere became somewhat concerning…
He also thought that I was a bit mad and he was never really sure about my behaviour, especially on one particular rainy evening before I could drive…
‘Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em’ had been on TV during the evening, in which Frank Spencer had left his girlfriend’s house to return home in rainy weather, only to find that the small front garden gate had fallen to the ground. He duly picked it up, knocked the front door and when Betty and her mum appeared, he was asked what he was doing with the gate. He replied that it was raining outside…
That same evening, I left Maggie’s house via the kitchen door and strolled along the side entrance between number 147 and the next door house, 149. It was raining and as I walked up the short garden path, their small wrought iron gate was clearly off its hinges, so I picked it up, carried it up the entry, took it through the back door and left it against the parlour wall.
“What the bloody hell have you brought that in here for?” demanded Roland, to which I replied in what was apparently a really good impersonation of Frank Spencer,
“It’s rainin’ outside…”
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| FRANK SPENCER IMPRESSION WITH NEPHEW IAN MORRIS, WHO SADLY DIED SUDDENLY A FEW YEARS BACK... |
As a widow, Maggie would often accompany us on caravan holidays, where she took it upon herself to cook the evening meals, which was really kind of her. However, sometimes, having to retreat from the beach in order to get back to the caravan for when dinner would be ready was frustrating.
One day, she returned early to the site, entered the caravan and put the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea, whilst lighting up a cigarette. However, it was the wrong caravan… It had been unlocked and the occupants very soon returned to find Maggie boiling their kettle… Embarrassment… She had wondered why we had left our caravan door unlocked, she told us afterwards.
On another holiday in Swanage, one of the grass verges on the caravan site was soft and on our last evening there, we had decided to eat out, which my daughters were excited about but Maggie’s foot sank a little into the turf and she hurt her ankle. She was in agony but came out with us, we also took her to Swanage’s small hospital, where her ankle was strapped up. She endured a tough journey home the following day but two days later an X-ray revealed a break… No wonder she had been in such pain…
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| THAT BLESSED ANKLE... |
Her smoking was always a source of my cajoling and joking, so much so that after surgery on her throat area she was told she shouldn’t smoke any longer. She tried… However, some time later I walked into her kitchen unannounced, as she was just about to light up a fag. That really did upset me because I cared about her.
It seemed that I had been the only person who hadn’t realised she was still smoking but she had tried hard to make sure that I didn’t see her…
When she passed away, hers was the first lifeless body I had ever seen…
I had really liked her and she was hugely important in my life but my shy and timid mum really liked her too and the pair seemed to get on so well…
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| MAGGIE WITH MY MUM & MY DAUGHTERS LUCY & WENDY... |
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| THE TWO NANS ON MY WENDY'S BIRTHDAY, JUST AFTER CHRISTMAS, 1990... NEXT: THE BALLINGERS... |
