Children of Reuben and Louisa Beck 

Angela had a shop on the top road in Gillingham, on the Watling Street, had her own draper's shop after she retired as manageress at the Co-op—and there I used to visit quite often, even right up till I started work after 18.

. . . she was the eldest of my father's sisters, and she was quite an important part of my childhood in so far as she was always at her parents' home, or at her own house, in the north of Gillingham, and we used to see quite a lot of her as a child, when I went to visit my grandparents; and—and I had quite a number of occasions, be with her.

She was quite an imposing personality, quite—very. At the time when I most remember her, was when she was the proprietor of a milliner's shop on Watling Street, the main thoroughfare from the south end of the town, runs from the Medway towns down to Canterbury. Number 68 Watling Street was the address of the shop. She always dressed very primly, and in fashion—and she had a very strong presence the whole time, as though she was the madam of the shop, and all the other assistants obeyed her orders, very, very quickly. She had a very educated voice, and she always behaved—very (what I would—I don't know whether obsequiously is the right expression?)—but quite a formal presence when handling customers, as well as relatives. My own mother was always a bit afraid of her, overawed by her. My mother was quite a short person, compared with her rather big stature—and my mother was quite a simple woman—and simple speech and—no affected airs about her at all. I think she was a bit overawed by the rather shop-presence that Aunt Angela always presented, even when she was off-duty, as it were. She was very knowledgeable about business, and affairs, and so forth—she probably felt my mother was a bit beneath her, or not educated, or not knowledgeable . . . It may be that it was just a childish impression I have, of the relationship, but I know my mother was always, even when she was first married she always felt rather overawed by Aunt Angela. She had a very strong temper. I think I may have told you in the past how she fell out with her younger sister, my Aunt Elsie, and how at one time Aunt Angela was the head, sort of floor-manager, of the big Co-op drapery and millinery stores, in the High Street of Gillingham. It was a very big shop, on about four floors, with a lift in it, and I remember it as a shop where they had the cashier's office in the centre of the ground floor, connected by overhead pulley system, so that the money and the bill was put into a little cylinder container, and a lever was pulled, and this was transmitted to the cashier in the centre of the shop, and—it was quite a big shop, and very busy. Aunt Angela was the head of all the female staff there; and she had got a post for her youngest sister, Elsie. Elsie was one of the junior assistants there, for a time. Elsie was quite high-spirited, and full of fun. Once Aunt Angela had to discipline her, for not conforming to the rules—I don't quite know the actual incident at all, but I got the impression that she had given Elsie a dressing-down in front of all the staff, or of the particular section where she was working. Elsie was in a flaming temper, and resented this, and never forgave her, Angela, for humiliating her in that way. My understanding was that they never spoke to each other from that day onwards—or that's the impression I've been given. This led to difficulties within the family circle, and I think accounted for Elsie eventually leaving home and going along, marrying someone who took her up to Newcastle, and—they had very little contact with the rest of the family.

But Angela did have this very strong, dominating, personality. But she looked after her sister, my Aunt Dorothy, or Aunt Dolly, who was—even when I can remember her—crippled with arthritis of the neck. She had a curvature of the spine, and she always sat in an armchair at the table. She could move around with a stick—but always crouching, bent well forward, and her head looking down on the ground, and she looked at you from the top of her eyes. She was more or less housebound. But Aunt Angela sort of looked after her when her mother died, my grandmother. I remember going to the house when she was living with my grandmother, well when my grandmother died she moved into Aunt Angela's house, which wasn't very far away, and was looked after by Aunt Angela.

Aunt Angela was also very good to me in the time I went to the grammar school, when I passed for the scholarship, and had to go to the grammar school. It meant having a new uniform, and new clothing, and—quite a lot of expense involved. She was very good at helping to buy my uniform. I can't remember whether it was while I was waiting to go to the grammar school, or whether it was another occasion after I'd been at the grammar school—but she took me with her, to London, when she was buying stock for her shop. She used to go to the Houndsditch Warehouse, in East London; and she took me up with her, just to—as a matter of interest, really, to see the sights of London, and see what the Houndsditch Warehouse was like, and what she did. She took me up there with my cousin Dorothy, Dorothy Carr that is now. I have still a very vivid recollection of getting out at London Bridge station, and then going over London Bridge, walking to Houndsditch Warehouse—it's not very far from London Bridge. I think I spent most of the time there, while she was doing her purchases, travelling up and down on the lifts; they had these open lifts—no doors on the lifts—and continuously moving, lift, and you hopped in as it passed, and hopped out as it passed the next floor, or how many floors you went up; Dorothy and I spent quite a lot of time, I remember, hopping in and out of these lifts at different floors. So I don't have much knowledge of how she went about her purchases, and what sort of things she purchased. I think she took me on that visit to see one or two of the sights of London, like St Paul's, I think, and the immediate area of the City, but we didn't do any sort of large-scale sightseeing on that expedition. But it was certainly one of the memorable occasions of Aunt Angela.

Were you yourself rather in awe of her?

Well I always felt I had to mind my Ps and Qs with her, but I certainly didn't feel at a disadvantage with her; and she always seemed to like my visits to the home. I used to play cards with my Aunt Dorothy, who was chair-bound, she liked visitors, someone to have some attention—so I went there fairly often—I'm talking now about my grammar school days, between twelve and eighteen—because it wasn't very far from my school, and didn't mean a great deal extra out of my way, I could call in there on my way home, and I didn't mind the walking. We used to play quite a lot of cardgames with her, whist—particularly she was fond of—and solo, solo whist. I don't remember whether we played any board games like draughts. I don't think she played chess. But I also listened to her radio with her—she liked having the Promenade concerts on, and I would sit with her, listening to a concert. I imagine I had quite a few teas there, or refreshments, of some sort or other, over the years. But I used to see Aunt Dorothy and my grandmother when I went as a small boy, before grammar school times, on a Saturday or a Sunday, going to collect a large bowl of dripping, to take back for my father for his midday sandwiches that at one stage she was always providing, this dripping for him.

. . . my Aunt Dorothy, or Aunt Dolly, who was—even when I can remember her—crippled with arthritis of the neck. She had a curvature of the spine, and she always sat in an armchair at the table. She could move around with a stick—but always crouching, bent well forward, and her head looking down on the ground, and she looked at you from the top of her eyes. She was more or less housebound. But Aunt Angela sort of looked after her when her mother died, my grandmother. I remember going to the house when she was living with my grandmother, well when my grandmother died she moved into Aunt Angela's house, which wasn't very far away, and was looked after by Aunt Angela.

. . . Dorothy was an invalid, and I remember she had a chiropractor to come and give her massage, and help her get some relief from the disability. I think a chiropractor in those days was quite an advanced form of treatment—people didn't believe in non-medical people—I don't think he was actually a faith-healer, although I think she may have experimented with the faith-healers; or whether this chiropractor also felt he had healing in his hands, and that this was part of his secret of his manipulation, I don't know—somehow, I've a vague recollection that there was a feeling that her treatment was partly faith-healing, as much as manipulation.

Did it do any good?

Well it gave her temporary relief—never cured her; I don't quite know what her ailment was, what the origin of it was, I can't remember now—if I ever knew.

Had she worked at all, before she . . . ?

I think she must have done, and—I think she must have had her daughter, Dorothy, my cousin Dorothy, when she was well, and fit to have children. So I don't know at what stage this illness developed.

. . . she always looked older because of her illness, and the fact that she wasn't able to move very fast, always gave the impression of being older; but—mentally she was always certainly a young person, she was always very bright and interested in what I was doing, and interested in the world, and, being a devoted listener to the radio she was very well-informed, from that point of view.

My Aunt Dorothy—received treatment from a local free church Minister who was a kind of Osteopath, before such "alternative medicine" was accepted. He massaged her neck and shoulders and gave her relief—she was always bent over and had to turn her head sideways to look up at you.

OBITUARY.

MRS. D.C. MERRY.

As reported in our last issue, the death of Mrs. Dorothy C. Merry, of 68, Watling-street, Gillingham, took place on the 7th inst., after a very long illness, which she had borne with great courage and fortitude. The deceased lady leaves one daughter to mourn her loss. The funeral took place on Saturday at Chatham Cemetery, the Rev. R.V. Bristow (Vicar of St. Augustine's Church, Gillingham) officiating. The mourners were Messrs. Reuben Beck (brother), Alec Beck (nephew), David Pankhurst (brother-in-law), Arthur Pankhurst (nephew), Albert Merry (brother-in-law), Arthur Carr (son-in-law). Beautiful floral tributes were received from:—

Dorothy and Arthur (daughter and son-in-law); Baby Robert (grandson); Angela (sister); Reuben and Ruth (brother and sister-in-law); Hilda, Dave and Joyce (sister and brother-in-law); Alec, Mary and family; Percy and Eileen; Sidney, William, Gladys and Edgar; Dave and Klara; Edna and Arthur; Nellie; Aunt Maud; Hilda and Albert; Millie; Nell and Dora (Southsea); Via and Freda; Minnie; Mabel and Arthur; Mary and Gordon; Douglas; Pop and Bertie; Marjorie, Bob, Mrs. Wells and Alec; Gladys; The Parker Family; Nellie, Roy and Family; Gert, Will and Doris; Nora; Bessie Grace; Bessie Vincent; Alf. and Maud; Mrs. Crosscombe and Olive; Harry and Anne Foster; Mr. and Mrs. Phillips; Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls and family; Mr. and Mrs. Robertson; Mr. and Mrs. Billinghurst and Georgina; Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw; Mr. and Mrs. Morton and family; Mr. and Mrs. Norman and Minnie; Mr. and Mrs. Belcher; E. Morrison and H. Allison; M. Holmes; J. Crossley; Eva Banks; Gyllie; Mrs. and Miss Gay.

THE Daughter and Sister of Mrs. DOROTHY C. MERRY wish to thank all relatives and friends for letters of condolence and beautiful floral tributes sent in their recent bereavement.

. . . Hilda did become much more of a real person to us—she had married David Pankhurst, who was a draughtsman in the drawing office, of the Naval Dockyard at Chatham; who had been sent to Rosyth, during the war—I think they thought it was a safer place, to have the drawing office there—Chatham Dockyard was so near, likely to be bombed, damaged—so a lot of the work was transferred from Chatham Dockyard up to Rosyth Dockyard, near Edinburgh. I think Hilda and Dave must have married before, she joined him up there, in Rosyth. They stayed there, till their two sons, my cousin David and cousin Arthur, and my other cousin Edna—they were at school in Scotland—then some time in the 1930s, when I was at the grammar school, they all moved down to Gillingham. Whether he'd got promoted, or whether they decided to restore the old drawing office in Chatham, and reunite it again, after the war, I don't know quite. They moved back to Gillingham, and when they first arrived, they hadn't got any accommodation, and they all came and lived with my father and mother, in Gillingham. So we—quite a crowd! Course I don't know how many of us we were at the time—anyway, we did squeeze in for about three months.

She was a very outgoing Scottish, very strong Scottish accent, she had—very strong personality—very good fun, always had a great fund of laughter, and was very competent, and a real Scottish housewife really. I think she was quite a help to my mother, around the house. They stayed there three months . . . .

Well she was certainly a housewife full-time when I knew her, and I don't think she did any work after that. Well, I think she may have worked herself, in the Co-op—she'd been under her sister Angela and the Co-op drapery stores before she married, and she may well have done work during the War, and immediately after the War, but I've no idea.

Aunt Hilda baked bread—that three months she was staying with us, she still brought her Scottish housewife practise of baking her own bread.

Aunt Angela was the head of all the female staff there [at the Co-op drapery in Gillingham]; and she had got a post for her youngest sister, Elsie. Elsie was one of the junior assistants there, for a time. Elsie was quite high-spirited, and full of fun. Once Aunt Angela had to discipline her, for not conforming to the rules—I don't quite know the actual incident at all, but I got the impression that she had given Elsie a dressing-down in front of all the staff, or of the particular section where she was working. Elsie was in a flaming temper, and resented this, and never forgave her, Angela, for humiliating her in that way. My understanding was that they never spoke to each other from that day onwards—or that's the impression I've been given. This led to difficulties within the family circle, and I think accounted for Elsie eventually leaving home and going along, marrying someone who took her up to Newcastle, and—they had very little contact with the rest of the family.

. . . "she separated up into Newcastle, and—never came down to Gillingham at all—and we only knew of her through correspondence."

Auntie is still in  Hosp'l at K'caldy but we were hoping she might be coming home soon. She was home last Wednesday when 2 young Physiotherapists brought her in a Hosp'l Taxi, to have a look at the House and they had her walking all round with the aid of a Zimmer and they seemed quite satisfied that I could look after her with the aid I have from a Home Help (3 mornings M, W & F) plus Meals-on-Wheels (3 days) which are quite good and help from the Family. However, it seems Auntie has a Urine infection and they want that cleared up so we just hope it may be corrected soon. It is 4 weeks today since they took her away, one of the saddest days of our long life Sidney, although I always knew something of this Kind would come along, but she is much better than when she left, as she couldn't walk and had little strength in her arms poor dear and the rest has helped her so that she is walking well now with the 'Zimmer', but she seems so forlorn and doesn't like the food—just wants to come home and says she will be home for Xmas for sure.

I hear from my brother Bill that Auntie Elsie came home for Xmas. Still troubled with her legs, but they are managing. Uncle Harry is negotiating for a downstairs flat in a nearby house which should suit them better.

HARDING.—Peacefully, at Victoria Hospital, Kirkcaldy, on January 21, 1986, Elsie Beck, dearly loved wife of Harry Harding, 3 Broomieknow, Leven, much loved mother of Barbara, also a loving grandmother. Service at Kirkcaldy Crematorium, on Friday, January 24 at 3 p.m., to which all friends are respectfully invited.