Children of Charles Wallace and Alice Frances Jarvis

To get to them, we took the 66 bus from Davis Estate. We always entered down their sloping back garden, into their kitchen. The main sitting room of the house was below ground level to its front door, so it was very dark, and you could look up at people's feet and legs as they walked past on the pavement. Daisy, by this time about 65, was very deaf. She spoke only in a whisper, but Uncle George could communicate with her with no problems, which I found surprising, because my father (Ivor) was also deaf, and even my mother had to shout to speak with him. Uncle George was well disposed to me: he allowed me, age 3 or 4, to look at his gold watch – but only at the back, not at the dial! Then he would tease me to tell him the time!

One Sunday afternoon we were sitting up on a high bank overlooking the river, this was at Borstal, near Rochester, and I said, "Oh what a lovely view"—he said, "I'm not looking at the river, but at you". I said "Oh! are you," turned my back and moved a bit further down the bank, after a time I felt a poke in my back with his walking-stick, and he said "How would you like me for a husband". It quite took my breath away as I was so surprised, I said "alright" for I certainly was not in love with him, only friends and didn't really know what to answer. Anyhow, he was very pleased with my answer.

Well things went on just the same, for a few years, of course, by this time I was engaged and was married later on.

May was nicely built, fairly tall and nice looking until about 70. A fine contralto, she was a member of the famous Monday's choir of Rochester. She was of a happy disposition, her hearing slowly failed her after 70 so she took to a hearing aid.

The house, a small Victorian villa, had an outside toilet, with squares of newspaper for toilet paper – this was wartime or immediately after! Aunt May was deaf, and had a hearing aid, which she couldn't master: it squeaked a lot. My second cousin, Peter, 2 years older than me, her grandson, would unsympathetically pick up the receiver and say 'Calling All Cars!' – which he thought was very funny, but I doubt if Aunt May did. She was intensely keen on music, and continued to sing, quaveringly, when nobody wanted to listen.

GREENWOOD—In ever loving memory of Lottie Maud Greenwood, who passed on, February 17th, 1937. She had a smile for all.—From her devoted husband, Wal. "Tanglewood," King George-road, Walderslade.

GREENWOOD—In memory of our dear mother, whom we lost two year ago, February 17th, 1937.—Joyce, Bill.

The other sad case was my sister Lottie. With no complaints herself, able and musical, she married a man with fits and heart trouble in the family. They had a son and two daughters. The son, Walter Greenwood, became a teacher. Before this, Lottie was knocked down by a bicycle on a steep hill. Her head hit the kerb and she was killed outright . . . .

MISSED A BUS; WENT TO CATCH ANOTHER

A verdict of accidental death was recorded by a Coroner's jury, at Rochester, on Mrs. Lottie Maud Greenwood (50), wife of a shipwright, residing at "Tanglewood," King George's-road, Walderslade.

Mrs. Greenwood had left home to catch a 'bus at "The Hook and Hatchet," Walderslade, but finding it had gone walked in the roadway, towards "Huntsman's Corner," to catch another. A pedal cyclist, George Arthur Thompson, of "Ellerslie," Walderslade, collided with her and she died from fracture of the skull and brain laceration a few hours later in St. Bart's, Rochester.

'YARD PRESENTATION

Mr. P.V. Jarvis (foreman of painters), received presentations at Portsmouth on retiring from Admiralty service, after serving 45 years in Royal Dockyards at home and abroad. He was at Malta during the heavy attacks on the Island in World War II.

Mr. P.V. Jarvis (Secretary of the Art Group) said that trade on the group's stall was slow, although occasionally there was a rush.

"People do not think oil paintings are worth the money any more," he added.

Percy was obviously a considerable artist: sculptures, heads of women, decorated the edges of his garden's extensive lawns. In a manner I'm sure reminiscent of his boyhood teasing of Kate, he told Christine, he was waiting for them to grow – he hadn't planted them long! There was a piano, with the Schumann piano quintet on the stand, which Percy and friends intended to rehearse later; I assume he played violin.

Alfie Merryweather, by Percy Varrall Jarvis

Now Percy grew up to be a very nice gentleman. When he was a boy he used to go with his Dad to sing in the church choir, and when he wasn’t singing he would be drawing pictures of the minister’s face; also of him preaching in the pulpit. He’d pass it along all the boys in the choir, and doing it so often he became quite an expert at it. He could draw anybody’s head and shoulders quite like life, so when he was old enough, his Mother sent him to an Art school. He was very fond of music, took violin lessons and could play very nicely. His younger sister (Kate 1897–1969) was having music lessons, but Mother couldn’t afford to keep her at it, so Percy paid for her lessons. Now his sister plays and sings, and has taken both Gold and Silver medals. Percy married a very nice Lady. who can play Percy’s accompaniments to his violin. She also makes such lovely cakes, and sponge sandwiches with icing on the top. Percy is now a Master Painter.

. . . I was well aware that she and her husband were no longer on good terms. On one occasion, when I was about 7, she arrived on our doorstep in carpet slippers. Their house, 'Faraway' (see below) was about two miles away from ours, and down a steep, unadopted road – hence the name! She said, 'He's locked me out!'  I also knew that Uncle Sam was into drink: my mother and I often met him on Friday nights, as we caught a late-evening bus from Chatham after a choir rehearsal. Kate would pretend not to see him.

Madge was not my mother's favourite sister, partly because of her voice! Madge had a harsh, scratchy soprano, but (like so many of the family!) was convinced that she was a beautiful singer, and couldn't understand why nobody else thought so. She would often ask my mother to play for her.

Madge had a way of cadging things – lifts, cups of sugar – which my father resented. Not knowing her circumstances, I tended to agree with him, I'm now ashamed to say.

Mr. E.E. Jarvis (shipwright) Chatham, has been appointed assistant (ship) overseer, grade 2, on the staff of the P.S.O. Greenock.

He spent a lot of the time in the hut, by himself: he was estranged from his wife, Alice. I don't think they were divorced, but they no longer lived in the same house. Uncle Ern's trade was as a shipwright. 'Faraway' had an upstairs, but no staircase, only a slingsby ladder, let down into the kitchen when you needed to go 'upstairs' , which was furnished as a bedroom with a small bathroom beyond. Uncle Ern made and fitted a staircase for us, rising from the corner of the sitting-room. I don't even remember paying him for doing it. But he also tended to come and sit, or come and yarn, sometimes for hours or whole evenings, which for newly-weds, each with a demanding job, wasn't always convenient! I do remember playing to him the tape of my Downing performance of 'Hail, Bright Cecilia' of Purcell. He listened attentively to '' Tis Nature's Voice' , expressed no surprise at my counter-tenor voice, and asked 'When are you going to break into the air?' A very astute comment, I thought! My mother dismissed my alto singing as 'a fad' , but I believe one of her own uncles 'took the alto' in family music-making, so for Ern it was nothing new. I know he played the violin, and even the bagpipes, but I never heard him play. I never met his wife, or any of his children. Like so many of the family, he was deaf, but (as he says himself) managed his hearing aid adroitly.

I have had several people staying here at times with children and my writing desk has needed to be kept closed, also TV usually on, some my compositions have been nil also my violin playing. Anyway in Chatham one can't buy violin strings. The last shop that sold them Lloyd and Langtons closed years ago and his son, a scientist, married my son Brian's daughter Sandra. Brian, by the way, is a printer now. His younger daughter was top of Bristol College and was invited to stay on for another term, but married a computer expert instead. Her name's Susan. His son Malcolm (about 20) is clever and doing well.

I badly need a decent bow for my violin, but none are to be found. Maybe a musician will furnish one. I shall be alone here shortly for a time at least, so it will be sons TV, sons youngster and sons dogs barking, so may resume writing and violin playing. I can still, like my father, lift my voice in song.

I am sorry to say that I may soon be the only one left of my family as my youngest brother, Stan, is very ill and not expected to live long. My sister Kate, a fine contralto, pianist and organ player, died unexpectedly this year of haemorrhage after a kidney operation. Her first illness.

Me? Have a gift of rapid recovery from my full share of illness, mostly from my work and injury such as nearly losing my right arm, torn out and completely paralysed and wasted to bare bone. Hospital doctors verdict was "never use it again". Ward Sisters opinion "I may get it moving but it may take a long time". How long? Six weeks? Six months? No 12 months. I nearly died of shock, but I was back at work in six months.

Have the family complaint of music. At school 12 years of age, we had tonic-sol-fah for test. First boy with right notes, home five minutes early, me every time. One day the Master having felt like singing for he sang the Irish Emigrant (off to Philadelphia in the morning). I'd never heard it before but he asked for the right notes, gave them right away, and the Master let me go home right away. At a later school something left "myneheer Van Dunk was sung in four part chorus. Having a good natural voice I sang the top line, but the bottom line, a brass solo, goes very deep, and I had to sing that, being the only boy who could sing low enough.

Well, at 77½, I am still strong and active and probably annoy the neighbours when I burst into song without ceremony. Hilda is always harping on deafness in the family, but we are not all deaf and none were born deaf, so before it makes its presence, we speak good English, even musical.

Passed A1 in medical exam, we' re well built and above average height. I was measured at 5'10½" for the army. A1 and perfect eyesight. My younger brother, Frank, was the same height, Percy about 5"8 and called Hawkeye, Charlie and Stan about 5"9 all with good eyesight, no physical defects and active.

My son Barry is a trifle taller than me and very strong, no trace of deafness, any other complaints, eyesight excellent. Brian 5"9, no complaints, his three children well above average intelligence, no defects. Our family of ten grew up strong, healthy and able. All of them.

Frank (Ginger) my junior by a year or two courted a girl whose family was riddled with consumption (TB). They parted company too late. Frank now had it. He was shown her body in her coffin by her mother, which upset him. He fought the complaint and would have beaten it, but war was on and food very short, and with the war, unemployment and near starvation, he was 27 when he died.

The other sad case was my sister Lottie. With no complaints herself, able and musical, she married a man with fits and heart trouble in the family. They had a son and two daughters. The son, Walter Greenwood, became a teacher. Before this, Lottie was knocked down by a bicycle on a steep hill. Her head hit the kerb and she was killed outright so she mercifully missed what followed a few years later. Walter Senior, a Shipwright in the dockyard, began to have fits when at work. His cousin had the same trouble and both had to leave the yard. Walter Junior became a teacher, a six footer, Lottie's pride, but one day he fell onto the floor in a fit when at the blackboard in front of his class. He died at 28, but composed his genealogical tree, both his father's and Lottie's before he died, a fine piece of work.

The family's troubles were not ended. Walter Senior, apart from fits, developed heart trouble and died.

Just two left, Muriel and Joyce. Joyce, a tall red head (copper) like Lottie and my mother when young. Muriel, not so robust as Joyce, was a teacher and engaged to be married but developed an incurable complaint. With her days numbered, her fiancé decided on a quick marriage. Quite a nice wedding, and I was there. Muriel was quite happy, and looking pretty in her white bridal dress. She lasted for six months.

Joyce, the sole survivor, has no complaints, no sign of deafness, and married Bill Wake. He got promoted in the dockyard and was sent abroad a good deal. When at Gibraltar a year or two ago, a co-op singing festival was on. Joyce decided to enter, paid her own fare from Gib and back, and won the soprano first prize.

They may have one or two more in the family. Janet was 25 when this picture was in the local paper. She is now married to an Australian serviceman. Joyce's son is doing well.

Deafness in a family is not such a terrible thing. There are many things worse, even blindness. Beethoven became very deaf, yet composed great music. Churchill also became somewhat deaf in later years. Nowadays it can be prevented or a hearing aid worn.

You say your offspring are short like your hubby but there are a lot of big folk on both your fathers and mothers side and perhaps your hubbies.

Hilda's family have no music in them. She herself has your eyesight, very short and heavily built and has had heart trouble for years, so why she passes disparaging remarks about my sister May's fiddling about with her hearing aid. May was nicely built, fairly tall and nice looking until about 70. A fine contralto, she was a member of the famous Monday's choir of Rochester. She was of a happy disposition, her hearing slowly failed her after 70 so she took to a hearing aid. She died at 81 and left her mark on Ella, her daughter, who is a professional teacher of singing and piano forte, also on Ella's daughter, Jean, who has May's good looks and is a school teacher of music, as is also Ella's son. None of these show any signs of deafness.

Don't think that I'm a miserable old blighter. I have a lodger at present with 3 kiddies, 2 boys 1 girl. A fine warm evening today and he was sitting on the step with his little daughter (6½) and our next door neighbours kiddies. Several more gathered round and they started singing, a lively school song, I beat time. Now Vicky, my cat, is a favourite with the kids, she also likes me to pick her up and give her a dance, I did this to the kiddies delight, but then they formed a ring on the grass, I had to be one of the dancing ring, finishing by me having to lift each one high above my head. Not easy job with the smallest over 4 stones. Luckily for me it was now bedtime for them. However, I felt no signs of heart failure at such unwanted exertion.

Love to all the family. 

From Uncle Ern

Blaze man, 78, rescued by neighbour

A 78-year-old Chatham Man, who was rescued from his blazing house by a neighbour at the weekend, is recovering in a local old folks' home.

He is Mr. Ernest Edward Jarvis, of Buller Road, Chatham, who was rescued from the blaze on Friday by Mr. Donald Lacey, a lorry driver, who lives two doors away from Mr. Jarvis' house.

Mr. Jarvis was taken to Medway Hospital for treatment but was discharged a few hours later — earlier than he should have been, claims his son Brian.

He said his father was still shocked and unable to see properly.

"They told me at the hospital that he would be all right and that, in any case, there wasn't a bed available for him."

A hospital spokesman later said that a report from the casualty department indicated that Mr. Jarvis was suffering from a mild degree of shock when he arrived at the hospital. But after a cup of tea and a short rest he recovered and was quite well when he was sent home.

At the Medway Homes, in Chatham, a spokesman said: "We are able to provide Mr. Jarvis with the care and treatment now needed. We feel there is no need for him to go into hospital."

Mr. Lacey undoubtedly saved the life of Mr. Jarvis with his swift action.

He said: "I was woken up by my son who has to leave for work very early and he said that he could hear shouting and banging coming from Mr. Jarvis' house.

"We rushed out and saw smoke and flames coming from every window — upstairs and down.

"I smashed a panel in the back door and found the old man crouched, terrified, in the blazing room. He as screaming: 'I can't see, I can't see!'

"I managed to get him out of the room. A few minutes later it would have been too late.

"I was very lucky to have got him out alive."

The fire is thought to have started in the back room, where the floor was burnt away beneath an electric point.

letter from Ernest Edward Jarvis to Margaret Eleanor Beauvoisin

Frank (Ginger) my junior by a year or two courted a girl whose family was riddled with consumption (TB). They parted company too late. Frank now had it. He was shown her body in her coffin by her mother, which upset him. He fought the complaint and would have beaten it, but war was on and food very short, and with the war, unemployment and near starvation, he was 27 when he died.

She was born on January 1, but her certificate shows her birthday as January 15: family tradition suggests, her father Charles was lax about registering yet another baby before the legal deadline! She never had a birthday celebration: it was always lumped in with Christmas!

She was engaged, at about 23, but her fiancé deserted her, leaving for America and promising to send for her, but never doing so. A long-standing friend, Anne Jenner, told Christine that Kate 'made herself look ridiculous' by wearing Jack's ring for so long when it was clear he wasn't coming to honour his promise. (She still carried it in her purse when I was small.)

Her finest hour as a musician was probably with me. I auditioned successfully at the age of 12, a boy soprano, (my mother of course accompanying) to perform in 'Young Musicians Entertain' or something similar on 'Children's Hour' on radio – the 'Blue Peter' of its day – and we travelled to London, to Broadcasting House, and met the luminaries of the programme, face-to-face! But, still better, the BBC gave me, not a place on 'Children's Hour' but a real gig! 'This is Christmas' on Home Service, Christmas 1952, with Owen Brannigan (the first Noye in Britten's 'Noyes Fludde' ) among the other soloists! She was able to converse with the professionals, like conductor Stanford Robinson, as the programme was recorded, and we later listened to the broadcast, at the Warriners' house, on Christmas Day!

When she was 59 she fell into a trench which he had dug in the garden while she was out, and injured her foot. Typical of her luck with medics, the injury was not properly diagnosed as a fracture for weeks, so she was permanently disabled by it.

Uncle Ern calls her 'a fine contralto' , but it wasn't so. Her voice was an untrained mezzo, which might have become a contralto – a popular voice in the period, given Clara Butt and Queen Victoria. When she was about 64, she and I competed in some Coop Festival, with 'Von Ewiger Liebe' of Brahms ( in English). She sang, I played. As she said, it was the only time she'd had someone to play for her!

I think, despite her large number of siblings, for much of her life, my mother was lonely. She had little in common with her husband, and nothing with his family.

Kate was generous to a fault. Her guru was the pacifist Unitarian cleric, Will Hayes, and sometimes she was exploited as a result, opening the house to quite unsuitable people whom he (and his sidekick, Inge Hyde) thought needed help. They thought Mrs Misfit needed help; my mother actually gave it, even at cost of her own comfort. But she welcomed my girlfriend, fiancée and then wife Christine with open arms. She was almost the daughter she never had. She said, 'Well, I've done my best! He respects women, and he can press his own trousers!'

They also came quite often to 'Mushroom Mead.'  My father tolerated Stan, or he tolerated my father. Together they dug out and fitted up the fishpond which graced the front garden – I think they were both out of work at the time, and it gave a delusion of employment. My impression was that Stan was sometimes out of work even when generally employment had improved, post-War.