GREAT AUNT GERTRUDE
My great-aunt Gertrude was one of seven children, born sometime in the 1880’s in Chorlton-on-Medlock, Lancashire. I haven’t any knowledge of her childhood or upbringing as my first encounter with her was when I was nearly six years old. She had been invited to stay with her sister, Julie and brother-in-law Robert (my maternal grandparents) with whom we shared a house in Scotland. She was known by the family as ‘Auntie Ger’ and I remember thinking what fun she was. A small figure with dark eyes and hair parted down the middle, drawn back into a bun. During her visit, she was asked by Julie, my grandmother, if she would clean out the large pond in the garden. My sister and I loved playing imaginary games by this pond. We would kneel by the edge, scoop out handfuls of green mossy weed, and wrap it in newspaper, pretending we were going to sell ‘fish & chips’. Anyway, on this particular day, Auntie Ger, clad in waders, approached the task with relish and in no time the pond water was clear with not a single piece of weed left floating. My sister and I were playing in another part of the garden, when we heard a clapping of hands, followed by my grandmother shouting ‘Hooray!’ We rushed over to the pond to find out what it was all about and to our horror all the lovely weed (our fish) was no more! Auntie Ger had certainly excelled herself in my grandmother’s eyes, but, oh no, not in ours!
At the end of the war, we moved to England and lived about 16 miles outside London. During the school holidays we would make the occasional trip to the capital sometimes to purchase school uniform from Debenhams or for a visit to Madame Tussauds. The best times were when we went to have lunch with Auntie Ger at The Sesame Club. Even through my young eyes, this was like stepping back into the past. The very atmosphere seemed steeped in the Arts and Literature. I remember the dark wood panelled rooms, the plush carpets and the heavy wooden doors, and here I quote a description:
‘The hushed atmosphere within the Sesame Club was that of a dignified refuge for the elderly, solicitously served by old retainers. With younger members and club servants away on military duties, it was a backwater harbour for old ladies, a sheltering from the clattering impact of wartime outside. On one occasion, the poet Edith Sitwell entered the dining-room attended by a fireman —–young, tall and handsome, but nevertheless—-a fireman. One could sense the members’ dismay at her social effrontery. Once seated at a table, she gave a brief smothered giggle and peering round, said quietly on a long inhaled breath ‘Ooooh, how I should like to cast Macbeth!’
To return to the late 1940’s and our visit to the Sesame Club, Auntie Ger would greet my mother, my sister and me with a beaming face and arms outstretched, whilst a courteous waiter asked what we would all like to drink. Thinking back to the ‘Great Aunt’ who was standing in the middle of a pond, pulling out the weed, it was hard to recognize her as the same person. Dressed smartly in tweed suit hat and gloves and with make-up, her eyes sparkled more and I knew we were all going to have a wonderful time, apart from the delicious food served at the Sesame!
When lunch was over we would accompany her back to her flat in Egerton Gardens, situated between Knightsbridge and Kensington Gardens. ‘Auntie Ger’ would then make a pot of tea and hand round a box of the most delicious chocolates. Some years later, my mother told me that ‘Ger’ as she called her, would get up at 6.o’clock every morning and do all her housework completely naked, as she believed that exposing her body to the air would be good for it. Evidently, one morning, she had almost finished dusting the furniture when there was a loud knock on the door of her flat .She had to rush to the bedroom and retrieve her dressing gown before answering the caller. It turned out to be a window-cleaner making an early start!
Auntie Ger often visited our home too, in suburban Middlesex. I remember on one occasion we were all in the sitting room, when she opened her handbag and produced a face powder compact. “It’s not loose powder,’ she explained, ‘Max Factor have just brought out this new face powder called a ‘Crème-Puff’. And she dabbed some on her cheeks. ‘It will make your skin look really smooth.’
My sister and I were spellbound. I was about 13 at the time and ‘make-up’ was strictly for the grown-ups. However, if I asked my mother nicely, she might let me buy a ‘Crème-puff’ just to be used for parties or dances. I think Auntie Ger must have been about 70 then, but in a way she was reliving her youth. She had been married, but to a dour Scottish doctor, many years her senior and I imagine her life had been rather dull while he was alive. She did have one child, a daughter Margaret, who enjoyed writing as well as acting in and producing plays. I felt a great affinity to her and our family enjoyed many wonderfully happy visits to her home near Huntingdon. Like her mother, she too was an excellent host and bringer of joy.
Pat Stubbs