Give It One Last Try

My admiration for my gran only grew as I got older.

She was known in the family as a tough old boot, a lovable character who called a spade a spade, but would help anyone who needed it.

She grew up in England, in the country, one of nine children. Her mother was a seamstress and her father a labourer.

Even when Gran’s dad went off to war, Gran’s mum still worked when she could. Of course her services weren’t needed as much as before the war, but there were some of the aristocracy needing the neat and immaculate sewing she did as they were still holding their social events, despite the bombs falling.

Times were tough then with hardly enough food to feed nine children – it was kindly neighbours sharing what they had – killing some chickens and giving one to Gran’s family or Mum running some errands for people and then taking her few pennies to the bakery shop down the road to get ‘one penny worth of broken biscuits and cakes’ to bring back home for supper.

But no matter how hard it was they all stuck together. It was a family unit no matter what. Look out if someone picked on one of my Gran’s younger siblings! Of course the brothers and sisters were allowed to fight each other, that was an unwritten rule!

My Gran’s dad came back from the war a broken and different man to the one who headed off to fight the enemy. He had scars where shrapnel had gone into his skin, scars where a bayonet had been rammed into his leg but worse than that he had mental scars – the death he had seen and the cries of anguish and pain he had heard just wouldn’t leave his head.

My great gran had looked after him along with all of the children with determination and grit. It was a hard life, so when she died relatively early from heart disease it was left up to my grandma to take over the running of the household. She was by now in her early teens and had finished school a few years earlier, getting a job as a domestic in one of the large houses in the area. She was treated well, worked hard and was rewarded with a reasonable wage, which all went towards the running of the house. Two of her younger sister and brothers were also old enough to find a job. There were always domestic positions and labouring for the boys.

I used to sit next to my Grandma on her old couch and listen to her stories about her life, fascinated by the hardship that everyone endured in those days. She had a couple of sayings she often used and one was ‘No use complaining, just get on and do it’ and the other one was ‘You won’t know until you try’…..the last saying was a favourite when she was minding me and I would look at something on my dinner plate, saying “I’m not eating that – it doesn’t look tasty” and Gran would reply “You won’t know until you try!”

As soon as the last of Gran’s brothers and sisters were old enough to look after themselves she left home. Her dad had died a year or so after his wife. Her job was done and it was time to start her own life, travel, see the world and decide what she wanted to do.

Wherever she went though, Gran never forgot her family, bringing home small gifts, sending postcards and staying with one of them on her return.

She told me that the best part of her travelling was ending up in an African mission, teaching and caring for the children. A pastor and his wife had realised their vision early on in their lives and set up a small mission for the orphans whose parents were either killed with tribal fighting or died from the diseases that still ravaged the country. All of the people working in the mission were volunteers so their only means of money was the jobs they did during the day in the fields or money the pastor’s church would send each month.

Gran would say to me “To see the smiling faces of those small children when you read to them or played games were worth more than gold. I would teach them Basic English and maths at school and then after school we would go to the watering hole and swim or make bread together or just care for the goats and chickens”.

She told me that she stayed there for three years and when I asked why she left, tears welled up in her eyes and she took a deep breath before saying “Well I came home after three years to see the family with the intention of going back again but when I was home I met your Grandad and I never went back to Africa”

“Why?” I asked

“Well I fell in love, got married and soon after had your mother, but I never forgot the orphanage – I would send money each month after I had saved up a little bit and I used to make some little stuffed dolls for the girls and stuffed round balls for the boys to kick around and send them too”.

As I recalled the conversation with my Gran, I did remember how when she died and my dad finalised her will, in it she had left a portion of her money to the orphanage in Africa. At the time there was a lot of political unrest and it was almost impossible to get anything like that into the county let alone to remote places like where the orphans lived, but true to her determination, in her instructions to my father regarding the money she had written ‘Colin, please just keep trying to get the money to the orphanage – you will come against lots of obstacles but for the sake of the children please just get on and do it!’

Gran could only have one child of her own, my mother. She would have liked a brood but it wasn’t meant to be. She had miscarried quite a few times but was determined to carry a baby full term, so listening to the medical team, whose advice, or rather instructions was to have complete bedrest for the whole nine months, she did. She only had to rest for seven months as my mum was born two months early, healthy and with a good set of lungs, but Gran was told “If you want to bring your daughter up, no more attempts at having children! “So she didn’t.

Mum has the same determination as Gran had.  When she’s told she can’t do something, her goal is to prove whoever said it, wrong. My dad calls her ‘the most pig-headed person I have ever come across!’ and it’s true. He had lots of stories to tell attesting to that fact but the one I loved to hear was when Mum and dad were going out together…apparently they were horse riding in the countryside having hired two horses for a couple of hours. Dad was quite good at it as he was brought up on a farm, but Mum had only ever been once before. “Doesn’t this horse go any quicker?” she had asked my dad as they slowly trotted through the grass.

“Yes it probably does, but we were told it is quite spirited so the best thing to do is just gently canter, especially as you’re not experienced in horse riding”.

“Well I’m finding this a wee bit too slow for me! How about if I snap off one of these branches as I go past and tap it on the backside?”

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you” but before he could stop her Mum had torn a short branch off an overhanging branch and smacked the horse on its flank and it took off!  She was hanging on as tight as she could and looking around for Dad. “Help me Colin, stop it!” Her bottom was going up and down rigorously but not in time to the animals so each time, she slapped down hard onto the saddle.

By the time Dad had caught up with her and slowed her horse down not only was the chestnut mare sweating but Mum was too, and shaking!

“I think I should have listened to you Colin….sorry” she said apologetically.

“That’s ok ”he offered “You will suffer tomorrow”!

And she did, her rump was so sore that she could hardly walk, needed a couple of days off work and  a cushion to sit down on, but even after that lesson she was still a determined woman.

When I was in my late teens mum had a car accident that left her in a wheelchair. Her spine was ruptured in two places. It was touch and go for a while as she was put in an induced coma, but eventually the day came when we were all called in to be told the devastating news - Mum would never walk again. She had no feeling in her legs at all.

It was a terrible day for everyone, a lot of tears flowed, but after the initial shock of what we were told and the comfort we gave to Mum and each other, we realised that the person doing the least crying was the person it was affecting most.

Mum lay in her bed connected to tubes and beeping machines and every now and then would smile at us and her soft bright eyes would tell us ‘It is going to be alright. We all have to just get on with it’. I know she was just grateful to be alive.

Her rehabilitation took over six months. She could still use her arms and told us that ‘she was just so grateful that she could wheel herself around and didn’t have to rely on someone else to do that’. So with modifications to the house completed Mum was ready to come home.

We had all missed her terribly and even though I no longer lived at home, just going there, knowing she wasn’t around gave the house an empty feel. I know my dad felt it, although he spent more time at the hospital than he did at home.

Mum was amazing. Her buoyant frame of mind and positive outlook put me to shame sometimes. She had always been the same and even little things like when I was just a little girl and, fell over Mum would always say ‘It looks way worse than it is so if we just kiss it  and when we get home put a band aid on it, then it will be almost better’. It seemed to work alright until I fell off my bike and broke a bone in my arm – after it had been plastered up at the hospital I remember asking her why we couldn’t do what we always did to make things better.

During those difficult teenage years when pimples on your face are the end of the world, no-one likes you, especially the boys, you’re dumb and too plump….so life isn’t worth living (especially after you have yelled at your dad and slammed the door)!! Mum always seemed to have the right words to say. Sometimes she surprised me by what she actually did say – I think I hadn’t even thought that my parents had been young once!! “You know Linny, I felt exactly the same as you at your age “she began “I hated my face with its oily skin, my body and at times my friends. All I wanted was for a boy to ask me out, tell me I was lovely and kiss me….it did happen but I had to wait and be patient. Everything changes love. It will just get better, believe me”.

And looking back in life little did we know that Mum’s life would change forever again a few years after she told me that.

She was right - it did get better and it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. My pimples cleared up, I grew and the ‘puppy fat’ disappeared and the boys liked me! Life started to be enjoyable and fun!

It seemed that one minute I was seventeen and the next twenty six, working, and living with a group of girls in a place that was designed to house four people and not the seven that squeezed in it! We would enjoy going out dancing, having a few drinks and a lot of laughs.

It was here that I met John, like the plot to many movies….he bumped in to me with his tray of drinks, I got beer all over my clothes, he apologised profusely, told me he would pay for a new dress for me or at least the dry cleaning, then…..”I think the best way to do this” he said  “ you give me your phone number, I give you mine and when you have the dress dry-cleaned give me a ring and I will reimburse you. How does that sound?”

“Like you just want my phone number” I answered laughing

“Well, yes I actually do but I will pay for the dry-cleaning though”.

“The dress is fine, it’s drip dry. I won’t be getting this dry cleaned. But you can have my number”

That was the start of our romance. So mum was quite right – it works out in the end. I had waited until I was twenty nine before I got married but what did that matter?

We had been married for seven years – happily but had been trying to have a baby for at least four of those years. In the end I went to the doctor, John went to the doctor and we were told that at this stage of our lives e appeared to be no reason why I wasn’t falling pregnant but it might be best to go through IVF.

We both had no idea what it actually entailed; of course we had heard about it but didn’t know the details. We soon found out!

I learnt what it was to be emotionally drained. Every two months that we tried with IVF and each time it failed I felt like I wasn’t trying hard enough. John felt like it was his fault. We just held each other and said we would try again.

Mum and Dad were the never ending encouragers. They were, towards the end of our IVF trials our financial backers too – it was a money drainer as well as a spirit drainer.

“Oh Mum” I sobbed one day just like I used to when I’d hurt myself as a child “don’t think I can do this again. It’s not working and it never will. I’m not meant to have children. John can just leave me and meet someone young who will give him children”. I knew it was just the strain and tiredness talking but I couldn’t help myself.

“Linny, don’t say that” mum told me enveloping me in a big bear hug in her wheelchair. “You’re in it together. John would never leave you and you know that. It’s not an easy road you’re taking but there will be other ways for you to love and bring up children – remember the stories gran would tell you about the orphanages. Those children are in need of loving parents.

“Not now Mum, please”

“I’m sorry for bringing that up love - that’s not what you need to think about right now. You could just give IVF one last try? One last shot after giving it your all, both of you.

“I can’t mum, I’m too tired, the disappointment each time, the strain on John and I, and not to mention the money”.

“Just think about it Linny. One last try” were the parting words from the most determined person in the world!

When she told John about her discussion with her mother he replied lovingly “Linny, I shall be forty two next week as you know, so this will have to be our last try for a baby anyway. I don’t want to be any older than this if I’m going to be a father”

“I know John, I get it and understand. We’ve both had enough I think. If we decide to go ahead this will be the last time” and she hugged him.

Six weeks later they sat opposite each other, Linny and John side by side and across the table, Roz in her wheelchair with Colin on her right.

“What!” Are you kidding me? Three babies, three babies?” she repeated loudly.

“Yes Mum, they finished off my eggs because it was our last try, one last shot and bingo!” Linny demonstrated with her hands forming circles in the air tears of happiness running down her cheeks.

“Of course I gave it my all this final time” John joked, winking at his wife.

“I am so proud of and happy for you both” Colin said and wheeled his wife around the table for a group hug.

“Gosh and I think we’re tired now…three babies!!!”  Linny quipped pulling a face.

“Well I just hope that it’s not three girls all born with the stubbornness of the previous generations of women in this family – too much to handle I think!”