After the fall from grace

I came to Worcester ten years ago from Finchley in North London. Margaret Thatcher was my MP there. She was very much liked. I talked to her once. Of course, when she became Prime Minister there was so much security – people up trees, on tops of buildings! It got a bit grim, actually.

I do miss the stimulus of London – although I lived through several murders, quite nearby. I had some lovely Jewish neighbours and although they knew very well that I was a Methodist, they were very nice and caring. I’d go mad if I didn’t belong to a church and also to UTA, the University of the Third Age. It’s for oldies. We have lectures and meetings every fortnight. Literature. Local history. We play cards, mainly bridge. Walking. You name it. I meet a lot of people through that.

Otherwise, it’s not very easy here. When I first came here I felt very depressed. I feel much more threatened here than I ever did in London. I could be up in the West End at nearly midnight and I’d feel safe. You need a car to get around here, but then there’s the all this horrendous traffic. It doesn’t seem to be very well organised.

There are a lot of people obviously on drugs, and often very drunk, too, and fighting. It’s not only the men, either.

Just across the road there’s a very nice Chinese restaurant. But there’s been the most horrible graffiti – “We don’t want Chinks here,” that sort of thing. The National Front are quite strong here. They’ve done one or two marches, which isn’t very nice.

Worcester is a very dirty and untidy place – and the children! We’ve got a big secondary school nearby. Tesco wanted to demolish it, to turn it into a supermarket. Children are always climbing in and out over an eight foot high wire fence. It was six foot, but they raised it higher. It made no difference. The children are always up to no good, smoking and throwing cans into the street.

It’s the parents. The children are reproducing the attitudes of the parents.

People in Worcester are very turned in on themselves. You’ve got to live here a long time before you’re accepted. The people I meet in the street are friendly now – if you can understand what they’re saying – but they’ve never even been over the border into Wales, some of them. Their children get married and either live at home or get a house in the street nearby. There’s nothing wrong with a close family, but they’re not out-going. Much the most interesting people I’ve met here are in-comers.

Two votes for number one

I was born in North Lincolnshire. I’m a country girl. I left home when I went to university. I was at Bedford college at the University of London, but when the war came we were evacuated to Newnham College, Cambridge. I enjoyed it there.

My family was very good to me. I’m the child of a second marriage. My father was 61 when I was born. My mother was much younger, obviously. I could have been kept at home, but they didn’t put anything in my way. In fact, I could’ve been married when I was 17 to a farmer. But I turned him down.

It was very difficult for a lot of women. I had a very sheltered life as a child. It was a small village where everybody knew everybody. I couldn’t step out of line at all because my parents would have known immediately.

It was a bit scary in Cambridge during the war. Once I was with the chap I eventually married. We were walking along the Backs and it was dark and so we were challenged by a soldier with a bayonet, and he said, “Step forward number one and be recognised!” Our problem was that we couldn’t agree who was number one and who was number two. In the end, it was decided that I should be number one.

I remember a similar experience when I went to one of the colleges for a lecture by Stephen Spender. There was a soldier on guard who gave me quite a fright.

I was billeted on a family where the husband was a Fellow and the wife was a Lady someone – she wasn’t very nice – and they had the most objectionable child. There was also a very fat cook, and two other girls. We used to sit in state and they’d make us eat nettles. I know they’re very good for you, but they were absolutely revolting. It wasn’t economy so much as just what they liked. On Sunday evenings, the cook went out, so we had boiled eggs – awful.

I was in Cambridge when the bombs dropped by the station. It was very frightening. We all had our jobs to do during a raid. Mine was to see that all the doors were shut. Then we’d assemble in the hall. Cook was hopeless, like jelly. I felt quite frightened, too.

I remember voting in 1945. Actually, I had two votes at the same time, because people in Oxford and Cambridge had a university vote as well as a regular one. My husband had three! I’m not sure that’s a good idea any more. I mean – the sort of people that go to university now! There are too many so-called universities.

The wartime spirit lost

I was married for about thirty-five years before my husband died. I’ve been a widow now for twenty-two, which is not good. It can be very lonely, even when I’m with people. But there are so many widows and older people here in Worcester. So many old people on sticks! It’s obvious they’ve had a hip operation.

Before becoming a Methodist minister, my husband worked in West Africa for seven years. Really, he wanted to go back there but he developed ankylosing spondylitis – something that attacks young men, particularly athletic ones. He said that he remembered coming off the cricket ground in Africa when he was 24 and felt the beginnings of it. But it wasn’t diagnosed until the war. So many young chaps would say they’d got a bad back, either as an excuse or because it was genuine. So they looked into it. There was more research done.

But it’s a strange thing because the pain is terrible, though sometimes the whole side becomes rigid and the pain goes. But if it doesn’t, well then you still have all the pain.

I taught until I had children. I’ve got four – two of each, and seven grandchildren, though I don’t see a lot of them.

Things have changed since I grew up. We’re more selfish, less caring. As more has become available, so people want more and more. A bit of the war-time spirit came back when we had the floods here. Maybe it takes a disaster for people to care, which is a pity.

When I was in London I did a lot of voluntary work. I was responsible for visiting homes where they’d applied for free dinners, school uniforms, that sort of thing. I’d go to assess their need. I visited some terrible places. Sometimes I knew, and the mother would know I knew, what the family was doing. But for the sake of the children, I had to let them have the money.

I remember visiting a woman who’d been married to a Nigerian, and she had two children. Of course, the Nigerian had bogged off. And she was left. She was over £4,000 in debt. And she wasn’t unintelligent. But her flat – I’d never seen such a dirty place. She took in a young English chap who was up to no good. One day I went when she was out, and this chap was lounging in bed – he hadn’t a job – and he said, “Do you mind if I smoke a joint?”

I saw all sorts – can’t read, can’t write, police record, don’t want to know or learn. I got used to seeing a lot of different nationalities, too. I remember visiting an Indian family where the woman was sending money to her parents. “You see, we do look after our own people,” she told me. And they did.

A lot of children used to play truant in the East End. They’d go to play on the machines in the amusement arcades. Sometimes I had to go to Kings Cross when boys were caught shoplifting. And I’d come back to school in a police car – in style. One day, the police picked up a very naughty boy during the lunch hour, when everyone was in the playground. So he had to walk in, a hand on his shoulder as he got out of the police car. I crept in the back way. I didn’t want people to think I’d been arrested.

It’s all very well knowing how to turn the tap on, but it’s turning it off that’s the problem. There’s no respect for teachers – or anybody in authority. Discipline and authority are dirty words. All you hear is, “I must have my rights.” There are too many rights.

Politics after empire

Don’t get me talking about the government. There are no more statesmen. I know in the past some of their private lives weren’t too wonderful. Even Queen Victoria’s Lord Melbourne wasn’t, well… Nothing changes, however far back you look. But at least then we didn’t know about these things. We respected authority. I know Winston Churchill had some problems, everybody does. But I voted for him. Actually, that was a wonder – we always seemed to live in a constituency where we got the prime minister as our MP. We had Macmillan – although it was Lady Macmillan who was the naughty one, wasn’t it?

Perhaps it’s better not to know. I don’t like the way newspapers are full of scandal. I can’t find anything in them to read. I used to read the Times from cover to cover. I have the local paper passed on to me. There’s a lot of scandal, someone’s pinched something, or is drunk.

Generally, I’ve voted Conservative. It was the influence of my parents. All I knew about elections in Lincolnshire as a child was that the results were announced from the balcony of the Angel hotel in Brigg Market. It was a great event, with people in their big rosettes of the right colour. It was said that if your candidate didn’t get in then you had another colour rosette that you whipped out. I remember there was a Liberal lady MP who was one of the first women members of parliament. She was rather a large lady but my aunt used to vote for her anyway.

I’m not a political animal. But I’ve always voted, absolutely. I do believe in voting. But you see things on the television and it’s often very slanted. There used to be more political meetings for people who really were thinking about things.

Before the 1997 election, I went to hear the candidates at the Guildhall, and by far the best speaker was the Liberal Democrat. I used to get phone calls from the Labour party, asking various questions. I even got a Christmas card from Mike Foster. But I didn’t vote for him.

I don’t think a lot of Tony Blair. Though I remember picking him out before he was elected as someone who was going places. He was much the most lively. I’ve gone off him now. He’s only looking out for his own position and power. As for our having Robin Cook as foreign secretary, I’ve never been a fan of him. It’s an awful shame we’ve had a chap like that representing us abroad. He’s a horrid little monkey. Wasn’t he terrible to his wife? And all so public!

I couldn’t vote for this government, but look at the alternative – William Hague! At least John Major was more genuine. Hague peaked too early – maybe around fourteen. He’s past his best now.

I’m a non-conformist. I’ve got the non-conformist work ethic. But people don’t work awfully hard. There are some in demanding jobs who are dedicated and work every hour they can. But there are others who do practically nothing, who aren’t pulling their weight, who’re only looking for what they can get out of the state. Some of them can’t help it. But others are just parasites.

Falling arches

I talked earlier about the local school and those kids getting over the fence: well, the other afternoon there were two boys there, about fifteen. One was quite well developed, with red hair. The other was a bit of a weed. As I approached, the weed did a great big spit, and the ginger-haired boy saw my expression and said, “Don’t get at me, missus, I’ve just about had enough today.” So I said, “Whatever is wrong? Are you locked out?” And the red haired boy said, “Oh no, we’ve left school. He’s seventeen!” indicating the weed. So I said to the weed, “Can’t you do a training for something?” He said, “Naaah.” So I said, “Have you got a job?” Again, “Naaah!” And the ginger-haired boy said, “We’re waiting for a pal and his girlfriend. We’re all going to the doctor.” So I thought, I’d better walk on. I didn’t ask any questions.

But that attitude! Maybe they just weren’t getting any support? I don’t know what would enthuse them. They don’t like any sort of routine, even having to wake up and go to school at a set time of day. They’re always trailing up late. I’ve fetched boys out of bed and hauled them off to school. They haven’t got any sort of standards, have they?

I read a lot. And I don’t think children read enough. When I did school care work, I discovered that very often the parents couldn’t read but wouldn’t admit it, though they tried to make out that they could.

The church is very important to me. I’ve always had faith. Now, children don’t know what Easter is, or Lent, or even Christmas, some of them. They haven’t heard of the most basic things.

But say with Muslims, their way of life isn’t so bad, is it? I know they’re very restrictive with women, but it’s good when there’s faith – there ought to be. I do pray, myself.

Again, at Christmas in particular, children have too many things. It’s partly the fault of television. They see things advertised, and they must have them. A lot of people turn to television because it says you can have things straight away – with loans and so on. They get terribly in debt.

They see on the television what people have and what they’re doing, so that’s what they want. I went to the new cinema complex recently – very American, very loud, with all these kids running about with great buckets of popcorn – is that healthy eating?

Still, I know a lot of very good and nice Americans. When my husband was a minister at John Wesley’s chapel, we’d get people from all over the world visiting to see the chapel and Wesley’s house. All types of Americans came. True, some of them were grossly overweight – it was really dangerous for them to go up the stairs. But mostly they were thinking people, with some sort of faith and standards. Then there’s always the other side – the McDonalds side.

I’m not going to take my grandchildren to McDonalds ever again. Last time I was there, the behaviour was terrible. I remember one of the first ones opening, near the Roman Catholic cathedral in London. I took a very orthodox friend and said, “Betty, you’ll like this American place that’s opened.” So we went there and students were serving up this nicely packaged stuff – we enjoyed it. But then everyone came out and just threw the packages down on the piazza in front of the cathedral. It became a terrible place.

Now everything’s so expendable – like my washing machine! They’re only built to last ten years. That affects people’s behaviour. You can’t put the clock back. People are too used to ready meals. They seldom sit down with the family at mealtimes. So they don’t have proper conversations as a family. There’s no conversation anywhere. Everyone’s shouting. There’s no peace.

I’m a dinosaur as far as computers go. More and more there’s banking and investment, and shopping being done that way. And I’m afraid it’s going to happen with all sorts of things. Well, I shan’t be here. But it all comes so quickly – the rate of change.

It’s not that I wish we were all more serious. Just that there are all sorts of things we could enjoy more than we do – like nature. There’s a very nice park nearby where all the beds are always beautifully done, but if people fancy something, they just dig it up and bear it away, or kids pull the flowers up and just throw them down.

Care for hospitals, not foxes

I heard about this Worcester Woman thing before the 1997 election. It was rather stupid. There were people putting themselves in a prominent position down on the High Street so they could be interviewed. It was nonsense, a real non-event. I don’t want to be a “Worcester Woman”, not the kind I think they might mean.

I don’t like Mr Foster, our MP. He’s not very able, or competent. He’s only come to the fore because of hunting, and he’s not thought it through. I come from hunting country, and I saw more foxes when I lived in London than ever I saw in Lincolnshire. I never saw the hunt kill a fox. I did see when the fox had been into a hen house and bitten the heads off chickens, and when they’ve attacked lambs.

There were foxes in the park when we lived in Bromley, and we’d take the children to see the bitch take her cubs across the park after school. She’d always go the same way. They were so beautiful. People said, “Oh these foxes are going to kill our cats.” So one day, the council sent a man with a gun and there was shooting all over the place. But they didn’t kill any foxes. They were just showing that they were doing something.

I remember visiting a friend one afternoon, and she had the most beautiful cat. It would happily sit there while the fox would regularly go across her garden. They’d take not the slightest notice of each other. It was the people who got overwrought.

If only people were as bothered about hospitals. When I was in hospital about three years ago, the only reason I saw a sister was because my watch, my wedding ring, and a signet ring that I’d had since I was 21, were stolen whilst I was having my operation. I didn’t get them back.

But how can you keep check in a hospital these days? There are all sorts of people roaming about – patients, visitors, and other odd-bods. You could even pose as a surgeon, cutting people up, and no-one would notice – especially when people are ill and at their weakest, all doped up and drugged with all sorts of anaesthetics and what-not.

Maybe what’s lacking is integrity – and that’s a word you don’t hear too often nowadays.

Where are the rules?

I’m going off the monarchy a bit, though the poor Queen has had a tough time with that terrible husband. But she’s worked hard. I wouldn’t want to see them go. It was the beginning of them going downhill when they started to appear on the box so often.

People don’t know the rules of debate any more. The one that shouts the loudest has the most success. But shouting at each other just isn’t it, is it? There’s certainly room for reform. But then the great thing about our constitution, its strength, is that it’s unwritten. So because things aren’t fixed, there’s room for debate and discussion. Not like this European Parliament, who send through hard and fast rules and regulations that we then try to obey, or which overrule our power. But they’re not our rules, are they?

At first, I had to persuade my husband about Europe, because he was rather against it. I said, but it’ll be wonderful, there’ll be free trade. But I’m not very pleased with how it’s gone.

I tell you another thing – these imperial and metric measurements. I have a bit of trouble with that. I was so glad when America sent that thing to Mars and the project failed because one lot had done metric, the other imperial – so they’d made a mistake in their calculations and got in a terrible muddle.

I’m sorry for that man in Sunderland, the “metric martyr” who lost his case. Poor man! I went to my butcher’s the other day, and said, “I’d like a pound of stewing steak, please” – and then remembered, “Oh, you don’t –” “Leave it to me,” he said.

All these reforms of our constitution won’t work. I’m sorry we haven’t kept together with Scotland. I rather wish Scotland was still part of Britain. Without them, I feel less British. And take proportional representation. We couldn’t cope with the arithmetic – even though we’ve got computers. We had a good system of government, until we started messing with it. By “we”, I mean chiefly Tony Blair. He’s the Bogeyman. If he’d left it alone, it would have evolved by itself. But he’s filled up the House of Lords with his cronies, hasn’t he? And he can’t go back once he’s made changes that don’t work.

I think if I was abroad now, I might keep my mouth shut about my nationality. I’m ashamed of some of the things we’ve done. I’m not sure about the Gulf War, for instance – it’s such an age-long predicament. And then there’s Ireland, and we’re not much nearer to solving that, are we? It goes back to before Elizabeth I. And all these wars waged in the name of religion. There’s not much actual religion in it, not true religion, is there? Like the Crusades. And a lot of these people in Ireland, these Orangemen, with all this business about the Battle of the Boyne. They’ve no idea what they’re marching about. They’re just joining in. It’s nothing to do with faith.

We are in a real mess. We’ve lost our empire, haven’t we? We need to manage our own affairs better than we do. We used to have Empire Day when I was at primary school. I was once Britannia, ruling the waves! We had a sort of pageant, I remember. I got a medal for writing an essay about the Empire – but the burglars took it. I felt proud to be British then. I thought it was really the thing!