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Chapter Five

Motherly Love

In one very particular way, I was a normal child. I was inquisitive, and wanted to know ‘why?’ all the time. Unfortunately, most of my questions, which I put to my mum and dad, were met with the same unsatisfying response: ‘Let the Lord into your heart and have faith,’ they would say. In other words, don’t ask questions. They might as well have been saying, ‘Don’t be Lindsey.’

One day I was in the kitchen helping Mum bake, when a question popped into my head.

‘How is God going to win the war against the Devil if there are more worldly people than Fellowship people?’ I mumbled through a mouthful of cake mixture.

‘Trust the Lord, Lindsey, He knows what He’s doing. And it’s very naughty to question Him.’

With no further questions, I carried on licking the spoon.

I wasn’t allowed to do sponsored charity events at school, so another time I asked, ‘Mum, how come we don’t give to money to charities that help people?’

‘That’s not what God has chosen us to do,’ Mum simply said. ‘There are other people to look after the poor.’

Being told that God had all the answers and there was no point trying to work anything out for myself was supposed to stop me asking questions. The problem was that it just gave me a great idea. If God had all the answers, I could ask Him. ‘Dear God, what am I getting for my birthday this year?’ I whispered, so Mum couldn’t hear me. She was standing at the foot of the beds making sure we said our prayers properly.

‘In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, Amen.’ I waited for my answer.

As far as Mum was concerned, all my questions about the ways of the world were unimportant. The Bible dealt with those completely and that was all there was to it. As I think she probably saw it, my questioning was just a minor diversion from the really important things in life. These were practical everyday things, such as baking and knitting. In a way, she was right. We had a great time together. Mum loved to buy Family Circle, a magazine for mums, full of arts-and-crafts ideas. She’d keep the best ideas in a folder and, when she’d finished all her jobs, we’d get out the paints, glue, glitter and scissors and get to work.

Mum also kept huge bags containing scraps of material and wool, which we used to make a collage man on one occasion. She drew the outline on a huge piece of paper and I stuck on wool for hair, buttons for eyes and various patches of cloth to make the clothes. She taught me to knit and sew, and we made clothes for my dolls.

When we weren’t doing arts and crafts we were either playing board games or heading out to the shops. It might not sound exciting, but I really enjoyed shopping with Mum, especially if we passed the post office with the cakes in the window. (It’s amazing how hungry you feel after posting a letter.) Bizarrely, it had a sweet counter at one end and a bakery at the other. I wasn’t so interested in the sweets, but Mum and I would make sure that we never went home without my cream bun and her horseshoe-shaped macaroon.

Two shops down from cake heaven was the hardware shop. Mum did a lot of practical jobs around the house, so we would often pop in there for one or two items on the way to the post office. One day, while she scoured the shelves for the things on her list, I waited at the front of the shop, watching as the man behind the counter measured out nails and hooks and weighed them on his scales. I was fascinated by the huge cast-iron weighing scales, which put Mum’s home set to shame. It was then that I noticed that the television fixed on the wall was on. I had seen televisions before but I had never had the chance to see one that was switched on. I looked up curiously.

There were some strange creatures dancing around in front of a row of houses. Popping out of the dustbin next to the steps was a shaggy-looking thing that was clearly neither a human nor an animal. I had no idea what I was seeing. I’d never seen anything like it before, but even so I was far more interested in getting off home with Mum and eating cake. That, not TV, was what was missing from my life at that moment in time.

I had some really nice times with Mum.

If Mum had to go to the doctor’s, or anywhere that involved a lot of waiting around, my grandma would take care of me for a few hours. Gladys was my dad’s mum, and she and my grandpa lived just a couple of minutes away by car. They rented a large Victorian terraced house from Uncle Hubert, who was married to my dad’s sister, Meryl. We’d always have to park in the multi-storey car park built directly behind the terrace, from where we could see Grandma if she was near her kitchen window. If she was looking out, I’d wave, and she’d be waiting at the front door by the time we got there.

I’d head straight out to the shed, which took up most of the tiny back garden and was used as a sewing room. I would sit at the old Singer sewing machine that stood just inside the doorway, thumping my foot on the treadle. I liked to pretend I was making clothes the way I saw Mum and Alice do.

Sometimes I’d see the stray cats that Grandma encouraged to come into her garden by leaving bowls of milk and scraps of food for them. I thought this was pretty daring, because Fellowship members were not allowed to keep pets, just in case they came to love them more than God. Maybe that rule was created just for Grandma, because she certainly loved them. Whenever we exchanged letters, hers would always tell me about the latest cats visiting her garden, and in my letters back to her I’d try to please her by drawing pictures of the ones she described.

I’d always hand my letters directly to Grandma when I saw her at the meetings. After the meeting was over, and everyone had gone outside, I’d run along the rows of benches to where Grandma was usually sitting, waiting for me. I’d tug her long plait of white hair and she’d creak round with a big smile on her face. I was always excited to have another letter for her. I’d ask when I could visit her, hoping to get my foot pumping on that treadle again. If my cousins, Hubert’s boys, were doing something at the house, she’d say, ‘Not this week, Lindsey, I’ve got the boys in.’ She loved her boys, possibly almost as much as she loved her cats.

The same can’t be said for Grandpa, who hated cats. Maybe he was afraid she’d love them more than him. Such was his dislike of them that there was a family legend involving him, a cat and a kitchen door. We all knew the story, but the truth of it was never confirmed. Apparently, he once caught a trespassing cat inside the house, and furiously slammed the door on it as it tried to escape. It was a horrible image and I didn’t want to think of Grandpa doing that.

One of the rooms upstairs in Grandma’s house was Grandpa’s office. He was always up there doing something, so if I was visiting I’d hardly get to see him at all. I’d often go up to a back bedroom to get a book for Grandma to read to me, and would pop my head round the door as I passed Grandpa’s office. He always seemed to be sitting at his desk with his back to the door. He wasn’t one for showing much affection, but if I went in he’d always stop what he was doing and invite me to choose a coloured sticker from the top drawer of his desk. In retrospect, I think they must have been items of office stationery, but I thought they were there just for me.

I particularly liked to be allowed to stay for lunch. Grand-ma’s special was crinkle-cut oven chips with dollops of ketchup. We just had the straight kind of chips at home, so I thought the fancy-shaped ones were wonderful. When it was time for lunch it was my job to run and sound the gong that hung from the ceiling in the hallway. This was Grandpa’s cue to put his stickers away and come downstairs.

After lunch I’d go upstairs to Grandma’s room to have a sleep on her big bouncy bed. It was covered with a large green eiderdown, which was so slippery that I had a job just getting on the bed in the first place. She’d lie down together with me and we’d cuddle up. At some point in the afternoon, Mum would arrive to pick me up. Mum never hung around to chat to Grandma, and I suspect they may not have got on too well, but to me she was special.