I didn't post a blog last week. I'd gone to visit my mother in Wales. She was in hospital after suffering a fall in her home. I was warned that she'd lost some weight but I was really shocked when I saw the amount. My wife and I had spent four days with her in September and each day we'd accompanied her on a daily walk of a couple of miles. The person lying in that hospital bed couldn't have managed two steps.
I've always visited regularly but twelve or so years ago Mam had a bout of flu that really set her back. I stayed with her for a week until she was well enough to get back on her feet, but I felt she hadn't been taking care of herself as well as she might have done. I made a pact with her: she had to promise to look after herself, and if she did this, I'd visit (whenever humanly possible) every six weeks for three or four days. I'm very lucky that I have an understanding wife who never once complained about the garden being neglected or rooms not getting decorated because of these journeys. She loved my mother too and often spoke of her as being like a second mother to her. My son Tom visited his grandmother regularly and often shared the drive with me to pick her up for Christmas and bring her to our home and then return her afterwards.
My mother passed away on Tuesday 20 November at 8.40 am. I was with her when she died. She was tiny and frail but she gripped my hand tightly right to the last. Her speech was mostly incoherent. It was not easy for her. I don't think she suffered much pain, but she became agitated at times, and was frustrated and sometimes distressed by the long drawn-out process of dying. She was desperately trying to let go but she was a survivor by temperament and her body even in this weakened state still put up a fight.
I was grateful that I could be there just to hold her hand. She would have done the same for me.
I've always visited regularly but twelve or so years ago Mam had a bout of flu that really set her back. I stayed with her for a week until she was well enough to get back on her feet, but I felt she hadn't been taking care of herself as well as she might have done. I made a pact with her: she had to promise to look after herself, and if she did this, I'd visit (whenever humanly possible) every six weeks for three or four days. I'm very lucky that I have an understanding wife who never once complained about the garden being neglected or rooms not getting decorated because of these journeys. She loved my mother too and often spoke of her as being like a second mother to her. My son Tom visited his grandmother regularly and often shared the drive with me to pick her up for Christmas and bring her to our home and then return her afterwards.
My mother passed away on Tuesday 20 November at 8.40 am. I was with her when she died. She was tiny and frail but she gripped my hand tightly right to the last. Her speech was mostly incoherent. It was not easy for her. I don't think she suffered much pain, but she became agitated at times, and was frustrated and sometimes distressed by the long drawn-out process of dying. She was desperately trying to let go but she was a survivor by temperament and her body even in this weakened state still put up a fight.
I was grateful that I could be there just to hold her hand. She would have done the same for me.
Mair Johnson
16 April 1924 - 20 November 2012
16 April 1924 - 20 November 2012
She was born at her grandparents' house in Meirion Street Aberdare, South Wales, the only child of George Martin Thomas and Gwenllian Wigley. Her father and mother met shortly after the Great War in which her father had served on the Somme. They married late for their generation and Mair's mother was thirty-five years old when she gave birth to her.
Mair was a sickly child. In her later years she used to joke about being 'very delicate'. At eighteen months she was diagnosed with meningitis and the local doctor told her parents that she would not be with them by the morning. Back in those times every community relied on 'folk medicine' and her 'Bopa' Sarah (Bopa being Valleys dialect for aunty) said to her parents, "Bring her over to me, we'll see what can be done for her" and together with her mother Gwen they applied poultices to the baby's feet every fifteen minutes throughout the night. Mair liked to tell the story of how the doctor (who liked to swear apparently) said to Bopa Sarah the next day, "You've done something to this bloody baby, haven't you?"and she particularly relished re-telling the part where Bopa Sarah shook her head and said with a look of choirgirl innocence, "Nothing at all doctor!" "Well," he said, "I know you've done something, and I take off my hat to you!"
Mair was a sickly child. In her later years she used to joke about being 'very delicate'. At eighteen months she was diagnosed with meningitis and the local doctor told her parents that she would not be with them by the morning. Back in those times every community relied on 'folk medicine' and her 'Bopa' Sarah (Bopa being Valleys dialect for aunty) said to her parents, "Bring her over to me, we'll see what can be done for her" and together with her mother Gwen they applied poultices to the baby's feet every fifteen minutes throughout the night. Mair liked to tell the story of how the doctor (who liked to swear apparently) said to Bopa Sarah the next day, "You've done something to this bloody baby, haven't you?"and she particularly relished re-telling the part where Bopa Sarah shook her head and said with a look of choirgirl innocence, "Nothing at all doctor!" "Well," he said, "I know you've done something, and I take off my hat to you!"
The sea air at Porthcawl on the Glamorganshire coast was prescribed by the same GP for Mair's health and she was often taken there for holidays to build up her strength. There are many photographs, her father being a keen amateur photographer, of the skinny-limbed Mair walking along the Porthcawl promenade with a Fulgoni's ice cream cornet in her hand. Perhaps it's why as an adult she had to, "Really feel like an ice-cream."
Until she went to school at five Mair spoke only Welsh. Her parents occasionally lapsed into French, which they both spoke, if they didn't want her to know what they were talking about. Unfortunately, Mair lost the ability to speak her native tongue confidently after beginning school. The Thomas family adopted Ebeneser chapel in Trecynon as their spiritual home. Her father was a deacon in the chapel, in those days the congregation was large, and he produced dozens of amateur theatrical productions, either put on in their vestry or at Aberdare Coliseum. As Mair grew older she became very interested in one particular boy who generally took the main part in her father's productions. She told me often how she might nonchalantly inquire when her father was casting a new play, "So who's playing the lead then, Dad?" and feel a flutter in her breast at his reply, "Oh, Danny Johnson of course!"
Until she went to school at five Mair spoke only Welsh. Her parents occasionally lapsed into French, which they both spoke, if they didn't want her to know what they were talking about. Unfortunately, Mair lost the ability to speak her native tongue confidently after beginning school. The Thomas family adopted Ebeneser chapel in Trecynon as their spiritual home. Her father was a deacon in the chapel, in those days the congregation was large, and he produced dozens of amateur theatrical productions, either put on in their vestry or at Aberdare Coliseum. As Mair grew older she became very interested in one particular boy who generally took the main part in her father's productions. She told me often how she might nonchalantly inquire when her father was casting a new play, "So who's playing the lead then, Dad?" and feel a flutter in her breast at his reply, "Oh, Danny Johnson of course!"
Mair started courting this boy from the chapel, Daniel Gwynfryn Johnson, who was two years her senior, at the age of fourteen. He was the only man there ever was in her life and she always described him, with his naturally wavy, sandy-coloured hair as 'handsome'. They were thoroughly devoted to each other. The only time they were separated for any length of time was during World War II when Danny served in India with the RAF. They wrote a letter to each other every day for two and a half years. Often these letters to each other finished with the words 'Have faith always'. Mair spent most of the war at a factory testing shell casings. Towards the end of the war Mair's parents bought a small general stores in Llandeilo, Carmarthenshire, and this was where Danny headed as soon as he returned home after VJ day in 1946. They were married in 1947 and their first son, Ian was born in 1948. They had very little money in those early years together and Mair said Danny's first wage packet was five shillings - twenty-five pence!
They attended Ebeneser where Danny was made a deacon shortly after his return. He was a modest man and she said that when his name was put forward he immediately got to his feet and proclaimed that he was too young to be made a deacon. The chapel however didn't agree, they made him a deacon and shortly afterwards he became their secretary too, from 1948 - 1960. They were both very involved in the activities of the local community. Mair loved to sing in the chorus of the Aberdare Operatic Society and took part in many of their productions like The King and I, Chou Chin Chow, Annie Get Your Gun etcetera. I was born in 1955.
Danny, who was fully bi-lingual, took a job at Ty John Penry Press in Swansea and in 1960 the family moved west. We shared our home with Mam's parents and her great aunt 'Bopa' Mary after they'd retired from their shop. Mair and Danny worked diligently and selflessly at caring for their elderly relatives. As time went on they became proud, devoted grandparents and happily exploitable baby-sitters. They took their eldest grandchildren with them on their first package holidays abroad. Our son Tom, almost a decade younger than his 'first cousins', used to pack his case on the first day of his school holidays and expect us to deliver him from our home in East Sussex to South Wales to spend the summer with 'Gramma' and 'Dycu'.
In 1995, my father tragically died of a perforated ulcer which had been mis-diagnosed. Mair found herself a widow at the age of seventy-one. She put enormous effort into finding hobbies and interests to fill the void that now existed in her life. She took up art and calligraphy classes and made full use of her bus pass by visiting friends and relatives in Aberdare on quite often a weekly basis. She went out for lunch several days a week to pass the time. Unfortunately, as she got older she began to suffer with glaucoma and cataracts and it became harder and harder for her to see, which made art increasingly difficult. Mair had three great grandchildren.
In 1995, my father tragically died of a perforated ulcer which had been mis-diagnosed. Mair found herself a widow at the age of seventy-one. She put enormous effort into finding hobbies and interests to fill the void that now existed in her life. She took up art and calligraphy classes and made full use of her bus pass by visiting friends and relatives in Aberdare on quite often a weekly basis. She went out for lunch several days a week to pass the time. Unfortunately, as she got older she began to suffer with glaucoma and cataracts and it became harder and harder for her to see, which made art increasingly difficult. Mair had three great grandchildren.
In 2010 she suffered a fall at her local shop which resulted in a hip replacement and after this she became increasingly dependent. My wife researched local sheltered housing and a place was found for her. Mam liked her little flat and often said she thought of it as an extension of her beloved bungalow.
Mam had a quirky way of looking at the world and could express herself in ways that often amused those in her company. On the subject of age and the prospect of getting older, she'd say with a deadpan expression, "I don't think much of this old age business! I won't be joining again!"
Mam had a quirky way of looking at the world and could express herself in ways that often amused those in her company. On the subject of age and the prospect of getting older, she'd say with a deadpan expression, "I don't think much of this old age business! I won't be joining again!"
She didn't enjoy the increased dependency that age brought and it was possibly this thought more than anything else that brought her to the final pages of her life at Gorseinon Hospital following a fall at her flat.
She is no longer suffering the many hours of desperate loneliness she often felt in her last years and is, I believe, happily reunited with her Danny, "The best pal I ever had," as she would have put it.
She is no longer suffering the many hours of desperate loneliness she often felt in her last years and is, I believe, happily reunited with her Danny, "The best pal I ever had," as she would have put it.
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