Chapter 3 - Mum and Me before Vascular Dementia

Before Vascular Dementia thundered into our lives, Mum and I had a happy go lucky mother/daughter relationship.  I am not saying we did not have our ups and downs and disagreements, of course we did, but our relationship was unconditional and fun.  Mum had a wicked sense of humour, which never failed to make me laugh; we would bounce off each other and often go on laughing for hours at a time.  For an older Mum, you would never have guessed it by the way she acted.  She welcomed everybody and however tight money must have been for her, she always managed to rustle something tasty up to eat.  Compared to my friends Mum’s, mine was somewhat eccentric.  She would say the most outlandish things and then look shocked at what she had just said. 

Even though she was quite a strict parent, she was very understanding and often gave sound advice to friends finding themselves in difficult situations.  She was never judgmental towards them regardless of her strict upbringing and the generation gap.  Mum thought the World of my two best girlfriends, Louise and Melanie.  Both girls were very attractive, both slender with dark curly hair.  Louise had a womanly figure in her early teens, which brought her quite a lot of attention, sometimes unwanted.  I, on the other hand, had long light brown hair, poker straight, kind of resembling Neil from the Young Ones, if you remember that show!  I was quite lanky too – I don’t not what happened!

Mum had beautiful thick dark hair, however, always preferred to colour it red.  It suited her vibrant personality and went with her cheeks!  Mum was of average height with an hourglass figure.  “Marilyn Monroe was a size 16”, she used to say.   I am surprised that she was never a slender size 10 due to the amount of walking she did.   We always had a dog and a cat and Mum used to spend hours walking the dog, whilst often in hot pursuit by Snowy the cat!

As a young girl, I did a lot of walking with Mum.  Living in Swillington, a little village just outside Leeds, we would walk across the Rhubarb fields to Temple Newsam, a large historic estate, housing stables, parklands, woodlands and a farm, set within over 1500 acres, collecting the stalks on our travels.  On returning home, I would crash onto the sofa nursing my aching legs, as Mum would wash the rhubarb and embark on a scrumptious rhubarb crumble, which I would hastily wolf down for supper with some home made custard,  evoking simultaneous feelings of warm and comfort.  Occasionally, Mum and I would have a full day out at Temple Newsam; we loved walking around the magnificent eerie Tudor-Jacobean mansion.  The blue room allegedly was the home to a ghost; the locals called her the “Blue Lady”.  The Ingram family had lived there for over 300 years and the mansion was the birthplace of Lord Darnley, the infamous husband of Mary Queen of Scots

I had a happy childhood.  Dad lived nearby and I could go visit him whenever I liked.  I loved going to my Dads, as he lived in an old caravan, just on the edge of Swillington.  I would play for hours around the caravan and would get so excited when I could stay over.  Dad and I used to go for bike rides to the nature reserve at Fairburn Ings and watch in admiration at all the different species of birds.  I often collected feathers to take home for Mum.

At the age of nine, Mum, my sister and I moved to Hunslet, Leeds to be nearer my Grandma.  Our new home was a big old brick terrace house with a small yard to the front; very different from our other home with a large garden, back in the village.   I was excited to move, but was equally apprehensive, as any young girl would be starting a new school and having to make new friends.  Furthermore, the house scared me to death.  I was adamant; it had a ghost or two.  My bedroom was one of the attic rooms, with a large dormer window.  The stairs leading to the attic gave me a feeling of insufferable gloom, as I was always aware of a lurking presence.  My sister’s bedroom was most definitely the worst; even though it was larger, I could feel some darkness pervade my spirit.  When my sister left home to start out on her own, I moved in to her room.  This would have been the most logical thing to do, due to its size.  However, I soon retreated to my little room.  I often felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck when entering my sister’s room. The big meat hook in the cellar did not help either, as I continued to insist that this spooky house had a mind of its own.  Mum was so mischievous with her ghostly jokes, which always resulted in me screeching with terror and sending me flying into her arms, regardless of how old I got!  Moreover, objects always seemed to move; towels would be placed on the towel rail, however moments later, they could be seen strewn on the landing floor.  On returning home, my heart would skip a beat as I raced up my bedroom stairs, anxious and scared of what I might hear.  There had been occasions, when my radio would be on and I knew for sure that it had not been on when I left.  As an adult, I am an Atheist, or maybe Agnostic, I fleet between the two; so I wonder how I would feel if I could go back to that house and visit my old bedroom. 

During my teenage years, I recall hiding in the attic smoking a cigarette in my wardrobe.  All of a sudden, our dog, Shep came bounding up the stairs, scratching and sniffing to get into my room.  Panicking that I would get caught, I quickly stubbed the cigarette out, sprayed some air freshener and casually bounded back downstairs.  As I put my coat on to go to my friend’s house later that day, Mum shouted, “Don’t forget your cigs”!

Embarrassed and shocked, I retorted, “I don’t smoke”.

“Yes you do, Shep told me”, she calmly replied back.

I nervously looked in her eyes as she told me how disappointed she was in me and not to expect any more money from her.

            Shep was a cross between a border collie and a Samoyed.  He looked like a border collie, but he had a very large wolf like head and a curly Samoyed tail.  His undercoat was like thick wool.  Mum would often pull it out, telling him that his stuffing was coming out again.  However much I loved Shep, that dam dog grassed me up for absolutely everything as a teenager!

            My friend Louise and I often enjoyed listening to music in my bedroom, often we would play it quite loud, as we were two flights above Mum and often got away with it.  We would practice new Madonna routines and sing to our hearts content.  One summers evening, as we were planning our next dance routine in our cropped 1980’s tops and spangled bottoms, Mum bellowed from below.

“Viiiiiccccckkkkiiiiii”

Jumping up, I edged to the door, expecting Mum to tell me off and be ordered to turn the music down.

“Will you come and turn the TV over for me”?

“I’m coming”, I simultaneously yelled and raced down the steep winding stairs to the front room.

As I returned to my bedroom, Louise looked at me rather odd.  “Why couldn’t your Mum turn the TV over herself? She questioned with her face all screwed up.

“The cat’s on her knee, she didn’t want to disturb her”, I said in a sober tone.

In roaring fits of laughter, Louise threw herself onto my bed, rolling uncontrollably whilst holding her belly at the same time.  With tears streaming down her face, she looked up at me.  After seeing my puzzled face, she continued to cry and then seemed to be in pain due to her impetuous outburst.

            Still to this day, some twenty or so years later, Louise still brings that day up with an immeasurable grin.  Yes, I can see the funny side now!  I can just imagine my son’s face if I tried that one!  Mum knew that my love for and patience with animals was intrinsic to my very being.  I bet she too cried with laughter at my innocence, as I rushed down the steps and then crept as silently as possible across the living room floor to change channels.  I would do a silent “aww” as I passed the sleeping Snowy on my way back upstairs.

            As I began high school, I got into a bit of a bad crowd (fortunately, not for long).  With one of the girls, Charlotte (not her real name), we embarked on a day out in Leeds City Centre.  It was a warm overcast day, just the need for a thin coat or a cardigan. Charlotte headed straight for Boots the department store, with a quick look around her; she proceeded to pop makeup into her rather large shopper that she was carrying.  Oh my God, I couldn’t believe it.  My heart was racing so fast, my hands were shaking and I felt hot and sick.  “What are you doing Charlotte”, I uncomfortably asked.

“Everybody does it, go on Vicki, put this in your bag”, she whispered, handing me a brand new sealed black mascara.

I pushed it away and walked out of the shop, constantly looking over my shoulder.  Charlotte followed me somewhat cross at my little outburst.  She shouted at me for drawing attention to us and demanded that we try another shop.  Reluctantly and scared, I followed.  We walked into another cheaper looking store that sold everything from toasters, bedding to makeup, jewelry and toys.  Charlotte continued with her mission, constantly egging me on, just one thing that is all, she kept on urging.  Eventually, heart beating so fast, I picked up a dog toy and quickly threw it into my bag.  I waited for Charlotte and we headed towards the exit.  All of a sudden, a very tall man with a walkie talkie approached us and put his hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.  “Could you please come back inside young lady”?

Charlotte put her head down and followed the man back inside the store.  Me following like a little lost sheep.  “You can go love”, he kindly looked down at me and tapped my back.

“But, but, but, I can’t, I’ve stolen something too”, I cried.  Tears were pouring down my face now, as I shakily brought out the dog toy from my bag.  We were both ushered into a room, where we were told that Boots had seen Charlotte on camera and they had been watching us.  We were escorted in a police van to Millgarth Police station, where we were put into a cell.  I couldn’t stop crying, I felt physically sick at the thought of Mum getting that telephone call from the Police.  My poor Mum, I kept on thinking, she will be so ashamed and so very upset.  I was left in that cell on my own for what seemed like an eternity.  I turned my head to gaze at the thick concrete walls around me.  Graffiti adorned almost every aspect.  I hung my head like an ostrich poking his head into the sand.  Then, all of a sudden, my heart sank, as I heard my Mum and my sister’s voice emanating around the corridors.  I covered my eyes, I dare not look.  Head down, coat sleeve over my face hiding my blazing cheeks; I heard the keys in the lock and felt Mum’s very presence.  I was too ashamed to look at her. I slowly peeked through my sleeve and saw the devastation across her features.  What had I done?  “I am so sorry Mum”, I began to sob.

The Police brought me out of the cell and explained that he was going to take my photograph and fingerprints.  It was hell! I was mortally embarrassed. I later had found out that Mum had told the Police to hold me there for quite a while and to ensure that they frightened me.  Well, they certainly did.  Mum was devastated.  I was grounded for the entire summer holidays and I never did see Charlotte again.  There was no use trying to beg Mum to let me go out with my friends, as I had learnt over the years that when Mum said “No”, she really did mean No.  I never wanted to see that look on Mum’s face again and from that day forward, I turned myself around.

            I cannot say that I never did anything wrong again as I am sure that would be a lie, although I never did anything to that extent again.  That was me rebelling, I suppose; however, I don’t really think I was cut out for a life of crime!  It really did not matter what I did, I was always caught.

            After leaving school at 16, I got a job as an office junior at a local engineering firm.  I began working there at the beginning of August.  I remember it being a dry hot summer and the thought of working 8.30am till 5.00pm did not amuse me much.  Mum and Shep walked me half way, whilst my friend Phil would often catch up with me on his bike and we would meander on the remainder of the way.  Phil got a job working in a bike shop, which he seemed to really enjoy.  With lanky legs, tousled mousey hair and his ever smiling face, Phil always made me laugh.  He lived opposite from us and our bedroom windows faced.  We had a code for bedtime and a code for I am still up.  Mum would often bellow “Stop flicking that light switch”.

Mum used to make me a pack up, of which I had eaten by 11.00am.  On return from work, there would be a hearty home cooked meal awaiting me.  I would slump in front of the TV to watch Neighbours, whilst Mum would bring the meal in for me on a tray.  “You’re a worker now”, she would beam.

On a Saturday’s I worked in the City Centre waitressing in a coffee shop.  I worked there for quite a while really from being 15 to 19 years of age.  Mum and my Grandma used to call in every week as regular as clockwork.  I used to find it hilarious that they found it posh and both would put on an accent as they came in.  They would order a café tier of the finest blue mountain and a toasted teacake each.  If we ever got any posh jams in, I would put some aside for my Grandma.  Yes, my Grandma classed loganberry as a posh jam.  Mum would order in her finest voice in spite of it being me that was taking the order.  To this day, I do not know whether she did that on purpose to take the micky or she really did think she had to be posh.  Either way, it was comical and would make me smile for the rest of the shift.  When Mum caught my eye, she would stick her little finger in the air as she sipped her coffee.  I was run ragged in that shop.  Starting at 9.30am and serving till 5.30pm with a 20 minute break for lunch.  After 5.30pm, I would be on my hands and knees brushing the steps, then cleaning the toilets, tables, vacuuming, washing up.  After work, Louise and I would then go hit the clubs in town, partying till 2.00am.  Often I would get home around 3.00am with a cold pizza to share with Mum.  Mum was always awake waiting for me; she said she was waiting for her slice of cold ham and mushroom pizza.  As a parent now, I can fully understand why she was always awake.  I would kick my high heels off and jump into Mum’s bed, where we would have a snuggle and our pizza, then she would kick me out and I would climb the extra flight of stairs and crash out on the nearest soft surface.

Mum used to get really confused when the Hit Man and Her show was on.  The show was filmed in a nightclub in the Merrion Centre on a Saturday’s in the late 1980’s with Pete Waterman and Michaela Strachan.  The show basically filmed crowds dancing to popular hits at the time and often featured party games and artists from the Stock, Aitken and Waterman label, including Sonia and Sinitta.  It was always aired a few hours later, therefore, as I stumbled through the front door, Mum would look at me with a strange expression.  “I’ve just seen you go into the ladies toilets”.  I would howl with laughter and explain it every week.  Mum just didn’t get it; modern technology really flummoxed her.  I remember when we first got a VHS video player.  Oh, the fun we had with that.  Mum thought that I was an intellectual because I could actually work it.

By 17 and 18, like a lot of teenagers, I worked hard and partied even harder; I was never in.  I often found myself worrying about Mum, as we had always been together.  I wanted to be out with friends, but equally, I was worried about her being on her own.  I suppose that is why I was happy when she became more interested in the Spiritualist Church and her forthcoming marriage to Allan.