Lorna's Eightieth
By Cassandra Lane
I'd never met her, in fact I wasn't really aware she existed, and that
was no surprise. The only family members still alive who had known Lorna
at all were my mother Elizabeth and Aunt Kirstie, and they retained only
vague memories from infancy. As a result, my brother, sister and I were
not told about our connection to what had been a famous event in the
early 1950s, long before we were born. After the breakup up of the
marriage, my grandmother Elaine had refused to speak of what had
happened, so that we grew up in complete ignorance. It was much easier
in those days to suppress such things, as there were no social media and
you could not just turn to Google for anything you wanted to know. My
mother was the younger of the two girls: she married and had three
children, my brother James and my sister Deborah, both older than me. It
was only as we became adults that we learnt the truth.
It happened in the later 1990s when the internet had just got going.
James was approaching thirty, Deb was twenty-eight and I was nearly
twenty six. One day Deb happened to find an online story, with enough
details to make it obvious to her (though not to others) who Lorna was,
and within a few minutes she had traced four more. (Today it would be
forty, or more likely four hundred.). She immediately called me, and a
day or two later we had a family conference with James. There didn't
seem much we could do. My maternal grandmother was long dead, and we
never kept in touch much with my paternal grandparents, who had lived in
Spain for forty years. That left only Mum and Kirstie, who had never had
any children of her own. Still, we felt we ought to tell our mother that
we finally knew, but we were sure that she would not welcome any attempt
to resuscitate the past. Lorna had been out of the news for the space of
two generations. Most people, it appeared, had never heard of her. At
least, her name had never come up in my hearing. We were pretty sure
that Mum would want to keep it that way.
As we pondered together the big shock we had just had, we tried to think
of the best way to bring the matter up with her. It would require tact,
because she had always dismissed all talk about grandmother's early
marriage and abandonment by her husband with two toddlers. We had got
the clear impression that her father had been a complete cad, as people
used to call such types. Even though the breakup had been painful, Mum
obviously thought it was ultimately for the best - they had been well
rid of him. They'd had some financial help from Lorna's prosperous
parents, who had paid for the divorce. But growing up in a single parent
family had steeled Mum, and she had evidently resolved to put the
unpleasantness behind her for ever. Only now did we realise that she and
Kirstie must have discovered at some stage the basic facts about what
had happened from those around them, if not from Elaine. They grew
accustomed to the idea that this was a skeleton in the family cupboard
that must be left undisturbed.
All three of us agreed that we should raise the issue, despite the risk
of triggering a lot of bad memories. We didn't want to upset Mum, but we
felt we had a right to know a little more about our family legacy. James
was concerned, but rather less than Deb or me. He's an engineer, at this
time living in Sheffield, divorced with no children, and he had not had
so much to do with Mum and her circle in recent years as we had. Though
he has many virtues, tact is not perhaps his strongest asset. We all
agreed that it would be best if Deb and I took the initiative, on the
face-saving grounds that he was too far off, while we were much closer,
in suburban Kent and West London respectively. Closer, that is, to Mum
in Oxfordshire and perhaps Lorna too. But we put off making the
revelation until we had been able to find out more about her subsequent
history.
The online story had said that she had lived most of her life in the
area around Kingston and Richmond, barely twenty miles from where I had
grown up, and only half that from my current home in Wembley. But there
remained a big question - was she still alive? The Internet story had
implied that she was, or might be, despite a life of seclusion that went
back over three decades.
Our last decision was easy. Before we contacted Mum about it, we must
try to find out the latest we could about Lorna. Assuming she was still
living (and at her age that could be no certainty), we needed to know
her whereabouts. Was she in good health? Did she have enough money to
ensure a comfortable old age? It was unlikely she had enjoyed much of an
income for a great many years, and the state pension may well have been
her principal means of support. If we located her and attempted to
arrange a meeting, would she respond at all, let alone agree to see us?
Would she be willing for Mum to contact her? As we began our quest,
there were many imponderables.
Desperately Seeking Lorna
The first thing we settled was that I would have to be the lead
investigator, even though Deb had started the enquiry. She had a boy of
seven and a girl of five. I wasn't married and after the end of a stormy
relationship earlier that summer I didn't even have a serious boy
friend. Deb had a job in the City and child rearing had to be shared
with her husband Jeff. While my work in real estate was quite demanding,
it had more flexible hours. Finally, my home was a good deal nearer the
area where Lorna had been thought to be living and where we planned to
begin our search.
After this, we set about pooling the items information we already had.
We had hoped that the online article would help. But it didn't yield
very much. It had been posted the year before and the site was no longer
in operation. Worse, it was anonymous, and obviously compiled from some
sources to which we didn't have access. Our next effort had a little
more success. The article did mention an autobiography called Lorna
Hatfield: My Strange Life, published in 1952. I was able to pick up a
cheap second-hand copy in a bookstore in Charing Cross Road without much
trouble. While it looked as if the book had been ghost written, it did
supply some key information about her earlier life. But of course it
stopped soon after her story had broken, and yielded no clues as to
where we should look for her in the present. While we did want to find
out more of Lorna's past, the urgent thing was her current whereabouts,
and nothing we had so far turned up gave firm evidence on that.
The only solid facts we had to go on in tracing her life were these. She
was born in early 1919 and christened John. Her father was Brigadier
General Thomas Hatfield, a senior officer in the Royal Army Ordnance
Corps, and her mother Veronica, n?e Tarrant, quite a grand lady in the
tweeds and pearls brigade. Lorna managed to get through school
unscathed, despite being nicknamed Bottom because of her wide posterior.
After school she took up a business career but also became an excellent
amateur golfer, on the fringe of being picked for the British Walker
Club team which played, and inevitably lost to, the USA. During the war
she joined the RAF and trained as a bomber pilot. In 1941 she married
Elaine and the two daughters followed in 1942 and 1943. Ten months
before the end of World War II she was shot down over Germany and was
sent to a prisoner of war camp until the Axis surrendered.
Soon after her release and return to civilian life, allowing the
resumption of competitive golf, she found that her long suppressed
desire to become a woman had overcome all her other feelings. With
considerable guilts she left Elaine and the kids in 1948 and began to
seek a medical intervention. Some of the procedures were illegal then,
including the removal of testicles other than as a lifesaving measure -
which is what it was for her, of course. Vaginoplasty was in its
infancy. By luck she managed to find a highly competent surgeon who was
willing to carry out the work, in the utmost secrecy as he would have
been struck off the register if the facts became public.
The major transition was over by 1951. However Lorna had lost her small
business and could not afford to pay the alimony due to Elaine. Then she
heard that a fellow golfer had somehow learnt of her operations and was
preparing to sell her story to the press. In desperation she offered it
herself to a leading Sunday newspaper, famous for printing sensational
items - which this one certainly was at that date. She received the
princely sum of ?2,000 for the three weekly articles splashed across the
front page, and later earned about ?600 for the book. These were enough
to tide off her immediate worries, but within five years she had to
declare bankruptcy. For the rest of her life money remained a struggle
and despite some prudent economies she never became a wealthy woman.
Meanwhile her picture appeared in magazines around the world, and
callous jokes were made on TV and radio about her case.
The autobiography didn't take us beyond this point. From the article we
discovered that she lived for a long period with someone called Jenny,
possibly a cover name. Unfortunately Jenny died in the 1980s, and it was
thought Lorna been alone since then. But where? It was extraordinary
that someone who had achieved such sudden fame should disappear almost
as quickly. For a brief window of time, she had been probably the famous
transgendered person in the world until Christine Jorgensen emerged. But
once she retreated into the obscurity she had always wanted, she quickly
became yesterday's news. The media were not as intrusive as they are
today. Even when journalists found out potentially compromising
materials, they often kept silent. Roosevelt's paralysis and his affairs
were brushed under the carpet, as was the parlous state of Winston
Churchill's health in his last days as prime minister. For someone like
Lorna who avoided the limelight, had no public role, and did not have an
extravagant lifestyle, it was surprisingly easy to stay under the radar.
That enabled her to live the way she wanted, but it frustrated our
efforts to catch up with her. There were few resources online to help
our quest. Wills were then kept at Somerset House, so I went along there
and skimmed through the indexes for the past twenty years, but could
find no record of Lorna's name. Births, deaths and marriages had to be
viewed personally on the General Register. There were no medical
records easily available. Social media scarcely existed, and Deb and I
now agree that if such a thing had existed it would have been a waste of
time to look for her activity there.
These efforts took some weeks, and got us nowhere. I decided I had
better scout around her last known (or presumed) residence, and started
to investigate the area of South West London mentioned in the online
article. To begin with, this proved just as fruitless. I knew that the
local roll of electors could be consulted in public libraries, so I
tried to trace the name within two neighboring constituencies in the
library at Kingston, all to no avail. It seemed that she had not even
bothered to registered to vote. While there I asked to see the microfilm
archives of the weekly Surrey Comet, which went back almost to its
foundation in the middle of the nineteenth century. It took me a few
hours to go through all the issues since 1970 (they were not machine
searchable, of course). Still no result. I had an idea and phoned an old
boy friend, who worked for a national news agency but lived in the
vicinity. He couldn't recall ever coming across the story, which related
to a period long before he entered the profession.
After three months and no results, it was starting to look hopeless.
When I saw my mother, she said I had been less in touch, seldom at home
when she rang, and was there some reason? All I could say was that I had
had a rush of jobs at work. Deb's more limited explorations had been no
more profitable. Either Lorna was dead, or had moved abroad, or was
tucked away in some institution, which might be in another part of
England. We couldn't reject the first possibility, but the others seemed
unlikely. In the short span of her fame, she had been photographed and
filmed in some glamorous places across Europe. Pictures I had been able
to trace in the autobiography and elsewhere showed her shopping on a
Parisian boulevard, fashionably dressed in a Chanel type suit, as well
as sightseeing in Rome, and then a staged shot in a swimsuit on the
terrace of a hotel in the Greek islands. We didn't think she would have
the resources or health to repeat these travels at nearly eighty. But we
had a good idea of her fiercely independent spirit, and suspected she
would stay out of homes for the elderly for as long as she possibly
could.
What did that leave? Deb had a brainwave and suggested she might have
gone into sheltered housing as she aged after Jenny's death. We looked
it up by means of the printed guides then available, and found there
were at least eleven such places in Kingston and Richmond alone -
probably more. A few quick phone calls revealed that nobody of this name
was listed at any of these residences. I went down to one of them that
seemed promising to ask in person, and sure enough an elderly couple
told me that Lorna had indeed been living in a second-floor flat when
they arrived there. But she had left about three years before and they
didn't know where she had gone, they saw her moving out one Monday
morning. They weren't surprised she hadn't told them she was going, as
she was very private.
By this time I had grown inured to disappointments, and even though the
couple hadn't been able to give me any real leads I was encouraged by
the fact that she must have been compos mentis a relatively short time
earlier. They said she had had to walk with a stick, so her physical
health may have become a problem. I felt elated that there was at long
length some progress, and called Deb to tell her. We agreed to widen the
search to include care homes outside the immediate neighbourhoods we had
been working on. I drew up a list of eight places bordering on the
district, with Surbiton at its head. Two of them were just across the
Thames, and the first of those I tried was in Twickenham. Finally I
struck lucky. Lorna Anne Hatfield had seemingly been a resident of
Teddington Mansions since 1994.
I explained to the nice lady on the phone that I was Lorna's
granddaughter, but that two branches of the family had been out of touch
for decades. Would it be okay if I wrote to her to see if we could
arrange a meeting. The person on the other end seemed doubtful, and said
she would pass me on to the manager, Mrs Royston. These days I probably
wouldn't have got this far, but things were less strict then, and within
a few minutes I was talking to the head honcho, Miranda Royston. She was
polite but unencouraging, saying that they had to watch out for
strangers who wanted to visit. In any case she didn't think Ms Hatfield
would be keen on the idea, as she always said she had lost contact with
all surviving members of her family. I replied to Mrs Royston that I
understood, but could I come and see her in her office to supply bona
fides and explain some things in person - that I really was who I said I
was, that my own mother would be able to vouch for me (though I didn't
want to play that card at present), and that I would not press the
matter if Ms Hatfield - I kept up the formality on purpose - was
reluctant to see me.
Miranda said she couldn't give any promises. She could spare me half an
hour at the start of the following week. If she was satisfied of my
relationship, then we could explore the possibility of getting in touch
with the vulnerable resident in her care. I told her I understood the
reasons for her caution. We made an appointment for next Tuesday.
Getting in Touch
Teddington Mansions proved to be a compact block of two storey buildings
occupying a few acres quite close to the river. It stood at the southern
end of Twickenham, not very far from Kingston Bridge, with a look that
was comfortable and well kept, though far from palatial. I had dressed
in a smart shirt and jacket with black trousers, and carried an attach?
case containing documents to establish my credentials. After a brief
wait I was ushered into the manager's office, which looked out towards
Bushey Park. I thought it was a very pleasant location in which to spend
one's declining years.
Miranda asked me to sit down and offered me a coffee, which I accepted
as it sometimes appeared to oil the wheels of tricky negotiations. She
was in her forties, with shortish blonde hair and carefully made up. We
got straight down to business. It was not company policy, she told me,
to admit outsiders unless they were sure of a few things - that the
person was who they claimed to be, that they not selling funeral
services or something, and that they were not trying to establish a
relationship with a view to a possible inheritance. I replied that I
thought the papers I had brought with me would establish my identity,
including a family link through documents that named my great
grandparents, as well as my mother Elizabeth n?e Hatfield and my aunt
Kirstie. My employment record showed that I worked for a very well known
real estate company who did not target seniors. I could not prove my
innocence on the last point, except to say that I did not suppose Lorna
had much money to leave and I had no intent of challenging an existing
will if one had been drawn up. Presumably the bequests would have gone
to charity, and that seems to me eminently suitable.
Miranda got up and looked out of the window for a moment. She gave me a
searching glance, and said she could see a family resemblance - that is
true, judging by the shots I'd seen of Lorna when younger, although
perhaps more evident in the case of James and Deb (I produced their
photos). There was a further touch of good luck here. It turned out that
she knew Deb's husband Jeff through some business contacts in the City.
Things were looking promising, but she said she would consider it and
get back to me soon.
I thought that was the end of the interview, and was heading for the
door before she spoke again. She said she had decided to tell me she
knew about Lorna's past. No one else on the staff did, and none of the
residents. It had come up indirectly in a search of National Health
Service records from the late 1940s and early 1950s that she had needed
to conduct when Lorna's application to live at Teddington Mansions had
been going though. You would have to read between the lines and be
familiar with transgender history, as she was, owing to a resident in a
former home where she had worked some time back. Even so it had taken
her a little while to put two and two together and recognize her new
resident as the once celebrated Lorna Hatfield. It was for this reason
that she had accepted the incomplete family tree that I had provided.
She was sure that her own children had never heard of such a person, and
she had not mentioned the discovery to anyone, including Lorna herself.
I went home not quite knowing what to think. It was amazing to realise
that the woman who had been out of my entire life had been so close
physically just now, a matter of a few yards away in one of the
residential blocks. Both Deb and I were nervous about the outcome when
we spoke to James on the phone that evening.
As it emerged, Miranda Royston did not take long to make a decision. She
called me to say that she wouldn't advise me to write to Lorna, as she
believed in the light of what I had told her about the family situation
that any approach of this kind would only get ignored. Instead, she had
arranged to go and talk to her in her room the following afternoon. She
would explain that I had found out by chance where she was living and I
would love to speak to her, however briefly.
Next day Miranda got back to me and said that after her conversation
with Lorna there was still a chance it would come off. I needed to be
patient, because she wanted to give time for reflection, as any old
person would need in the wake of this sudden request. I agreed to let
her take as long as might be necessary. In the event it was ten days
before Miranda phoned again with the news that I had been hoping for. A
short meeting would be possible, with an initial introduction in the
common room. It was best if I came alone, rather than with Deb, as it
would be enough of a shock to meet one granddaughter, let alone two. If
Lorna was not too distraught the three of us would go back to her room
together, and after a suitable interval; Miranda would leave us to
ourselves.
We set the date for the meeting almost a fortnight ahead, at the end of
November. The delay would give Lorna an opportunity to change her mind
if she wished to - that seemed fair enough.
All the same, I was excited by the prospect. It would be an encounter
with a close relative I had never seen, and whose name I scarcely knew
until recently. Someone, too, whose doings throughout my entire lifetime
were an almost complete mystery. Deb felt equally good about the plan,
though she admitted that she would also like to get a chance to hook up
with Lorna, however briefly. We were both anxious for the day to come as
quickly as possible.
First meeting
The roads were clear and I got to Teddington Mansions ten minutes ahead
of time. I parked and sat in the car to compose myself. I had chosen a
neutral business outfit - I had no desire to try and impress Lorna
(which probably wouldn't have worked), but I wanted to suggest I was
taking the meeting seriously. Miranda had told that Lorna generally
dressed casually anyway.
Right on the dot I went into the entrance lobby and Miranda was quickly
out to meet me. She led me down two corridors to the residents' lounge
where I had not been before. There were about a dozen in there, all but
two of them women. They were scattered about engaged in various
activities. A television set was on at one end, with a quiz programme
compered by a handsome young man and four or five women watching with
rapt attention. Others were sitting quietly knitting or reading
magazines. Miranda didn't say anything at first, and I had absolutely no
idea if Lorna was there, and if so which she was. Then we went across
the room to a long grey sofa on which three women were perched. "Oh,
here you are," said Miranda in an almost offhand way. We approached the
one sitting nearest to us. So now it was I had the first glimpse of
someone I'd sought for such a long time.
She looked totally ordinary, and for a moment I felt a pang of
disappointment. I don't think I would ever have picked her out from the
group around us in the lounge. But then I immediately realised that this
was what she had always wanted. She wasn't very big or imposing. As
Miranda had warned me, she was a little bent and her face was deeply
lined. I was slightly thrown because she had medium-length grey hair,
while the couple who knew her at the sheltered housing had said it was
quite long and white, sometimes (a sniff of disapproval) with a bluish
rinse. It struck me that it was perhaps a wig - if so, it was tastefully
arranged, full on the side and top, but short at the back. Her glasses
were unremarkable, with thin bronze frames, not dissimilar to the pairs
that other residents were wearing. She had on a dark green top and fawn
slacks, slightly baggy in appearance, that somehow reminded me of the
uniform of the Land Girls of her youth that I'd seen in old films. On
her feet were light brown ballet slippers.
Predictably, conversation was stiff to begin with. I'd rehearsed a few
topics in my mind but they didn't seem to fit the mood. I felt like on
my first dates with a boy, when I could only think of questions like
"What's your favourite colour?" (and the boys weren't any better). Lorna
said very little in a rather croaky old person's voice. Miranda kept the
ball rolling, however. Then another lady came over and asked Lorna if
she was planning to join a card game they were going to start in a
while. Lorna shook her head, saying she had a visitor. That gave us the
chance to adjourn to her room. She picked up her cane and made her way
slowly back the way we had come, before turning into a different
corridor.
Her room was quite small, with just a mini-kitchenette area in addition
to the bathroom. (I later found out that she wasn't a great cook.) But
it had a pleasant south-facing view which gave the place a lot of light.
Miranda stayed for two or three more minutes, letting me know about some
of the social activities that Lorna joined in, before saying she had
another job to attend to. We had the time and the place to ourselves
now, so I summoned up the confidence to take the initiative.
Basically I filled out for Lorna the information about the family that
Miranda had begun to give her. I did not try to conceal the fact that my
mother was still bitter about the way that Elaine's marriage had ended,
or that she had always kept back from us the real cause of the break-up.
Lorna became a little more forthcoming, saying that she could perfectly
understand her reaction in both cases. Sex changes were new then and
would remain a matter of shame in some families for decades to come. I
went on to explain about my job, along with the careers of Deb, James
and Jeff, as well as my aunt Kirstie's declining health with a heart
problem. She took it all in, but didn't comment.
The breakthrough came when I started to describe Deb's children. For the
first time she appeared really interested. I had brought along in my
handbag photos of both Charlie and Olivia, playing in the garden and
running with the dog at the park. They really were cute kids, and helped
to break the ice with Lorna. It was obvious that she had always wondered
whether either of her children had married, and if so whether they had a
family of their own. Like many elderly people she seemed to connect any
descendants in the youngest generation with hope for the future, and it
must have been difficult for her not to have any inkling of her own
family - even though the separation had been of her own making
originally.
It was during this conversation that I found out for the first time
where her given names came from. It emerged that both Lorna and Anne
were members of the Tarrant clan, who had farmed in Somerset and Dorset
for at least four generations: Lorna was her great grandmother and Anne
her grandmother. It was obvious that she felt a strong identification
with these strong women in her family line. But of course there was also
a memory of Lorna Doone, spirited heroine of the famous novel set on
Exmoor.
After several minutes along these lines, I dared to ask her a bit about
herself. Yes, she was very comfortable at the mansions. She could no
longer manage independent living, mainly because of two hip
replacements, and now a dodgy right knee and a creaky back. I had read
enough to know that her daily doses of estrogen would have delayed but
not ultimately prevented the onset of osteoporosis, hence her noticeable
stoop. Her own hair was now thin and straggly, but she had three nice
wigs. She got on pretty well with all the residents, and had two
particular friends, Kathleen and Gillian, one a bit older and the other
younger than she was. From the way she described them, I got the clear
impression that neither had any inkling of Lorna's past.
It appeared that she was now willing to talk about things that she had
kept to herself for many years. In her very British way she couldn't
address money issues directly, but suggested that she had enough to get
by. She didn't travel any more, rarely spent anything on clothes, and
living expenses could be kept to a minimum if you didn't go for extra
frills like the special block of "luxury" apartments across the way (she
pointed out of the window across a strip of grass to another residential
block).
Did she have any photos, I asked? She answered with a rueful smile that
there were not many from recent years. Getting up stiffly, she went
across to a chest of drawers and took out a small plastic folder
(remember this was when people mostly kept pictures in an album, not on
a phone). After leafing through the contents, she passed them to me.
They looked as if they might have dated from the 70s and 80s. Lorna
appeared on several but not all. They were conventional shots, indoors
and out, with other people I naturally did not recognize. Apart from
one, they seemed to be domestic (showing her on a patio with a much
older woman) or on informal occasions such as sitting in a restaurant
with three or four people.
The exception was a picture evidently taken at a wedding in a summer
garden. She was standing near a row of mixed shrubs wearing a dress in a
green and white flowered print and a floppy wide brimmed hat. In her
hand she was holding a glass as she chatted with another woman, taller
than her, with long dark hair. Lorna looked pained for a moment, and I
guessed that this must be Jenny. I didn't press her about the occasion
or about the identity of this woman.
Just then, there was a knock at the door and one of the carers came in
wearing a smart blue uniform and pushing a trolley. She was a cheery
woman named Millie. After pouring a cup of tea for Lorna, she offered
one to me with some biscuits. I said I must be going but took a quick
gulp of tea. It seemed the natural cue for departure. We had been
talking for almost an hour. As I got to the door, I asked her if she
would like to come and spend a short time at my home to meet Deb and her
family - I had cleared this with Miranda, who said that this was allowed
as long as I could carry out the minimal caring procedures that might be
needed, and wouldn't let Lorna stay long enough to get tired. She
agreed, saying that she had hadn't been out of the place since a
residents' trip to Windsor Castle several months before. Naturally I
didn't tell Lorna that her daughter Elizabeth lived only a few miles up
the Thames from Windsor.
As I walked back along the corridor I passed Millie, who gave me a warm
smile and said, "It's good for her to have visitors, she doesn't have
anyone to come to see her ever." I felt exultant that the visit had gone
so well, better than I'd anticipated. It wasn't clear how far we could
take the relationship, as Lorna may just have had some momentary
curiosity and be happy to revert to her previous self-isolation. There
looked to be less prospect than ever of a reconciliation with my mum,
but at least it seemed that Deb, James and I were not affected by the
bad blood resulting from the break with Elaine.
I drove the short way home and immediately phoned Deb with the good news
about a possible outing for Lorna to see us.
Getting to Know You
We fixed the get-together for a Saturday early in December, when
everyone at our end would be free. Miranda said it would be okay if we
picked up Lorna about 10 a.m. and brought her back by 7 p.m., the time
that the night staff take over at the Mansions. She would need a rest
after lunch, but otherwise should be okay for that stretch. With that in
mind, Jeff agreed to take the kids off for activities at the local park
and roller skating rink - both of the young ones have started to skate
recently.
I got a few tips on what would be needed. Lorna was fully compos mentis,
and along with her friend Gillian the sharpest person mentally in the
entire residence. However, with age her physical difficulties had
increased. Now she couldn't manage stairs, and it was a good thing that
I have a spare room and bathroom on the ground floor of my narrow
terraced house. She had to have help on a few things, including dressing
as well as getting in and out of the shower. Luckily these wouldn't be
necessary on her short visit. However she had a mild case of stress
incontinence and wore a pad. Kirstie has the same problem, so I felt I
could handle that.
It didn't take very long on a Saturday to get down to Twickenham. Deb
drove me down so that we could break up the introductions. She was
excited to meet Lorna, who was waiting at the front entrance, to give us
both a brief hug and peck on the cheek. We carefully loaded her on to
the back seat of the car - Deb's has more leg room than mine. I had
scarcely taken any notice of her appearance this time, it was so
unobtrusive. She had on a long mock camel hair coat, over a petrol blue
jumper and a grey pleated skirt. On the way to Wembley she looked out at
the passing townscape and gasped a little when she saw things that had
changed a great deal since she had last been there, in particular many
new housing developments off the North Circular Road in Ealing. She must
have known the area well in her thirties and forties. On the other hand,
as we approached my home on the border of Wembley and Sudbury, it was
all completely new, as she said she had never been in this corner of the
outer London suburbs. I think she may have been relieved that this was
an anonymous residential district with no links to any of her former
life.
We got Lorna settled in my not very capacious living room, and put on
the kettle. After a few minutes we heard another car parking in the
street outside. I went to the door and let in first the noisy children,
then a slightly tired looking Jeff, with a small gift in his hands.
Charlie and Olivia rushed ahead and turned unbidden into the living room
where their mother was waiting with Lorna. More introductions followed.
We had decided to use the form "Auntie Lorna", since the children
already had token aunts and uncles among friends of the family. To call
her Great Grandma might have risked awkward questions if they had used
it in the presence of adults.
The conversation was a bit stilted again. To take the pressure off
Lorna, I asked Jeff about his work and such, not having seen him for a
little while. Then Deb managed to bring up the recent doings of the
children, and Lorna began to quiz them about what they liked to do at
school and their hobbies. At that date there was less emphasis on
computer games and electronic devices that might have been beyond an old
person's ken, so they were able to share their interests. Charlie has
inherited his father's love of rugby and had even been to Twickenham to
watch a big match - he was impressed when Lorna told him she lived quite
near the stadium. Olivia is still more hesitant about describing her
life, but she told Lorna abut some friends and the TV programmes she
liked best.
At this point I felt it safe to get up and bring in the light lunch I
had prepared. Deb joined me in the kitchen and assured me it was all
going well. As we returned to the other room, the topic had moved on to
toys; Lorna was asking about a special doll and Olivia went to produce a
"Glitter Girl" got up in a purple top and cream trousers decorated with
butterflies. Mauve must have been a special favourite, because unbidden
she dug out a backpack that I had always thought hideous. Lorna
inspected it with plausible enthusiasm. It was obvious that Olivia had
already developed a rapport with this elderly visitor, breaking into the
conversation more than once to describe other playthings.
Once the meal was over, we began to sort out our plans for the
afternoon. Deb had told the children that Auntie Lorna would need to lie
down after her journey to see us, so they would be going out with Daddy
to the park. Charlie thoughtfully suggested she should go with them, as
it had been fun talking to her, but Deb explained that she didn't skate
any more and wanted to rest for a time. Immediately the thoughts of both
Charley and Olivia shifted to the treat in store, and they started
putting on their coats with excited chatter.
Meanwhile I led Lorna to the spare room. It hadn't been used a great
deal in the two years I had lived there. The walls were a neutral,
that's to say nondescript, beige colour, and the furnishings were
somewhat austere. I had moved in light green bed linen from storage,
brought some nicknacks for the dressing table, and added a bouquet of
orange lilies, which I'd found out were her most loved flowers. It
didn't look wonderful, but at least it was a bit more welcoming and
feminine. If she ever came to stay, as I was hoping she might, I would
do something to give it a more homey air. I asked if she wanted to use
the loo, but she said she was okay. After helping her on the bed, I
pulled the curtains and gently closed the door. Twice I crept back to
peep in, and saw that she was fast asleep.
After ninety minutes she was awake again. Now she did need to visit the
bathroom. I had to help her drop her pants and get stiffly down on to
the toilet. I left to her own devices and when I came back she was ready
to go through the reverse process with my aid - rising was easier on her
knees and plastic hips than going down. Once everything was done, we
made our way into the living room. Deb had been watching TV with me, but
she switched it off as soon as we reappeared.
Some Revelations
Now the three of us were alone together for a protracted spell, as we
had never been before. Lorna was smart enough to realise that we hoped
she might open up a little more about her life, though we were
determined not to press her beyond her comfort limits. Hardly anything
came out about her childhood and youth, or the feelings that impelled
her to seek a transition. She poohpoohed her skill at golf, saying that
modern players would wipe the floor with her thanks to their huge power
and superior clubs. I think she was a little proud in a modest way of
her wartime achievements, but she made it clear that if had been
possible to undergo surgery before the war (as it wasn't) she would have
much preferred to carry out some useful ground occupation with the
women's services, as two of her later friends had done in the WAAFs. All
in all, it became evident that her real life did not start until she was
able to take the plunge in 1948.
She did explain that, while she'd hated the parts belonging to a boy
that she had been given, she had an even stronger feeling about the bits
that were missing and would make her complete. As a result she could not
help envying women from birth (cisgendered, as they're now called) who
possessed these attributes without having to go through the time,
expense and pain of surgeries. She would have loved to be a mother but
had always understood that was not ever going to be possible. Perhaps,
she said with a wan smile, it was a good thing, since she had been such
a hopeless father to her daughters. I assured her that this didn't
follow at all.
A cloak of privacy remained around Jenny, with whom she had spent many
happy years of devoted mutual care. It was almost ten years since Jenny
had died, but the pain was still too recent to allow her to speak freely
- even to mention the name made Lorna tear up. We quickly dropped that
part of her life.
In the course of our conversation, one other thing was now apparent.
When Deb had first unearthed her story, I had been largely
concentrating on the gender issue. It became obvious as we talked that
there was an equally significant generational side to the story. As I've
said, I had never really known my grandmother or the absent grandparents
on the other side of the family. Now I had the chance for the first time
to learn what it was like in England during the postwar years. Mostly
Lorna had been in the London area, and that matched my own experience
because I've always lived there, apart from three years in East
Yorkshire as a student when I did sociology at the University of Hull.
But my ideas of the capital in the time before I was born were vague and
incomplete, mostly based on old films and documentaries. My mother had
found it hard enough to bring up the three of us in the 70s and 80s,
with a less than ideal husband I won't speak about, to have time to
reminisce about her younger self. It was a completely unexpected boon,
to have this window open up on what to Deb and me was a historic, even
legendary epoch. To Lorna it was simply the world in which she had found
herself.
Without doubt, the most difficult time was early on. The Sunday paper
running her story had sent her first on a short trip with a photographer
to Venice, Rome and Sorrento for what were meant to be glamour shots.
She felt awkward in this role and didn't get on particularly well with
the ghost writer they'd hired to spark up her story. She returned to
England the week after the news burst and had to go into hiding, as
someone who knew her had leaked the location of her flat in Pimlico.
This was followed by one further publicity trip for a single day and
night in Paris, a city she had always liked, but where she now felt a
fugitive as her notoriety spread round the world. Even when the series
ended in the paper, she was still likely to be photographed in the
street if she went down to the grocery. Luckily her parents had a spare
cottage near Salisbury and she was able to hide out there for six weeks.
The media frenzy started to die down - actually it was nearly all the
press, since TV had not got going properly in Britain in 1951.
She plucked up courage and went to live with Jenny, who had been a big
help during the early stages of her transition. When she went out she
wore a dark wig and borrowed some of Jenny's clothes, in the hope that
neighbours would think the was just the one person living there. It
seemed to work. After six months she felt confident enough to take trips
around the neighbourhood in company with Jenny, and to her relief nobody
took a blind bit of notice of them. She remembered Jenny saying to her,
"If anybody attracts attention, it'll be me," on account of her long
legs, raven hair and tendency to use large gestures together with a loud
laugh, something Lorna couldn't readily copy.
Things got steadily easier, and so the pair started to look for a
permanent home. The chance came through a contact in the estate agency
business, one of the very few men to whom Lorna had entrusted her
secret. They were able to rent a place in Chingford, along a quiet
suburban street, miles from anywhere that either of them had known. In
the event they stayed here from the late 50s until 1975, when they moved
to Kingston, in a part of London that would remain Lorna's home for the
rest of her life.
I asked about the 60s, she wasn't into the politics much. She opposed
the Vietnam war but didn't join CND marches or anything like that. Never
seriously into drugs because two young people she knew had bad
experiences and died early as a result. She quite liked some of the
music but was too old to be a rock chick. After reading Betty Friedan
and later Germaine Greer she did embrace the feminist movement, but
again didn't feel it would help the cause if she went public about that,
the way people felt then. For the first time I got a clear sense of what
it was really like to live in this era, later mythologized in the media.
There were of course drawbacks in those earlier days. One small thing I
was astonished to learn was that to reach the cubicles in many public
toilets, you had to go through a turnstile and put a penny in the slot
on the metal gate, meaning you needed to keep one or two of the old
large penny coins in your purse. (Men didn't have to do this to get to
the urinals.) I expressed disbelief, but she told me to my mother and
Kirstie would recall this from when they were growing up. Another
unpleasant memory was of walking the gauntlet beside a construction
site, where a chorus of wolf whistles was considered to be flattering -
she didn't find it that way at all.
You got to know some ways of making life simpler. If you bought two
pairs of nylons in the same size and shade, you could ladder two
stockings and still have a usable pair, unlike with tights. But
otherwise tights were much preferable when they came in. Not only was it
easier to preserve modesty, you didn't have to wear lumpy and
inconvenient suspender belts. Among the worst of all were roll on
girdles, a rubberized monstrosity that collected perspiration and was
hard to pull over your hips when you undressed. Lorna said she flatly
refused the bras with conical cups that the newspaper wanted to her to
wear for the shots in Rome - it was the age of "sweater girls" like Lana
Turner, and the publicity people thought that this would give a
fashionable look with a perky bust line. What it actually did, Lorna
told us, was not just lift but separate your boobs, so that they became
quite painful after it'd been on for more than a couple of hours. One
brief experiment in a side street near her hotel had been enough to
decide never to do it again.
I wondered if she had kept up golf. She said she'd joined a small club
on the edge of London in her mid-forties, and played for a time on odd
weekends. But Jenny didn't really play much and they found the place a
bit snobbish. She came second in a medal competition once, but as she
got a bit older couldn't really compete with the young stars of the
ladies' section. Actually she had never had been a long driver and had
relied on her short game, putting especially, to make up for it, but
without regular practice even this side wasn't what it was. So she gave
up after a couple of years. After this she followed the sport from a
distance, and was a great fan of Nancy Lopez and Laura Davies in
particular.
It had got to be almost four o'clock. Jeff would soon be back with the
kids, and we could see Lorna was starting to flag - she hadn't talked to
anyone at this length since Jenny died, and never about her past. It was
time for a break. She was obviously weary, but took time to ask Olivia
and Charlie on their return about all they had been doing. Both chatted
excitedly with their Auntie Lorna, and we three adults could see that a
bond was already starting to form. When we dropped her off back at
Teddington Mansions, the young ones asked if they would be seeing her
again soon. I thought that Lorna was feeling the same.
A Day Out
We took Lorna out just once before Christmas. This was to see a matinee
of the Royal Ballet doing "The Nutcracker" - we found out that Lorna and
Jenny had been regulars when the company performed at the Royal Opera
House, where they were once great fans of Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf
Nureyev. I had never been hugely enamoured of this piece, mainly because
I had seen too many bad versions put on by children or amateurs.
However. this was a well known production by Peter Wright, with d?cor by
Julia Trevelyan Oman. We thought this was an ideal choice, because it
lasts less than two hours, plus a twenty minute interval, which wouldn't
tax Lorna too much. Besides, the children had never seen any ballet and
this is a good one to start them off with. In the event, Jeff couldn't
make it on the afternoon we'd reserved, owing to commitments at work.
So it was just Deb and I with the children, excited but uncertain what
the show would be like. We didn't think Lorna could easily handle public
transport, so we booked a cab to take us to and from Covent Garden.
Nobody dresses up much to go to opera or ballet any more, so we all went
in quite casual clothes (Lorna could remember a time when you wore your
best, even in the balcony stalls Jenny and she had always frequented -
but you had to go in by a side door, not the main entrance). Now the
dress code in the programme simply said, "We only ask that feet and
torsos are covered"! Luckily there was step- free access so that we
were quickly able to take the lift up to our seats. When we sat down,
Lorna gazed round the auditorium and pointed out the big changes that
had been recently been made to the building. Almost every part of the
structure had been renovated in the mid 1990s, and so she could hardly
recognize anything of what she had known twenty or thirty years earlier.
As soon as the overture came to an end and the curtain went up, the
children were riveted by the sight of the Christmas decorations round
the tree on stage. Lorna smiled quietly, while even I was caught up in
the familiar action. The music, so tuneful and rhythmic, immediately
combined with the dances and the lighting to set a mood of magical
transformations. We would have to wait until the second act to hear some
of the favourites, like the dance of the sugar-plum fairy and the waltz
of the flowers, but the audience was gripped right from the start,
thanks to the quality of the principals, the corps de ballet, and the
orchestra.
By the time we got to the interval, Charlie and Olivia were positively
gushing over everything they had seen. Deb offered to take Lorna to the
toilets, knowing that there would be the usual queue. I sat and talked
with the kids about the story of the ballet. They were fascinated by
some of the exotic toys depicted in the music. After a while Charlie
said he needed the lavatory also, and since he was old enough to use the
gents by himself I let him do this. Inevitably this soon made Olivia ask
if she could go as well, so I guided her along to the right of the bar
to a new-looking loo, where the queue was already diminishing. Again
this had turned out to be different for Lorna, as in the old days you
had to go back downstairs from the gallery for this purpose. In that
era, she told me when we returned to our seats, there had been a wizened
little attendant who nipped around cleaning the bowls, and who was ready
to help with any disasters such as a wardrobe malfunction - luckily
there had never been any occasion for Lorna to call on her assistance.
As we sat down again, it struck me that three out of the four living
generations in our family were present in the theatre. A pity that Mum
wasn't there to complete the sequence - but there was nothing anyone
could have done about that.
The second act went off just as well and the cast received a standing
ovation after the final curtain. Slightly to my surprise, the children
kept up their concentration to the end. It was only as we waited outside
to pick up a taxi and then on the way back to drop off Lorna at the
Mansions that they started to whine a little. Sleepily Olivia laid her
head against Auntie Lorna's comforting presence, and they snuggled
together as we made our way out towards the Hammersmith flyover. It was
a day I hoped the children would remember, first for their introduction
to the "Nutcracker", but also for their outing with an elderly relative
who would be gone before they grew up.
We didn't see much of Lorna over the holiday period. This was partly
because we had too much on with our immediate families, including things
like a school carol concert. My mother invited James and me to spend
Christmas with her, so it was difficult to get away for any length of
time (her home is an hour away from Twickenham). In addition, there were
events at Teddington Mansions where we would have felt interlopers. On
Christmas Eve they held a small do for the residents around the late
afternoon, after they'd been given the chance to recover from their
lunch. Miranda explained that it would be fine if we looked in briefly,
but they didn't normally invite visitors, as it didn't last very long
and was designed to let the staff get away those who wanted to go to bed
early.
Deb and I stayed for only half an hour. We chatted for a time with
Gillian and Kathleen, who whispered conspiratorially to me that Lorna
was the smartest person in the entire home, a whizz at crosswords and
the author of some nice poems (I didn't know that.) All three joined in
a session of bingo which was to finish off the evening. We left them
together as they bent over the table, peering through their spectacles
at their cards. Each was of course elderly but sprightly, with their
grey hair surmounted by a paper hat. Once again it seemed all very
ordinary.
I had decided that it would be appropriate to give Lorna a functional
but nice looking gift for Christmas, nothing too showy of course. I
found out from her carer that she could do with another nightdress, now
that the weather was getting colder - not the time for satin! She also
told me that Lorna was a 14, so I knew that a regular Woman's size would
fit her. In the local department store I found a full length gown in
polyester. It had long sleeves gathered at the wrist, white with a
little blue lace effect round the sweetheart neckline. When I described
it, Millie the carer said it was the sort of thing Lorna might like, but
would be reluctant to buy for herself. I had it gift wrapped as I have
never been the world's greatest packer.
As soon as I handed Lorna her present that afternoon, she opened it, and
seemed pleased when she saw what it was. After a few muttered thanks
she didn't say any more, but Millie told me later that she was wearing
it regularly, I had not forgotten the devoted attention that she was
getting from her carers, and gave them (the night nurse included) small
gifts I hope they'd find acceptable. Milly, who has the effusive
personality that a lot of people with Jamaican roots seem to have, flung
her arms around me in a big hug, almost as if I had presented her with
an Oscar or something. I didn't thjnk it was right to give anything to
Miranda, who had always maintained a slightly formal professional tone
with me - she still addressed me as Ms Dent, though I had invited her to
call me Judith.
New Year's Eve passed quietly at the Mansions, as few residents had the
stamina to stay up to midnight or the capacity for more than a small
drink. Around six o'clock a few people came in with us to wish their
relatives well - they were mostly daughters and a couple of sons, with a
sprinkling of grandchildren. Charlie and Olivia were too young and
boisterous to be suitable visitors, so Deb and I went by ourselves. As
it transpired, Lorna did not feel a hundred per cent and since a lady
down the corridor was showing mild symptoms of flu, everyone agreed it
was best to leave the residents in peace. It was Milly's day off, so I
didn't have the chance to thank her for the care she was still giving.
Later we found out that Lorna had suffered little more than a sniffle -
"nothing to write home about," as she put it. This expression wouldn't
mean much to youngsters today, and it served as further reminder that
she came from a time that already seemed prehistory to many people.
In any case, we had bigger plans on the horizon as the new year began.
On 22 February it would be Lorna's eightieth birthday. We could not let
the occasion pass without any recognition, even if it would only be
within the small cloistered community in Twickenham.
The Party
The first thing to do was to get in touch with Miranda's assistant, Lynn
Callaghan, whose duties included organising social activities at the
Mansions. She proved efficient and was able to book in the party on
Lorna's birthday. On top of that she made the practical arrangements,
getting in touch with a local catering firm for the spread (for which we
paid, of course). All residents would be invited along with the staff on
duty, but not relatives. She would handle the preparations. We told her
that we wanted to keep the occasion as informal as possible. On our side
there would be just Deb, Jeff and their kids, James and me.
In the middle of January, before the arrangements were complete, Deb and
I went down to spend a day with our mother. We went into Reading for a
little shopping and then had a nice meal in a country pub. When we got
back to her home, we finally broached the subject we had been keeping
silent about for months - our discovery of Lorna. Knowing that she was
likely to get upset by our delayed news, we handled it as gently as
possible. The revelation went better than I'd expected. Mum chided us a
little for keeping it to ourselves for so long, but didn't blame us for
our desire to contact Lorna once Deb had come across the story on the
web. She seemed calm, but we knew her well enough to realise that things
were going on inside her while she talked. In due course she said that
she wanted to process what we had told her, but she had no desire to
attend the party or to have anything to do with Lorna, certainly not to
reconcile with her after what she had done to our grandmother Elaine. If
we wanted to, she understood, and that was our business. She would
prefer to break the news to Kirstie herself, a natural decision as they
had been close all their lives. We had to leave it like that, and went
home shortly afterwards.
Th next week I was too busy at work to visit the Mansions, so Deb went
instead. Something we didn't know till now was that Lorna had put some
money into a small printing firm after she moved to Kingston. She knew
nothing about the business but was welcome as a sleeping partner. The
company expanded with the growth of modern computerized technologies for
colours. The value of her investment had gone up and she drew enough
income to pay for most of her living expenses.
After some resistance on her part, we persuaded Lorna that she needed to
have something new to wear for the celebration. She absolutely refused
to let us get her any jewellery, insisting that she was happiest with
longtime favourites, that is a pendant Jenny had given her and some
sapphire drop earrings. We arranged for the hairdresser who came in once
a month to the Mansions for about six ladies to style her best wig, to
give her a full make up, and also to do her nails. Lorna didn't offer
any objection, though I had never seen her use more than a dab of rouge
and a pale pink lipstick. About ten days before her birthday we set up a
visit to the shops to buy her outfit.
We drove the short distance to the John Lewis store at Brent Cross
shopping centre. I had been there a few times, so I knew where to find
the lifts and the women's wear section on Floor 2. Within a few minutes
Lorna had found a couple of dresses she thought would suit her and match
the occasion. We took them into the changing rooms and I helped her take
off her blouse and trousers to try them on. The first one proved to go
better with her colouring and hair. It was a simple sheath really, with
sleeves to just above the elbow, mid calf length, in cerise with
embroidery around the bust and hem. The scoop neckline helped to draw
attention away from her relatively broad shoulders. (I think it would
have been called a day dress in Lorna's youth.) It was obvious when she
wrinkled her nose when she saw herself in the other dress that she much
preferred the first one.
I didn't pay much attention to her appearance when she undressed.
Obviously her body no longer resembled the svelte outline that I had
seen in the publicity shots at the time of her transition, now almost
fifty years before. It wasn't possible to conceal the fact that her
breasts sagged a little, her waist was thicker and her rear end had
spread. But that was what we all came to ultimately - it gave me a
glimpse of what I might look like myself when I reached Lorna's age.
Next we looked in the shoe section, which is on the same floor, but
couldn't find anything suitable there. Like most of us, Lorna is quite
choosy about her shoes. However, I knew that there were several other
footwear paces in the mall. It was not much of a walk to Carvela, and
after trying on three pairs Lorna chose a silver strappy design with two
inch heels, which she would be able to manage at the party - it would
only be for two or three hours, mostly sitting, and ("if I live long
enough", as she added) she would get some further use for them at
occasional events in the Mansions. Against some mild protests, I
insisted on buying her a black silk evening bag to complete her outfit -
she said it was her first new handbag in at least six years. Before we
left the mall, we had a quick snack at Caffe Nero, mainly to allow Lorna
to rest her legs before we headed back to the car.
Finally the big day arrived. Our plans went off pretty well without a
hitch. The party was due to run from five until seven. Deb and I arrived
just before four o'clock - Jeff was bringing James and the children a
little later. The hairdresser had already done her work, giving Lorna's
wig of silvery grey some gentle waves at the crown and adding a fresh
coat to her nails. Best of all was the facial makeover, with a subtle
deep red blusher to define her cheeks, and a soft brown liner to bring
out her eyes. Next we helped her into her dress, calming her anxiety
that without a waist slip the line would not hang quite right - a
legacy, we supposed, of a time when you wore a slip with everything. The
finishing touch was a spray of her favourite Miss Dior.
When the time came, she gave a quick look in the mirror and pronounced
herself ready for the fray. Understandably nerves had started to act up
a little. She reached for her handbag and picked up her cane. We helped
her down the corridor to the lounge, her new heels clicking on the
parquet flooring. When she entered the room there was no cry of
"Surprise!", which would have been pointless. Instead the guests all
started to applaud and call out birthday wishes.
The room had been decorated with balloons and party favours. At the head
of a long table we could see the cake, with icing of pink and Olivia's
much loved purple. A place of honour was reserved near some easy chairs
alongside the table. After we all sat down, both members of the staff
and fellow residents came up to congratulate Lorna both on her reaching
the big 8 and also complimenting her on her appearance. She did look
lovely, her pretty dress set off by the smart accessories. I doubt if
there was a more attractive eighty year-old anywhere in the country that
day! Her friend Kathleen kissed her on the cheek and said, "My, what a
bobby dazzler," while a cheeky member of the catering firm pretended to
blow a wolf whistle. One of the younger residents patted her on the arm
as she passed us and called out, "Go for it, Lady L!" In due course the
champaign was opened to a big cheer.
At 5.30 Miranda rattled her glass to get everyone's attention. First she
presented the guest of honour with a beautiful bouquet of red and pink
roses. Then she made a very brief but suitable speech, paying tribute to
Lorna's involvement in the life of the Mansions and her kind attitude
towards everyone (many claps and hear hears). Then she asked us to drink
to the health of the birthday girl, and no second invitation was needed.
Lorna was led up to the cake and asked to blow out the eight candles,
which she did in two puffs. At that, a pianist in the corner I'd not
noticed - it turned out to be Kathleen - struck a chord and the
assembled "choir" launched into the strains of Happy Birthday. After
this came a warm round of applause. Lorna, visibly moved, took off her
glasses and dabbed her eyes with a tissue from her new handbag. To be
honest, I felt quite teary as well.
That was the climax of the evening. Another pianist took over to
accompany some songs well loved by people of the older generation. Lorna
made a show of joining in the choruses, though she admitted she was not
much of a singer. Kathleen came over with Gillian to make up a small
family party. The children behaved very well most of the time,
considering they were the only young people there, and when they began
to get fractious Jeff led them away to distract them with some board
games kept in the lounge.
We left promptly at seven, as Lorna gave us a grateful good bye. The
night carer would see that she got to bed safely. The last thing I
remember is Olivia holding on to her tightly, still in a state of wonder
that anyone could live to such an immense age. Privately I felt wonder
that she could have endured so much, and also survived into a time when
she would not have been such a freak and could have lived a more normal
life.
Epilogue
For a long period we continued to visit Lorna regularly. We also took
her out for the day with trips to Kew Gardens and Marble Hill which
weren't too far afield. Gradually her mobility problems increased, and
she had to begin using a wheelchair. On the next two birthdays we had a
party at Teddington Mansions, though on a smaller scale than the first
occasion. Sadly in 2003 came the onset of dementia, which gradually
robbed her of all memories, good and bad. She had to go into special
care, and the brief window was over during which Deb and I were able to
communicate with her for the first time in our entire lives.
Eventually she died, two months after her eighty-seventh birthday. She
had earlier left instructions that the funeral was to be private with no
frills, and we honoured her wishes. James, Deb, Jeff and I made up half
of those attending the short ceremony at the crematorium. Luckily nobody
in the media got to know of the event, though by this time there were
quite a few more stories about her on the internet. We scattered her
ashes in a favourite place that she did not want us to reveal.
I'm sorry to have to say that my mum also passed away, some years ago,
never having reconciled herself to what had happened. But Deb's
children, who are now grown up, have fond recollections of the times
they met their kind Aunt Lorna. Recently Olivia said that she really
admired her as one of the positive role models she had to follow. And I
too feel privileged to have got to know her, too little and too late as
it may have been. I am proud to think that I finally saw something of
the exceptional woman who turned out to be the grandmother I had never
met.
Lorna