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Memoir of Aunties Daphne and Phyllis: The memoir below is by Pamela Maclennan whose family was friendly with Daphne Bridgeman Jerrold in the 1950's. They called her Auntie Daphne, although they were not related. Pamela says, it was a courtesy title in those days - anybody older was called an 'auntie'. "In Spring 1955, when I was six years old and lived in Birmingham, my parents went abroad on holiday after putting in a bid at auction for 'The Pump House' in Bishopton, Stratford-on-Avon. On their return they found they had been successful and had bought the house, five acres of orchard, a pond, an avenue of lime trees, a stable block, pig sties, a cottage in the back yard and also 'Auntie Daphne’s' house, all for the princely sum of £5000 which, I suppose, was a lot of money then. So we moved from a big old Victorian five-bedroom semi to 'The Pump House'. It was a huge playground for us children. I was the oldest of four and had three brothers. We were all spaced at about fifteen months apart, so were almost of the same age. I wanted to stay at school in Birmingham so I caught two buses every day, starting after a half mile walk at 7.30am and returning to the Bishopton crossroads for another half mile walk at 5.30 p.m. which was a long day for a seven-year-old and not something anyone now would think okay but, then, things were different. Auntie Daphne and Uncle Reggie had four boys, the eldest of whom had left home by the time we arrived. Jeremy farmed sheep as far as I remember in Wales. Crispin was something to do with china clay down in Cornwall. Only Benedict and Anthony remained at home. Benny worked with mechanics ,or agricultural machinery as far as I remember and always seemed to be covered in oil. Anthony was something to do with insurance in Stratford. At the time I thought Benny was the 'bees knees'. He sometimes passed me on the way home as I wandered along and would give me a crossbar ride over the railway bridge. This was a small humpback bridge but seemed immensely steep to me, when I was small. I remember being amazed that he could cycle up it, let alone bring me up as well. Auntie Daphne was a vegetarian. I’m not sure about the rest of the family but I imagine they all were, except Purdita her tortoishell cat who got horse meat from the local knackers and made great chewy noises eating it. (I used to feed her when everyone was away as I could squeeze through the bars of a small window at the top of the cellar stairs). Auntie Daphne had a vegetable garden and she seemed to grow everything. It was on the other side of the drive and at the bottom was a row of bee hives. When my father bought the house, it also included Auntie Daphne's house. The rent for this was a big tin of honey once a year - more of a bartering system then. Auntie Daphne was our first port of call if anything went wrong. My parents were quite social creatures and their idea of a babysitter was the house next door but one! Times have changed! Auntie Dahne’s house was covered in a painty smell, I presume of linseed, upstairs. (I’m not sure if Uncle Reg painted. I know he was something to do with scenery at the Stratford Memorial Theatre - as it was then.) You came through the front door, where the walls had all been hand painted with sort of ferns, and the stairs went up in front. To the left was the dining room, which joined on to a sitting room, both huge (to me). The dining room had a big round dark table with a border round it of carved wood, a huge window looking down over the grass with a small downward dip and a long herbaceous border. This marked the boundary between their house and the one attached to it, both built as accommodation for people to take the waters at the pump house. The sitting room window faced the road and their driveway. To one side was a big fig tree which was swathed with nets in the winter. On the left of the stairs was a corridor which led to the kitchen, beside which was the pantry and entrance to the cellar steps where I used to feed Perdy. My memory of the upstairs is more hazy. Uncle Reggy died very suddenly, in London I think. I remember my mother saying his brother looked very like him, so she must have gone to the funeral. After this, Auntie Phyllis came to live there as well. She never married, and I think both of them went to the Slade School of Art. Auntie Daphne did most things in oils. Auntie Phyllis' room was above the sitting room and she had amazing things like papier mache dragons' masks, embroidery of all sorts and beautiful patchwork quilts all in diamonds. I was always stunned. The boys had rooms on the top floor. We moved away to Warwick when I was 11 and didn’t see so much of them. Neither of them drove. They used a bike to get to Stratford which was only 3 miles away. Even we, as children would be sent off either along the old canal bank (it emerged by the old gasworks, now long gone,but what a smell, right onto the main Birmingham/Stratford road just before Henley street) or along the main road. There was not so much traffic then. I still have an oil painting by Auntie Daphne of Begonias and an embroidered picture of Lilies and Nicotiana by Phyllis, both given to my mother, which I have inherited from her, also a small watercolour landscape, and a wonderful embroidered skirt with very Chinese-style dragons by Auntie Phyllis. I remember Hebe coming over to visit, and also visiting her in her wee house in Little Tew where she had a vertical loom because the space was so short. I think almost the last time I met them again was at my mother’s second wedding. They allowed her and Bernard to hold their reception there in about1964/65, after which I went off to University. My mother and stepfather moved to Guernsey two years later and then, unfortunately, lost contact with them. Well that’s the end of my recollections. Odd that my maiden name was Armstrong but I feel that is a coincidence as my father was Glaswegian so probably too far afield to be related." Back to: Family Trees Jerrold pages Links Page Home Page Silent People |