Backwards In High Heels

My Mum, She's a Firestarter!

My great-grandfather William ‘Tatty’ Thompson came back from WWI a hero and settled back in home in Swaledale. He worked as a farmer, interlaced with lead mining. He married, and had two daughters Isa and my grandmother Joan.

This post fast forwards to the 1960s. Tatty was now widowed and lived at the family farm with Joan (my gran), her husband Lesley (my grandad) and their two children David and Sue (my mum).

Sadly, my grandfather Lesley died and Gran was widowed with two teenage children before she was forty. I would like to say that Tatty was a great support through this time and yes he had his moments but I will not be drawn into rose tinted memoirs and admit he could also be a sod of the first degree!. He was charming yet equally awkward.

He adored his grandchildren and Mum & Uncle Dave treat him to no end of practical jokes. There was the time Mum let him eat an oxo cube he’d mistaken for chocolate. Or when they carried him out on his favourite chair as he had one of his famous ‘just resting his eyes’ moments so he woke up an hour later in the front garden. Or the time they drew a smiley face on his bald head (once again during a ‘resting me eyes’) and let him go to the village pub for a darts match. He hated it when they didn’t do such things.

A number of years later my gran remarried and in time moved with her new husband, John to a farm just outside of the village. Now in his seventies Tatty was to go with them but refused. Moving a whole two miles from the village was akin to asking him to emigrate to the otherside of the world. He was remarkably stubborn about this. I had arrived by this time and despite blackmail attempts with me as bait etc he would not budge.

In defiance he bought the most run down caravan and plonked it in a friend’s field. It was a horrible little hovel. Gran was embarrassed, Mum was mad but he would not move. Mum and I moved into the village and had a little shop. Tatty would walk along, warm up in our house but would not be prised from that bloody caravan.

Then one day he came to our shop and had a massive heartache. He was taken to hospital where he stayed for quite a while. And so my mother’s action over diplomacy went into overdrive.

She organised a flat in the old people’s complex in the next door village. It was lovely; each flat had a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. You lived independently but there was help on site if you required and a lovely day room and communal kitchen. It was a short walk from the village centre.

Mum decorated every inch of his flat, furnished it, stocked the kitchen. And then came her moment of real action.

She prewarned the local bobby and farmer (both friends) and went to the caravan. She salvaged personal effects, doused the caravan in petrol and lit it.

The day she picked up Tatty he demanded to be taken home to his caravan. "You can’t" she replied, "I burnt it down and have set you up in a flat."

With this she was condemned as a bitch, a bugger and he would never speak to her again.

For a fortnight she took him homecooked meals to the flat, cleaned up and he sat stony faced until day 15. After discovering he was one of only two men in the complex, and the ladies thought he was there to be spoilt with their endless baking and games of whist, Mum was warmly greeted by a smiling Tatty chirping:

"By it’s grand here, a good idea of mine. I should have come here years ago."

Mum went up in a display to rival the caravan.

William+Thompson, old+age, retirement+home, family, families,

Grandad's First World War Experiences

Earlier I introduced you to my Great-Grandfather, William Thompson who I remember very well – we adored each other.

Lately I decided to look further into his time in the First World War. I knew the basics of the story from my family and that he had won a DCM. I am incredibly sentimental about such things and was incensed that it would appear my less sentimental Uncle had sold it. I do have his Cap badge though:

At the start of the First World War Grandad was just gone 15 and as such too young to sign up so he travelled from North Yorkshire to Staffordshire to sign up for the war after lying about his age, as many youngsters did.

That first night in barracks he was very homesick as the first meal served them was tripe. He detested tripe and suddenly realised how he’d miss his Mother’s cooking!

As for his four years in the trenches I know he quickly rose up the ranks. However, he was never short of an answer for his superiors which invariable got him into bother and he was demoted and promoted more times then people could remember.

Alongside being yo-yo’d in the ranks the common punishment handed out to him was to peel potatoes and a such he was given the nickname ‘Tatty’ (as in the Scot’s word, tattie, for potato) which stuck with him for life!

What I knew about the events leading to his DCM was that he was with a large gun at the front in a difficult situation so he sent his men back and would remain alone with the gun and remaining ammunition to give his men the best chance possible. He was not expected to survive yet reappeared to the amazement of his comrades but even more astounding he had run back with the gun over his shoulder. Being from Yorkshire he wasn’t going to leave a good bit of kit behind and his years of fell running paid off. That is as much as I knew, I did not know timescales or exact dates.

So this year as I surfed around the internet I found the Staffordshire regiment have a museum and I remember the family saying they believed the gun was kept for the museum. I wasn’t expecting to much but fired off an email to the curator with my scant details asking if there was any hope the museum could help me put more body to Tatty’s story. So imagine how I felt when later that afternoon I received this email:

Dear Ms Hobbs

I found the following in the book "Honours and Awards of the South Staffordshire Regiment" Which we sell in our shop.

"42811 Private W. Thompson (Richmond). 4th Battalion The South Staffordshire Regiment. Citation London Gazette 30.10.1918 page 12842. For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty for four day's heavy fighting.

He was one of the Lewis Gun team, and on the first day the remainder of the team became casualties, and all the magazines were lost except the one on the gun. During each withdrawal he stayed behind with his gun, firing and unloading (should be re-loading)) his own magazines himself, until everyone else was clear. On the third day he took forward his gun, and by enfilade fire prevented the enemy for twenty-four hours from concentrating and organising an attack on his battalion. He showed fine courage and determination."

The curator also kindly sent me the following photograph of a Lewis Gun in the museum – we can’t confirm it is the very one but look at the size of it, weighs approx 12kg and he ran back with it after four days fighting alone!

Everytime I read the email I cry, as I do when I think of him faced with tripe for tea! I have never been able to watch War films but have seen The Trench twice and find it so utterly wrenching as I can just picture Grandad amongst it but I suspect it portrays the hell it was very well and suggest if you get the chance, watch it. This is how Grandad spent his teenage years, four years in the heart of war surrounded by fear and death.

I am now looking forward arranging a visit to the Staffordshire Regiment Museum , and what is particularly poignant is they have recreated a World War I trench system.

William+Thompson, DCM, World+War+One, WWI, First+World+War, North+Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Staffordshire+Regiment, South+Staffordshire+Regiment, world+war+one+trench, Lewis+Gun, The+Trench, Staffordshire+Regiment+Museum, tripe, tattie

Meet My Great Grandfather, William Thompson

I am going to write quite a few posts in the coming weeks about my Great Grandfather, William Thompson.

I knew him and remember him very well as he passed away when I was ten. He doted on me and I thought he was the bees knees. I have many fond memories and wicked tales to tell about him as he was a character. Just lately I have been researching more about his time in World War I, during which he won the DCM – that will be a post in itself.

He could be an awkward old sod. I think I inherited my awkward gene from him.

Here is a photo of his wedding day. Even this was something to make the tongues wag. He was 16 years younger than his wife and they went on to have two daughters, the eldest being my Gran.

As a young man after the war he was a farmer and lead miner in the Yorkshire Dales. He met Great-Gran as she holidayed in their village. Her family where marine engineers and based on the north-east coast in Hartlepool.

My granddad was extremely fit and an excellent fell runner (this gene was not passed on!) and one Sunday he once ran to Hartlepool to court her – 35miles!

He was a great dry stone waller and believed as long as you had a spade and a hammer there was nothing you couldn’t mend! I still have his spade and hammer but find they don’t cure computer problems unless you count smashing the damn machines to pieces!

My mum ended her engagement when she fell pregnant (a long story not for here but her choice was very wise at a time when wise was always appreciated) and came home having lived away for college and work.

I was not expected. I only came about because I implanted myself next to a 70’s coil which would have been of more use as a television aerial. On her arrival home and throughout her pregnancy G-Granddad did not speak to her. She was distraught and thought it was some huge judgement on her.

I finally arrived, after a 48hour labour because I don’t like to be rushed, and her first visitor was G-Granddad with a huge bouquet and teddy which totally threw Mum. He was in tears and overjoyed.

The silly old fool had got it into his head that I would be up for adoption (as was often expected then) and he couldn’t bear the thought – that is what the silence had been about to which a confused Mum answered, did he think I was going as some sort of package deal as all the time she had been ‘nesting’ buying in the pram etc. The miscommunication and misunderstanding was immediately forgotten, he was now a Great-Grandfather and fit to burst with excitement of the prospect.

In those days you were only allowed two visitors and visiting times were strictly adhered too. One visitor was permanently G-Granddad. He would get a lift down with whoever was visiting for the morning session, spend the afternoon sat outside with his beloved pipe, before coming back in for the evening session. ‘Come and see the bairn’ he’d say to whoever visited and trotted off the nursery beaming with pride.

I was the immediate apple of his eye. No baby was prettier, brighter or more special. Mum would put me in the pram in the garden, look out of the window and I was gone!

She would ring the post office at the other end of the village "I’d better just check, has my Granddad been past with a pram?" The answer was always yes, he’d push me for miles and miles around the Yorkshire Days, now and then stopping to ask passing visitors and neighbours if they’d seen such a pretty, bright and special bairn before.

Me as a bairn with G-Granddad

And this is the two of us when I was up to toddling

I have his battered old wallet, there was one photo in it - this one of me as wee one, wearing his hat.

Sometimes, even now, I think I can smell the distinctive smell of his tobacco smoke so I’d better make sure these posts are good!

Tech Tags: William+Thompson, DCM, World+War+I, Yorkshire, Yorkshire+Dales, bairn, grandfather, grandad, granddad, great+grandfather, great+grandad, great+granddad, fell+running, dry+stone+wall