Pamela Hilda Barnard, was my mother, Lesley's first cousin. They lived together during school holidays from the time my mother was 11, until she finished school at the age of 17. Pamela's mother, Hilda Frances Marguerite (nee Stopford) Barnard (1875-1937), had a lovely house on a street fronting the beach at 14 Nelson Crescent, Ramsgate in Kent, England . She took in the four oldest (of 7) children of her first cousin, Florence Winifred Barnard and Winifred's husband, George Ernest Beausire Barnard. They included my mother, her older sister, Naomi, and two younger children, Hugh and Joan, when they weren't in boarding school. Hilda was separated from her husband, Arthur Alison Barnard, who lived in St. Lucia in the (then British) West Indies, as did Winifred and her husband, George. George and Arthur were brothers, so the children were related quite closely. The house was large and there were servants to help. All the children adored Hilda. My mother particularly enjoyed it when Hilda read aloud to them, while the children lay on the floor to listen (all 5 of them). Hilda died age 62 after a struggle with cancer, first in her facial bones and then later stomach cancer. My mother did not visit her when she was dying. She was very involved in her new relationship with my father, I believe, but it was something that caused her much regret later. One of the other children didn't visit either, and Hilda's comment was "the pigs" repeated to my mother later. Two years after her mother's death Pamela was in the Census in 1939, living in Bourne Cottage, Bridge Bean, Kent with a woman her mother's age (Sarah Francis) and a gardener. For occupation she listed 'private means'
Pamela was 18 months older than my mother. She was born May 20, 1907. She never married and I know little of her life, or the reasons she remained single. She was a wonderful letter writer and corresponded with both my mother and I, and I saved many of those letters. She lived in London and I got to know her a little as a teenager. I went up to London on the train by myself as a 15 year old and knocked at her door, unexpectedly. She was home and that first time she took me for a ride on the London buses and told me various details of London history. She knew so much and trying to absorb the information was a bit exhausting. She took me out to lunch and later to afternoon tea and after that first visit she invited me to go again. The second time we went to the theater. First to a matinee production of Noel Coward's "London Morning" a modern ballet and then in the evening to a musical "Suzie Wong", which was very popular at that time. I got home very late and my mother was awake, furious and worried as the last buses had stopped running and I had to walk home. Pamela didn't invite me into her flat (apartment) either of those times, but would come down when I knocked at the door. She was living at 16 Welbeck Street in those days. I stopped going after that, as we moved to a new town and I began work and didn't get much time. Three years later my mother and I emigrated to Canada and, sadly, I was not able to see her again..
She was an interesting woman, very well read and interested in books, travel and theater, which she would discuss in her letters: plays she'd seen, books she'd read, interesting shops, her visits to Oberammagau and Spain. She enclosed newspaper cuttings of interest, mostly about family history. I will quote from some of her letters, especially those about the family. Anything in brackets are my comments. The first are letters to my mother. She often bemoaned the fact that my mother was so far away (California) as she felt more connected to her than the other family members, due to their common interests:
The first letter mentions my mother's maternal Uncles, William and Charles Hendy and Charles' daughter, Kay Easton who lived in British Columbia. When I was about ten years old I found Kay's address in my Great Aunt, Mildred Hendy's possessions after she died. I wrote to Kay and she wrote back, a correspondence that continued for many years.
November 8, 1973 "Please can you give me the address of Kay Easton and then I can send her a copy of the family tree. I have some letters of Willie's and some Christmas cards Charlie and Willie (Hendy) sent my mother for Christmas that she might like to have. I am very sorry but I know nothing about the brothers, Charles and William, except that the latter had a job in Liverpool for a time and had my mother to stay for a short time on her return from a trip to the West Indies. She was ill and never forgot how kind he was to her, giving her light, dainty meals etc. You say she (Kay) wonders where her parents lived before they emigrated Well, he married after he reached Canada - presumably a Canadian girl. I advise her to look up their certificate of marriage and death in the Canadian equivalent of our Somerset House. This will tell her where they were living when they married, details about the parents, etc.... William died young of TB.
You can do something for me Lesley ! You know the date on which your grandparents were born - died or married ! It would help me to find out more about them."
A letter dated January 27, 1975 mentioning various family members:
"You say you sometimes feel out of touch, but the truth is, now Susan and Anthony are in Canada, Rosemary in Spain, Richard in Belgium, there are only 3 old ladies left. (My mother and I were both in California).
1. Naomi - pottering about in her garden (Naomi had a gorgeous garden)
2. Me - pottering about with my books. Ex libris etc.
3. Joan, knitting !! (Joan made gorgeous sweaters, and was an incredibly speedy knitter~!)
Of course, we still have Jan and Charlie but they are married with small children and lead quite dull lives. Both Naomi's sons are good looking. Very tall - Jan with a long narrow face and hair very slightly grey at the temples, is most aristocratic. Charles utterly unlike the Hendy's darkness or Barnards, has a round enchanting face and is so good tempered. If anyone says anything rude to him he just laughs ! The Barnards would sulk or take offense. (His son) Jason is a dear little boy with a wonderful imagination - talking to his teddy as though it was alive and answering for his teddy in a rather high, affected voice. Jan and Stephanie have a very pretty house. Have you met Stephanie? She is really quiet and placid, which is good for Jan who has the Hendy nerves, although we are finding out she is not really as unruffled as she appears."
A letter dated November 26, 1977:
"You asked about your grandfather, Samuel. He died in 1912. He married Isabella Parker, descended from the Admiral Hyde Parker. He was a dashing old Admiral and had a high old time with the West Indian girls when he was stationed there and I'm afraid didn't marry our ancestress ! Grandfather Samuel was a merchant, importing goods from England and and also had an arrangement recoaling steamers - if that's the right word. You remember pictures of women with baskets of coal on their heads going up gangplanks....They say his father was a schoolmaster in Antigua. Samuel was a very good, honest old man. My father (Arthur) was immensely proud because, when interviewing someone in the City of London, they said "Oh, if you are a son of old Mr. Barnard of St. Lucia that is good enough - we will not need any other references." He was a member of the Church of England. Very Protestant and low church. He amused my mother when she stayed out there because he spent his Sundays sitting on the verandah on a rocking chair reading books against R. Catholic's, pointing out the dangers etc. He would have had a fit at any of his descendants becoming R.C.'s!! He was always having law cases - very touchy - and used to sue people for absolutely nothing and must have wasted a lot of money. He had a mania for buying land and wanted his descendants to keep it and not sell. I expect you remember the house he built. It's a shame it has now been pulled down. I have some photos of him and granny when they were young and I'll send you copies (comment -she forgot). Also one of his taken as a dear old man. Granny B was a dreadful woman. Ignorant and bad tempered. He must have had a hell of a life. She was always beautifully dressed and turned out. Never a hair out of place. But you remember her as well as I. I have a sweet photo of you, Naomi and myself when babies. You are on her lap in a long robe.
As of course you know, Grandfather and Granny B had 6 sons and only one daughter and he used to annoy his sons when they were small by saying
What are little boys made of ?
Slugs and snails and puppy dog tails
That's what little boys are made of
Sugar and Spice and all things nice -
That's what little girls are made of !!
I have a silver bracelet I wore as a child that he ordered from Paris for his small daughter. You will gather from all this I really know little about Samuel, only little bits I heard here and there."
Pamela lived at 16 Welbeck Street for many years. She had a hip operation in 1986, which was quite successful. She wrote the details of that to my mother, at my request, since my mother was in a wheelchair with arthritis. Prior to the operation Pamela was literally crawling about her flat. In 1989 she moved to 70 Marylebone High Street in London. This letter to me was written shortly after moving into the Marylebone flat, when she was 84. Four years later she lost a great deal of money in the Barrons Bank financial disaster, due to the rogue trader, Nick Leeson. Like some others in the family, she was secretive about her private matters. Her letters were always happy and upbeat - no mention of stresses !.
When I was a child in England she would often send me special gifts if I answered her letters with details of my current interests. A guitar brooch when I mentioned that I liked certain music, some ivory chopsticks and an Asian spoon when I told her of a Chinese restaurant I liked. She was the one who began my interest in family history, when I mentioned something about that, even sending me a huge sheet of paper with the family tree written out, all with her beautiful penmanship. I still have that.
Another letter January 3rd - no year but likely in the mid 1970's.
"Do you remember we had quite a library each in the Ramsgate days. You had Masefield's poems and liked Reynard the Fox and we read Rupert Brooke."
November 1991:
"Dear Elizabeth : As you were interested in this 'odd' place I thought you might like to know something about the weird people who live in it. It's divided into 5 flats - the top empty after the hurried departure of an Arab, Farhadi Roushan, who got into 'difficulties' and had his furniture sold to pay his debts. He sublet among other things. During the removal his things got stuck. He made a flying leap outside the van from end to end - disappeared inside and put everything to rights, and emerged to find his mother shaking her finger at him and scolding. He shouted back and waved his arms about. All this watched by the English removal men, large and kind hearted and moving in absolute silence ! Eventually they all got in, with the furniture, the van gave a little shake, as well it might and the whole lot disappeared into the distance.
The next flat belongs to Samantha and Peter. Just before adopting a baby they got married. One morning a hired car drew up and waited about half an hour while the driver read a newspaper. Presently he got out and tied white ribbons on the car. Samantha and her bridesmaid appeared and stood outside the house. She in a large straw hat, her friend in what looked like a knitted wool tea cosy. She clasped a bunch of funereal white lilies. Not a photographer in sight. So what they waited for goodness knows.
He (bridegroom) was so proud at being married and having a baby like everyone else. He kept bringing it into the conversation, my wife thinks this, my wife says this, etc. He can never make up his mind whether to have a beard or not, and the result is all shaggy and untidy. Rather like a teddy bear. Very sweet, all smiles and you want to hug him. He adores the baby and carries her while Samantha pushes an empty pram looking rather grim. She is into 'women's lib' and she calls herself by the name she had before marriage. No Mrs. for her, thank you very much. The poor baby never has a moment's peace as they try out all the most modern ideas regarding the bringing up of children.
We now come to the mystery of the house, Miss Haversham - her real name is Fenton but I call her Haversham after the character in Dickens' Great Expectations who when her bridegroom failed to turn up at the church, where they had arranged to get married, returned home and never went outside the house again, but stayed in her room while her wedding dress became tatters and mice made nests in the wedding cake. Miss Fenton has relays of nurse attendants etc. to look after her. When I just came here I asked what was wrong with her - but could never find out. Except that she has arthritis, but personally I think she has had a slight stroke. It was when I asked our landlord and he started to look vague and gaze into the distance that I realized I was beaten, or beat, as the jockeys would say. I stopped trying to do good in that direction and gave it up as a bad job.
We now come to Mrs. Corman who never, never, never, NEVER stops smoking. Her bedclothes will probably catch alight from a smoldering cigarette during the night and we shall all go up in flames. We are now on the ground floor and my two tiny rooms, very old maidish and tidy as you can imagine. I am lucky enough to have a built in bookcase which takes over 100 books, but still they overflow everywhere although I am always sorting them out and getting rid of quite a lot. On my mantlepiece I have a tall green vase and matching scent bottle, a white dingy Spanish dog, a blue tankard clock-vase with flowers painted on it and a round photo which is unusual . Most of these things are antique and valuable but no-one coming in guesses this. The carpet is green, the walls pale grey. There is a table with two silver candlesticks with green candles.
I must not forget the basement which the landlord said was used for storage. I returned to 16 Welbeck Street and suddenly woke up in the middle of the night with a sinking heart wondering how I could be so silly as to agree to going to live in such a (crazy?) house and imagining all sorts of horrors, - old rag and bone men coming in the middle of the night with sacks of rubbish, etc., but I need not have worried as the 'storage' consists of a neatly packed brown paper box, occasionally left here by Mr. Pain, who is very well groomed and dressed, beautifully made brown leather shoes, etc. He hardly ever comes here and was most kind and helpful when I moved in. Really charming.
I am enclosing a photo of an old Turkish lady who is very like Roushan's mother, except that she was tall and straight and would be more likely to hit you over the head with her stick than lean on it and would certainly never depend on anyone else. But with her beads, flowing robes, head scarf she looked as foreign. She had just come from Central Asia. I must stop all this and go to the post and do some shopping.
Much love, Pamela"
Pamela died in June 1997 at the age of 90, just after her May birthday. Rather a sad ending for such a nice person. She climbed on her bed to adjust the curtains and fell, breaking her hip. She lay for 2 or 3 days (I believe 3) until one of the neighbors noticed her mail and milk bottles piling up. By the time she was found she was dehydrated, desperately cold and had developed pneumonia. One of the other tenants had my cousin Rosemary's phone number but Rosemary was out of the country and couldn't be contacted. Pamela died alone.
In spite of her large loss at Barron's Bank she left quite a nice size estate and many antiques. Prior to the Barron's Bank disaster she had most of the contents from her mother's house in a storage facility, but after losing a great deal of her income it's believed she disposed of most of it. About that time she asked my cousin, Rosemary, if she'd like to choose a piece of Victorian furniture. They went to look together and Rosemary chose a nice chair. A few months later Rosemary asked if she could choose something else, but Pamela became very annoyed, though she didn't explain why. Presumably by then everything was gone and she didn't want to tell her.
The heirs, which included my mother, were allowed to purchase from the inventory of her estate and my mother allowed me to choose a number of items. I thought these would be shipped to me, but unfortunately the items were delivered to my brother, Richard and his wife, Sandra, and I didn't receive most of them. Richard's son, Patrick, brought me a few of the smaller items but the others 'disappeared' when my brother and Sandra divorced. The divorce was a very rancorous affair and both denied having my purchases.
Richard had also promised to give me some of Pamela's sketches/water colors, as she was a talented artist, but I never received those either ! I had wanted them for sentimental reasons. Pamela and I had been fairly close despite the differences in our ages, and later the distance between us. She took a great interest in my children and often requested photos of them.
Pamela was related to Admirals on both the maternal and paternal sides of her family. Illegitimately through the Barnard side (Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, 5th Baronet) and legitimately through her mother, Hilda Marguerite nee Stopford.(Admiral Robert Fanshawe Stopford and his 2 sons, Admiral Robert Fanshawe Stopford and Vice Admiral James John Stopford).
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Info from Pamela Charlotte Neate, my (the writer's) great2 grandmother, lived in a
tiny village - Froxfield with her daughter, Mary Anne Godfrey.
They're both buried in the churchyard there. She met William Hendy, who
was Welsh, while on holiday in Bath.
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Pamela in a cloche hat, in her mid 20's. Cloche hats were popular for some years, until 1934. A stylish young lady, but when I knew her in her 50's she was very plainly dressed.
