Gladys Thirlaway (née Rossiter)
GLADYS THIRLAWAY nee ROSSITER MY MAM
Mrs Gladys Thirlaway was born Gladys Rossiter in West Cornforth on Friday 13th February 1914. I am not sure if the birth was straightforward or complicated but I do know that one of the ladies who attended my Grandma Bella made the following remark when the newborn Gladys coughed up a cup of blood “Bella you’ll have to get that bairn christened quickly, she’s not long for this world!” How wrong could she be! Gladys became part of a large family (not for those days) comprising elder sister Jenny (Jane), elder brother Freddie and in due course younger sister Beatie (Beatrice) and younger brother Tommy (Thomas).
Life was hard in those days (not just a cliché) but the family was built on a firm foundation of Methodist Christianity as preached by the Ministers of the New Connexion, Ryhope Street Chapel. Hard work and the value of education were held to be cardinal virtues and all of the children were regular attenders of the Public Elementary School. Diligence and good behaviour were the order of the day enforced by a reputedly somewhat tyrannical headmaster, a certain Mr Summerbell.
After leaving school aged 14, employment opportunities for young ladies were rather limited in the colliery villages of County Durham but the situation was probably typical of the whole area. Employment for girls was to be found in the retail sector (local shops) or in the houses of the well-to –do as a servant. It was as a servant that the young Gladys eventually found employment. The problem was that the south Durham Coalfield was not awash with middle class households eager to employ servants and so to gain work Gladys had to move away to the genteel spa town of Harrogate in North Yorkshire. Her time there working in an “upstairs, downstairs” environment left a lasting impression upon the young Gladys. I’m sure that her fastidious insistence upon good manners and in particular correct table manners stemmed from this part of her life. I also suspect that her love of cooking and baking, if not initiated at this time, was certainly reinforced by her time in service or “at place” as she always referred to it.
I think some of Gladys favourite recipes may have been learned in Harrogate and as a child I always loved the cheesecake that she made with sour milk and currants. Years later I tasted poor imitations in various establishments and noted that they were called Yorkshire Curd Cake. To this day I find it a little galling to think that one of my favourite homemade delicacies had its origins in that large county on Durham’s southern boundary – but there you go.
I know that Gladys’s time in Harrogate left a great impression upon her and she always spoke with great affection of this elegant town and in particular of the beautiful open parkland area known as THE STRAY. She would often say “you know it’s just like being at the seaside except there’s no sea”. When we acquired a car in the early 60’s Gladys made sure that Harrogate was top of the list of places to visit. My dad took her on her own without the family and I think it must have been a very emotive experience for her.
I don’t think all of the young Gladys’s time was spent away in Yorkshire but her visits home were full of joy as she came from a close knit family. She was often teased her about her good looks by her older brother Freddie.” Freddie used to call me, the flirt” she told me on one occasion her eyes twinkling and a smile on her lips as if she remembered the joke from yesterday.
Her life was not without sorrow and tragedy struck unexpectedly on Monday 28th January 1929. Gladys was to visit her beloved brother Freddie who worked as a bus conductor on the Spennymoor to Stockton run for Wilkinson’s, to take him his “bait” (One of her regular tasks). He had been standing on the rear step checking for late arrivals when his head was struck by a red cast iron traffic sign and he was killed instantly. Anyone who has lost a child or sibling will know the impact this incident had on the family. As a child, visiting Grandma Bella’s home forty years later, I couldn’t help but notice Freddie’s photograph in pride of place displayed in a huge black oval frame. I am almost certain that what saw Gladys and the Rossiter family through this tragedy was their strong Christian faith and their regular attendance at Chapel where Gladys became a valued member of the congregation and was presented with a Bible on November 21st 1937.
1937 was a momentous year for the Rossiter family and for Gladys in particular. There was the coronation of George VI and Sunderland AFC beat Preston North End 3-1 at Wembley to bring the F.A.Cup to County Durham for the first time. More importantly Gladys met and married my dad, William Laverick Thirlaway and settled down to life as a coal miner’s wife. I’m sure it was a love match as I remember being told that my dad had told his best friend Dickie Blackwell “that’s the girl I’m going to marry” upon setting eyes on her even though she was walking out with someone else at the time (Tommy Cowans).
The newly weds set up home in Balaclava Street and on 27th August 1939 just a week before the Second World War was declared , my brother Lawrence was born. This was at 14 Mechanic Street the home of Grandma Bella. No midwife was called when you have a mother like Isabella Rossiter. The young family made it through the war years, dad employed at Thrislington Colliery and doing his bit in the Home Guard under the command of the redoubtable Colonel Rickison.
One incident in particular shows the strength of character of Gladys (reputedly 5 feet tall.)It involved a coal shovel. The lady living next door had purloined Gladys’s new shovel and had painted it pink to pass it off as her own but Gladys was undaunted and drew herself up to her full height and ….”Now Mrs B……., you know very well that’s my shovel and you painting it pink doesn’t make a scrap of difference”. Needless to say the shovel was returned and the families remained friends until the street was demolished and the families housed elsewhere in the village.
Sunday 7th March 1948 – what a day. I came into this world at 20 Balaclava Street, not perfectly however as I had a large bump on my neck but it was soon sorted. Incidentally the weather was so cold in April of 1948 that the snow was too deep to get me safely to Chapel so instead the Minister came to us and I was christened at home.
1953 brought a new era with the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II and the family moved to 16 Maple Grove, a modern pre-fab bungalow with a fridge! Gladys thought the house was cold but the children were spoiled with home-made lollipops on hot summer days. One of my abiding memories of Coronation Day was the street party with races, party food and a fancy dress competition. Gladys was dressed as a gypsy and looked beautiful. The judges thought so to and she won a rolling pin. After leaving the pre-fabs it wasn’t until thelate1960s that we acquired our next fridge, bought from the factory in Spennymoor.
The 50’s, 60’s and 70’s rolled by and saw my brother and I settled in our chosen careers. I’m sure that Gladys’s high expectations subtly disguised with “a just do your best son” propelled us along the road to becoming worthwhile citizens … well almost.
During this period Gladys religious affiliation shifted. When the New Connexions Chapel closed in the late 50’s she became a member of The Salvation Army. Lawrence and I both attended Sunday School and Lawrence went on to become a member of the band and he and his wife Edna are currently mainstays of the current corps of West Cornforth Citadel. The Army became a wonderful format for Gladys to practice her form of Christianity and she became an extremely positive member of the corps. She enjoyed their “up and at’em” brand of worship, their meetings and raising money for good causes. Well into her 70’s she was still collecting door-to-door in Cornforth and in the surrounding villages. Her appetite for work was prodigious. Along with her good friend Mrs Violet Ward she spent endless hours baking cakes and other delicacies for Salvation Army Fairs. The Army also provided wonderful opportunities for fun with many a Home League meetings and trips away.
I am sure it was this positive faith and commitment which helped Gladys deal with the second great tragedy of her life – the death of her husband William (Billy) on 20th February 1981. She was heartbroken but didn’t wallow in self-pity; she picked herself up and got down to doing things for others. Like other ladies of her age and indeed like I do, she took great pleasure in the company of her children and grandchildren. She always praised their achievements and overlooked their transgressions as only a favourite Grandma can! I recall one incident as our girls were dressing to go nightclubbing in all their finery. She was in their room discussing shoes, earrings, make- up etc. and if only she could have gone with them she would have been off in a flash.
At the age of 73 she entered a new phase in her life. Arthur, a Rossiter cousin from Pennsylvania visited and this led to a lasting friendship between Gladys, and Nanci who is Arthur’s daughter-in-law. They became such good friends that she was invited to Tidioute in Pennsylvania to stay with them. Thank goodness for Lawrence. He organised everything and at the age of 73 Gladys Rossiter (a little bit like Paddington Bear) flew off to Toronto on her own. Once there she was met by Nanci and Bill and shown the wonderful sights before being whisked off to the backwoods splendour of Tidioute. She adored being there, sitting in the outdoor hot tub in her newly bought swimming costume and riding with Bill on an evening when they would shine spotlights on the herds of wild deer and the occasional black bear. Nanci had been a librarian in her local school that catered for all ages and once introduced the children soon learned to love Aunt Gladys from England. Many continued to write to Gladys constantly asking when she would be returning.
She did get to return in 1994 and this time Nanci took her for the holiday of a lifetime. They flew from Pittsburgh out to Los Angeles and travelled back towards Pittsburgh on the Amtrack Railroad (a la Billy Connolly). Along the way she visited Disneyland California, the Universal Film Studios and Las Vegas and yes, she did find her way to San Jose! She brought back some little plastic money tubs from Vegas and admitted to having a go on the bandits but made us promise not to tell the Army Captain. Our whole family are so glad that Mam got to make those trips because as she moved into her late eighties her health began to fail. Nanci proved to be such a wonderful person that she came over for two weeks just to be with Gladys – not for a holiday but just to help her.
Gladys kept going in her bungalow as long as possible, ably supported by my brother Lawrence and his wife Edna with the rest of the family filling in around the edges. Eventually as dementia took an even stronger grip she went into a care home in Fishburn and then into Tenlands in Ferryhill. It was a bitter sweet time for us all as we rallied around to make sure that she had at least one visitor every day.
Even with her memory shot to ribbons, I felt she was unconsciously helping us to do “collateral good” because while we talked to her we got to talk to other people who may not have been visited that day. Some were total strangers but others were Gladys’ friends from the village – Mrs Kadja (Minnie Lowther) and Mrs Dunnett who lived next door to us when we lived at 2 The Oval. On one occasion, much to my surprise, she fished out of her handbag and gave me an old photograph of me, aged eleven complete with my Diana 15 air rifle. Even towards the end of her life Gladys was spreading her magic -helping us to bring cheer to others almost by accident.
My favourite memory is of the day I spent with her, my eldest daughter Catherine, her son Matthew and her daughter Grace. It is a particularly poignant memory as shortly afterwards on February 23rd 2008 my mam died holding Catherine’s hand, while we attempted to travel back from South Africa where we had been visiting Joanne my youngest daughter’s in-laws. It was almost as if my mam had passed on her strength and wisdom to Catherine and in a tragic twist of fate how she needed it as her own son, my grandson, Matthew died aged 11 on Friday4th November 2011.I like to think that they are both together enjoying eternal peace and joy – “Promoted to Glory” to use my brother Lawrence’s words.
I’ve since seen the words that I think perfectly sum up Gladys – My Mam, on another lady’s headstone in St Peter’s Church, Wolviston:-
“an extraordinary ordinary lady”
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