Auntie Annie

I attended the funeral of my Auntie Annie on Thursday.
There once were three sisters, Annie, Doris and Nellie. They lived in Barnsley, the daughters of Robert Frost, a miner, and of Florence Frost. Florence was my grandmother and, because of my parents' divorce when I was five, was mainly instrumental in the upbringing of my brother and me. My mother, Nellie Frost, had to be the breadwinner in the absence of a husband. My teaching style is bedecked with sayings, philosophy and thought patterns implanted long ago by my maternal grandmother. I will return in future blogs to my parents and my grandmother but today's blog is about my Auntie Annie.
Auntie Annie lived at Wyke with her husband and family. Of course, she had lived in lots of places around that area but these are my personal memories and for me the Kelsalls always lived at Wyke. Harry Kelsall married my Auntie Annie. Uncle Harry was a Dane! I could never detect anything Viking about him - you have to remember I was an avid Henry Treese and Rosemary Sutcliffe fan as a boy. I knew the tales of Valhalla and the Viking derring do that took them as far as Byzantium. I believed in the strength of the shield ring. Therefore, to me, Uncle Harry was always an object of admiration. It might also be the fact that he was the father figure missing from my own family circumstances. However I must point out that my Uncle Walter (married to Doris Frost) was more paternal in my eyes and in practice. It was Uncle Walter who carried me on his shoulders several miles to St Luke's hospital when I fell upon a broken bottle and cut open my left elbow. Uncle Harry was a more distant figure and, as a man, rather imposing. I found out at the funeral that my Uncle Harry was in fact born Heinrich but had changed his name because the English can't distinguish between a Danish Heinrich and a German Heinrich.
This reminiscence of my Auntie Annie seems to be overshadowed by my Uncle but in my memory I suppose she was. Our visits to Wyke and the Kelsall family were regular and I was envious of the model railways and the sophisticated ways of my cousins, Robert and Sandra (who is only two days my senior). When Robert was 17, the Kelsall family visited Austria by train. This was a tremendous achievement in those days and marked the Kelsalls out as a European family! Cousin George was then, and is now, an enigma.
Uncle Harry died quite some time ago and for a while I lost contact with my Aunties. But the fact that my brother still lives in Bradford and I visit him annually meant that I came to know my Auntie Annie a little better. Admittedly this was when she was in her 80's but her character was clearly there for all to see.
Auntie Annie had the brightest and clearest blue eyes. They could and did see everything. The brain behind those eyes was quick, agile and keen. Her legs were racked by arthritis and caused her great pain in recent years. This did not cloud her judgement or her ability to state her opinion firmly and audibly if the need arose. She also had lovely skin and her face shone with a luminescence, a light. It was a pleasure to spend time in her company and my brother instigated an annual Easter meal where he and I would take our two Aunts out and encourage them to indulge us with their memories. Auntie Doris was always Auntie but invariably I referred to Auntie Annie as Gran. I suppose - I know- this slip of the tongue was prompted by her likeness to my grandmother. Not physically, you understand, although there was an obvious family resemblance, but in the fierce, independent spirit that blazed out of her. Her certainties, her viewpoint, her opinion were built upon bedrocks that were laid down in the generations that preceded her and that I can only admire and envy. I realise their worth and I am grateful to my grandmother for making me aware of their presence. I am eternally grateful to my Auntie Annie for reminding me of being true to oneself.
With the departure of Auntie Annie, the threads that hold me and mine to the roots laid down in Yorkshire soil wear even thinner. I have cousins but aunties are precious and a dwindling commodity, especially as they help to keep alive the memory of a dear departed mother. She died thirty years ago but still enters my thoughts at times of joy and despair.
I didn't cry at my Auntie Annie's funeral but I did today.