Family
Helen Byrne
My Dad’s family are fairly unknown to me. Dad’s father’s family are from Ireland and lived in Greenock in Scotland. They were Irish Catholics who moved to Scotland, and that’s as much as I know about them. Dad was born in Newport, but the family moved to Scotland when he was a baby. Nan and her husband split up and nan came back to Wales. Dad only met his father one more time after that, and I didn’t know him at all.
It is not a subject we can discuss as a family as dad will never acknowledge him. He has such a deep-rooted hatred of him that I have learnt to never bring it up. I have done a bit of digging around, but to find out more information, when you tap in the name John Byrne into Ancestry, a lot of options appear. He died in the late eighties and some of his stuff was sent to my nan. She was about to throw it away and I rescued a tiny little photo of him. It’s such a small photo and I keep it stashed away, safe from harm. It proves to me he did live.
I did feel once that I was brave enough to ask about some names that could possibly be my family. I asked my dad the name of his grandmother and he simply replied ‘She was French’, and that was the end of the conversation. People sometimes ask me from which part of Ireland my family were from. I have no idea and it’s a huge hole in my life. I will continue to try and find them, and who knows, one day my dad may give me a small clue.
Mum’s family came from England on both sides. My grandfather was a quiet but stern man who would stop you in your tracks with one look. He used to marvel at us girls and the lives we led. He was an aircraft engineer and could fix anything. You could always find him in the garage with a car over the pit. He used to let me drive the car into the garage even though I was a young girl. Then he’d show me the bits of the car and what they did. It’s helped me so much as an adult being able to open the bonnet of a car and stare at it blankly. I can top up the windscreen wash though. I never knew what he did in the war. As an engineer he was an excluded profession, and all nan would tell us is that he was based near Oxford. He never spoke about what he did, but my aunt remembers some men arriving at the house and he had to sign the papers to say he'd never discuss it, and he never did.
Nan was a lively character, someone that lit up a room when she entered. She was interested in people and history, just like me. Wherever she went she’d end up chatting to people, just like me. She has a lot of children and that’s very much not like me. As a young woman in the late 1930s she moved to London. She wanted to join the police service, which was an unusual choice for a woman at that time. When the war began, she helped to evacuate children out of London. One day she had a call to come home to Wales as her mother was unwell. Once she was back home, she was prevented from leaving and was told to work in the munitions factory. The only way out of the factory was to get married. She married my grandfather and had six children. She told me one day ‘I love my children, but if I had a choice, this wouldn’t be the life I’d have chosen’.
This stuck with me through my whole life. I was never interested in children, and this reinforced my own belief that motherhood wasn’t for me. Dad’s friend asked him once if I had children. ‘If it doesn’t bark and have a fluffy tail she’s not interested’ was his reply.
As a child I had such a happy family life. We were never allowed to take ourselves seriously and I learned at a young age that self-deprecation was fine and fun. I knew I could never get too big for my boots, which was a valuable life lesson. Although I was an only child I was part of a large group of children in my family. My mum’s youngest brother was only a bit older than me, and when I was a child I thought his life was fantastic. He had a fabulous brand new black Ford Capri, with a red stripe down the side. It was his pride and joy. Us kids couldn’t even breathe near it. We’d stand near it to admire it and he’d magically appear and tell us to shove off. I’d still love a Ford Capri now. He also bought a brand new video recorder which was a big bulky thing with a top loading slot. It had a remote control! We were all so impressed. The remote control had a wire to connect it to the video recorder. This was the best new technology money could buy. Again, we kids weren’t allowed near it. It was kept in the front room of the house, a room we weren’t allowed to use. As a family we’d all crowd into the back of the house near the kitchen where nan would make endless cups of tea and force feed you sandwiches. The only time we were allowed in the front room is if visitors came. Then we’d all sit there, awkwardly perched on the chairs, remembering not to touch the video, and fascinated by all the shiny things in there. Nan would offer everyone a sherry and us kids would be bored of the grown-up chat that was going on. We weren’t allowed sherry, although one time nan did give us Babycham without realising it was alcoholic. We all slept well that night I’m sure.
My own little family is my mum, dad and myself. My parents have an equal relationship, both being busy and active people. Dad left home at a young age to join the Merchant Navy and is a very independent person. He taught me to be curious about the world. Mum is quietly fearsome and taught me to stand up for myself. We look out for each other, care for each other and have a very honest relationship. It’s not always easy, but we make each other laugh like no one else can. I know that we love each other, although we’re not brilliant at saying it. I sometimes think it’s not the words you say, but the things you do that prove you love someone.