My mother, Jill, was born in Lincolnshire, the only child of Tom and Phyllis Barrand (nee Skipper). My Grandfather was from a family of bakers and his bakehouse was in Leverton, on The Wash. After the war they moved to Boston and the family spent most summers with their great friends, who had moved from Boston to Southwold, Harry and Valerie Mawer (nee Cox). ‘Aunty Val’ and ‘Uncle Harry’ had no children of their own and were my mother’s legal guardians, and very important figures in her life. Living so close to the sea, my mother spent much of her youth sailing. Boats and theatre were her two passions when she was young. She joined the local amateur dramatics society in Boston and enjoyed performing whilst at secretarial college and working in London. She began a career as what would now be called an Executive PA, working for a Director at Peter Jones and living in Victoria.
In 1955 she met my father, Tony Whittenbury, and after what she often referred to as an “on and off courtship” they were married in 1960. They too spent summers in Southwold and when I was born in 1963 Auntie Val and Uncle Harry became my seaside grandparents.
We lived in Rutland in the ‘60s and moved to Buenos Aries for two years in 1970. My mother enjoyed learning Spanish by going to food street markets and singing songs from the Argentinian charts. She joined her first book club, made up of women from all over the world, and I remember them all being very glamorous. My mother had always been interested in fashion, and Buenos Aries was full of boutiques and fashion arcades, which she loved. When my father’s work began to take him to other countries, we moved back to the UK and settled in Hampshire. At the time it wasn’t discussed but I now know that Argentina had become more unstable and it wasn’t a particularly safe base for us. My mother threw herself into her new life, creating her first (huge) vegetable garden and cooking spectacular feasts for the inevitable dinner parties. She was in her element, and went through what my father called her ‘brown bread and sandals’ phase; keeping chickens, growing most of the food that they ate, and teaching herself to spin. She set up a business teaching others to spin, and sold spinning wheels and supplies.
We still spent most of our holidays in Southwold or Walberswick and when Auntie Val and Uncle Harry died, they left their house on Pier Avenue to my mother. When my father retired in 1985, at the age of 55, they decided to move to Suffolk full-time and eventually found Walber House. They nearly bought Ferry House but, as they were looking round the second time, the outside staircase collapsed whilst my father was on it. They took that as a bad omen! Walber House had the beginnings of a vegetable garden on the other side of the road which had been maintained by the housekeeper of the previous owners, who lived in the Old School House. My mother began the process of developing it with raised beds, erecting a fruit cage and building a greenhouse, all of which led to the prize-winning vegetables that she will certainly be remembered for. There were geese and chickens, some of which would find their way to neighbours’ gardens and have to be collected.
Walberswick offered my parents a wonderful life, full of dear friends and so much to do. My mother was secretary of the Wildfowlers, did the teas for the Crabbing Championships and Lifeboat fete, took part in and attended so many of the annual events, which she loved. She joined the volunteer group and supported people by driving them and offering her admin skills. She had the camaraderie of the spinning group, who would meet at the house regularly - my father would make himself scarce - and the group morphed and changed over the years. She called it the ‘Sit and Spin’ group, my father called it the “Spit and Sinners’… People came and went, learned to spin, brought their own projects to work on together, including weaving, rug making and ultimately patchwork. She held short courses in natural dying, particularly indigo, which is an incredible skill. She wrote a cookery book to raise funds for the RNLI, and it’s been really heartening to hear from people that they still use the recipes. Grandma’s ginger shortbread was to be a particular favourite locally, as well as at home, so I’ve copied the recipe below for those who don’t own a copy of the book.
When my father died in 2008 my mother really wanted to stay at the house, but we all had concerns that it would be difficult for her to manage it on her own in the long term. She toyed with moving to Southwold, but her friends were all in Walberswick, and her friends were hugely important to her, so my husband Mertz and I built our home in my father’s workshop. We have lived here ever since. After a few teething problems we worked out how to share the space, yet retain our own independent lives and it worked well for all of us for the last 12 years. We feel very lucky to be here, especially at such a difficult time. My mother was still a great reader and was a founding member of a new book club, she loved being introduced to books she wouldn’t have found without it. We always joked that now that we lived next door we’d have to stay up late when it was her turn to host, because they were such a joyously rowdy bunch!
In the last few years mobility became an issue for her, but she took to a buggy and enjoyed being able to go down to the river independently. Her friends were all able to come to her and the craft group and book club continued, until the pandemic. She found it particularly hard to be isolated from her friends, the kitchen door had always been open and the kettle was always on the Aga, now there was too much silence. She had fought off Autoimmune Hepatitis, double pneumonia, a serious accident and was living with cancer, but I genuinely think that not being able to see her friends was the hardest thing for her in the last two years. She died peacefully at Beccles hospital, where she was looked after by the most dedicated team of medical professionals, to whom we owe a great deal. Thank you also to everyone who has been in touch since she died, it is wonderful hearing your own memories of my mother and understanding what she meant to you.
Claire Whittenbury
Grandma’s Ginger Shortbread:
Hardly a traditional shortbread, but good never-the-less. It has even had a candle stuck in the middle of it and doubled up as a birthday cake.
Shortbread ingredients:
5oz self-raising flour
2oz castor sugar
4 oz butter
1 level tsp ground ginger
Icing ingredients:
4 level tbs icing sugar
2oz butter
3 tsp golden syrup (heat the tin in hot water)
Half tsp ground ginger
Method:
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamed, mix in the flour and ginger, sifted together. Mould into a ball and press into an 8 inch loose bottomed sandwich tin and bake for about 30 minutes in a moderate oven.
Melt the icing ingredients together in a saucepan and pour over the shortbread whilst it is still warm in the tin.