Mention of the Grand Tetons dragged me off yesterday into the memory of a long-ago excursion.
It was rare to spend time with my father and brother as we had mostly lived on separate continents.
My brother was not a great communicator. While were always friends, there has never been the strong bond one sees in families.
I longed for it, but it cannot be forced.
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My brother Peter was 11 and remained at boarding school in England when my parents went “abroad” in 1956.
Because I was younger and severely asthmatic, my mother insisted I could not be left.
Peter completed his schooling at the age of 18 and took an apprenticeship with Standard Bank in London.
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By the age of 20, Peter had a serious girlfriend and her relatives became the family he had missed for so many years. They were wonderful, kind people.
Peter had travelled to Asia several times during summer holidays and he fancied taking an overseas job.
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Standard Bank soon obliged, offering Peter a posting to their branch in Lusaka, Zambia. The only way Diane could accompany him was if they were married.
Because he was not yet 21, Peter wrote and asked my parents permission.
They made the mistake of refusing.
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Looking back, it seems incomprehensible. Peter only had to wait a matter of a couple of months till he was 21 and then got married anyway, but my parent’s refusal ruined their relationship with him.
At the time, I wondered why Peter had made the request. I assumed he thought it was the right thing to do, which is what he said.
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But my mother had met Diane in London and it was fairly clear she was not a fan.
“Not our kind, you know.”
So by asking permission, was Peter forcing my parents to admit their feelings? I can’t say I’d blame him.
Bit of family politics, right?
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This is the sort of situation that develops when compromises are made. My mother, in her thirties, with a war going on, began to worry about the biological clock and the unavailability of single men.
So she settled for my father who was besotted with her, bringing her flowers and presumably, kind words. He did not want children, but it was her condition of marriage.
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Mum spoke very little of her life before Dad, but there were snippets of information she dropped now and then from which I developed a theory.
There had been another man once, the brother of a friend. I think my mum really liked him but he would not have been able to give her children.
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Maybe this is a bit of romantic nonsense I dreamed up, but Mum often had a very faraway look in her eyes. Someone commented once that her eyes were sad.
So, my father agreed to children but he didn’t agree to love them or allow them to intrude into his life.
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At least my brother’s interest in cricket gave them something to talk about.
Mostly, we were told to be quiet and stay out of Daddy’s way, although one time I remember my father taking me to the studio where he worked. He made documentary films and I seem to have been a prop.
Otherwise, I barely saw Dad until we went to live in Cambodia.
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Mum hated that Peter was left in England and forevermore would say:
“We made a mistake with Peter.”
Yet she allowed my father to deny Peter the right to marry the girl he loved. It still baffles me.
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Having given birth to the children she wanted, my mother eventually passed the responsibility over to her sisters, in Peter’s case it was Win, who loved him dearly.
She was very excited about the wedding, but Win never had any luck and typically, she had to miss the big day as our grandmother’s funeral ended up scheduled on the same date.
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In New York, with no funds, I obviously couldn’t go to the wedding either and could only express my support in writing.
Peter and Diane went off to Zambia and they may as well have been on the moon for all the communication I received, though I was notified of the arrival of a nephew in 1969.
By proxy, in due course I somehow became the child’s godmother.
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In 1971, my parents were returning from a year in Madagascar and Mum thought it was time to repair her relationship with Peter, so she went to see them in Zambia.
It was a start and I think Mum believed the “misunderstanding” had been cleared up, but my brother never got over the hurt.
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When I became an airline employee, with travel benefits, I went often to England and I would no doubt have gone to Zambia but I am not the sort of person to go anywhere uninvited.
Peter probably assumed that if I wanted to see him I would go and the fact that I didn’t meant I couldn’t be bothered.
This was how little we knew each other.
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My parents returned to Barbados, where Peter finally saw Dad again after close to 10 years, I think Diane had urged him to patch things up.
One summer when I was going to Barbados, I arranged for Peter to fly out from London on the same day, so I waited for him at the airport and we arrived together, he unexpected.
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It was one of those things I hoped would please my Mum. I’m sure it did, although she told us we were “naughty children” for catching her in the garden, unprepared.
It was one of those rare occasions when we were together for a couple of days.
Peter’s and my visits tended not to coincide.
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Couldn’t I have organised things better?
My own life had turned into a bit of a muddle and I had become very uncertain about everything. I couldn’t handle being with a lot of people at once.
Particularly not my mixed up family.
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Years went by. Mum and Dad moved back to England.
There were 80th birthday’s and a golden wedding anniversary that Peter and Diane and I went for.
Then in 1997, it was Mum’s funeral which was the last time I saw my sister-in-law who died two years later.
A whole family history told in a few brief sentences.
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Peter and I had always assumed that if Mum died first, Dad would fall to bits, he had loved her so much, but I should have known better.
Dad used to announce quite proudly that he was: “the most selfish man on the planet”, and he made no attempt to change.
He enjoyed his freedom to tidy away my mother’s things and potter about making a mess without having to worry.
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Dad took up travelling.
To Australia for the duration of winter.
When it became too much for him he grew depressed and I brought him back to live near Seattle.
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That was when Peter and I took our old Dad on those two road trips. We enjoyed those holidays because it would have been impossible not to.
In the evening, Dad went to bed early, leaving Peter and I to have drinks and talk. Time to catch up. There was so much I wanted to say and ask, but it was like being with a casual acquaintance.
Our relationship never got over being broken up when he was 11 and I was 8. We are just too different.
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Why did I run around after my selfish and difficult father? Why did my brother bother with him at all?
It was not out of love.
Does one have a duty to the person who gave you life? I think not necessarily.
Maybe it’s because I’ve seen so many old people who are sad and alone. Maybe sometimes it’s all they deserve?
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Maybe it was just those flashes I could remember, of a father who smiled, who could be funny, who wrote letters to me as if it was the budgie writing and those little paintings he did of the birds.
My conscience could not abandon him at the end of his very long life.
Maybe I was just afraid of bad karma.
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My brother is a kind, nice man. On a cruise, he met another lady to share his life. They have been together a long time now, but recently she has been unwell and Peter is mostly alone now.
In consequence, he has more time for correspondence and we email back and forth which is the most we have ever “talked”.
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Peter’s son is in Australia. There are 3 young grandchildren.
My niece is in England and her two are grown-up now.
Family.
Thank you, Carolyn, for your spectacular photography! Your deeply sad memories of your family reduced me to tears. What has happened to your brother’s wife, Diana?
Joanna
She died suddenly of hepatitis. She was 52.
“Not our kind, you know”. That speaks volumes about the stifling culture of class structure in England. I’m on your brother’s side for not contacting them for so long after that.
I never had siblings, and I am honestly glad I didn’t. I didn’t get on that well with my father, who I had obviously disappointed in some way. When I was 16, he told me I had been a ‘mistake’, and he had never planned to have children. He left the family home when I was 24, and I was pleased to see the back of him. I never spoke to him again, and have no regrets about that.
Best wishes, Pete.
I can’t imagine being so heartless as to tell your own child he/she wasn’t wanted. Yet my father obviously fully expected I would be around for him. It was so convenient that I never found myself a partner. It used to make me quite angry but then I realised that letting it all go was healthier. I loved living in Washington State until dad came there. It was never the same even after he died. Part of coming back to NY was the need to be somewhere that had no associations.
Family … yeah, we can’t choose them, can we? Although, I must add that I am quite happy with mine. With my brother and his family living in the UK, we also see them very little. They are coming to visit us in SA in December and then it will be the first time since 2018 that I see them again. He’s not a good communicator either, but when we do talk it’s always fun to catch up on everything. It’s good that you and Peter communicate more – in the end he’s still your brother and you his sister … the same blood flows through your veins (or something like that 🙂).