Madge was only too aware that her service overseas would involve a number of personal sacrifices, and that the most painful of those would be being separated from her mum and her sisters Doris and Doreen, who were aged eighteen and thirteen respectively. Not to mention leaving behind the warmth and comfort of the family kitchen or, indeed, the mouth-watering family meals, so she made a point of spending as much time as possible with her family in the few days left before the start of her passage to India.
One day, as Madge and her mother sat chatting in the back garden of the family home, Lily talked for the first time about the early years of her marriage to husband Charles. Lily was born in High Wycombe and Charles in Dover in 1897, the year in which Queen Victoria celebrated the Diamond Jubilee of her accession to the throne.
‘Did you know,’ she told Madge, ‘the Great War broke out in 1914, when your dad was just seventeen. He wanted to do the right thing for his country so he joined the Royal Field Artillery. Most of his next six years in the army were spent in India. We got married soon after he was demobbed, but, as you know, he seemed to suffer from some sort of flu from then on . . .’
Madge went in to make a pot of tea and when she returned Mum said that after he came back from India Dad started work as a flour miller in Dover, ‘and we felt really blessed when you arrived. Then there was Doris and, five years later, Doreen. I was never happier than when your dad was playing the piano or the mandolin at your birthday parties,’ said Lily. ‘Do you remember how everyone wanted him to play at their parties? He could tinkle out most of the popular songs of the day, but he couldn’t read music. It was all played from memory!’
Madge knew all of this already but she loved to hear it again. She smiled and said her early memories were of the mouth-watering aromas and tastes from the Graves’ cosy kitchen, which was always the centre of the household.
‘Everything went on in there and you were forever baking or cooking something, but however busy you were, you always had time to sort out a problem, or kiss a bruised knee better,’ she said with a fond smile.
Of all the days of the week, Friday was by far the best because the Graves family always had steak and kidney pudding for lunch. By 6 a.m. on a Friday morning, Lily would have the sauce steaming away on the stove and six hours later the beef was so tender it would just melt in your mouth. The girls would come home from school at midday, as they did every day, and their father Charles would arrive not long after. Fridays meant that Charles would be in a good mood because steak and kidney pudding was his favourite, too, and every time he would have second helpings.
‘You know, I’m not sure if I’ll miss steak and kidney pudding the most or the smell of newly baked bread,’ Madge said, thinking of the homely, comforting aroma that regularly wafted round their cosy kitchen.
As the eldest, she was allowed to help her busy mum by slicing the bread once it had cooled and that meant she was first in the queue for a crust. But being the eldest also meant she had responsibilities. From the age of ten one of Madge’s jobs had been the weekly walk to the baker’s shop where old Mr Goodwin sold yeast, which, as Lily had explained to her, was the essential ingredient to make bread rise, and Mr Goodwin’s yeast was the best in Dover. One day, Lily was shocked to pull the bread from the stove and discover a flat loaf.
‘Maybe it’s a problem with the oven, Mum,’ Madge said, shuffling her feet.
‘Maybe . . . I’m sure it can’t be Mr Goodwin’s yeast,’ her mother said dubiously.
But the next day they had the same problem and Lily was certain that Mr Goodwin hadn’t given them their full tuppence’s worth.
‘I wouldn’t put him for a scoundrel, Madge, but we have to do something.’ And with that she dragged a very reluctant Madge to the shop. The old boy protested indignantly that he wouldn’t dream of short-changing a customer, especially one he had known for so many years. Madge watched as her mother started to raise her voice. It was awful! She couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘Mr Goodwin isn’t to blame, Mum . . .’ Madge felt herself going bright red and the rest of her words came out in a tumble. ‘I had a little nibble of the yeast. I’m very sorry!’ Madge’s stomach sank as she watched her mother’s face go as red as her own when she began apologising profusely to Mr Goodwin.
‘Not to worry, Mrs Graves,’ Mr Goodwin said, as the pair tumbled out the door.
Madge was given a stern ticking-off on her way home and she dreaded her next visit to the bakery. It took her a quarter of an hour longer than it usually would to walk there as she dragged her feet, and by the time she arrived she was almost in tears.
‘Ah, look, if it isn’t our little yeast snaffler,’ Mr Goodwin said as she walked in. Madge thought she might be sick she was so ashamed but was surprised to hear Mr Goodwin break out into kindly laughter. ‘How on earth can you bear to eat raw yeast?’
Madge gave him a grateful smile as he handed over the Graves’ weekly yeast portion in a little parcel that this time was securely tied up.
‘Hold on,’ he said, and picked up a block of yeast, sliced off a slither and handed it to her as a treat to eat on the way home.
Mum laughed at the memory of that little escapade and slowly
