More Wartime London

In an earlier post, I went searching for where my mother, Betty Smith, lived in London during the war (1944-46) when she was serving there with the Royal Canadian Air Force Women's Division – and found it.

But it turns out she lived in more than one place. I later came across this picture of the entrance to a mews (former horse stable laneway) where Betty and her roommate, Pat, lived, probably before they moved to 1 Glebe Place.

The inscription on the back in Betty’s hand reads, “This is the gateway into the Mews – Pat in the background – notice on the extreme right the telephone box & in the foreground at the right an Emergency Water Supply tank – they are all over the city in case of incendiaries [fire-setting bombs]. That carriage in the background is used by two old ladies – drawn by two ponies – no kidding.”

This inscription and others in the archive, almost all in Betty’s hand, are a little puzzling. They could be just reminders to herself of what the pictures show, possibly even written long after. This one, though, and some others, make me think they were photos she mailed home and the inscriptions were explanations for her family and friends.

If you look closely at the archway in which Pat is sitting, you can see the name of the mews carved in the stone – Pont St. Mews – and the date, 1879. Here’s what Pont St. Mews looks like today, with arch intact.

This next one has no inscription. It shows John Blackwell, then about 24, standing outside 1 Glebe Place. If you compare the brickwork and stone masonry in this picture with the one of modern-day Glebe Place from my previous post, the location is in little doubt.  

Although the one picture of John has no inscription on the back, this last one, not very good, does. It makes me think, again, that this was a picture sent home to family – and recovered years later, possibly when Betty's parents died. If so, this one must have been sent home soon after Betty and John hooked up. The inscription reads, “This is John – he is no Adonis, but he does look a little more like a human being than this.”

Next post: the Smith siblings in uniform do Brighton.

Jack the Miner

I was looking again at some old photos of Jack and Ollie Smith, taken when they lived up north near Timmins in the mid-1930s. The pictures are in my mother, Betty Smith’s red photo album, which I wrote about in the first post in this blog. (The entire album is available here at Flickr.)

I looked up the pictures to send to an old friend of Jack’s, and mine, Mike Marlatt. Mike and I were surveyor’s assistants with Jack in the summers of 1969 and 1970. When I went off to university in the fall of 1969, Mike, who had decided on a career in surveying, stayed on. He and Jack became friends and kept in touch for several years after Mike moved away to pursue his career. 

Anyway, Mike got in touch recently and sent me a couple of old photos from those summers at the County of Middlesex. I wanted to return the favour but didn’t have any pictures from that period. So I sent him this great one of his old buddy and Ollie and some friends at home in the north.

The picture is remarkable for many reasons, not least that Jack has hair – wild hair at that! I also like the way the writing on the back shows through the burnt out sections of the background. The picture is pasted solidly onto the album page so I daren’t try to remove it to read the back, and the writing is illegible as it is.

The photo appears on a page in the album headed, “Be it ever so humble - the home of the JL's, Fall and Winter 1936.” Here’s another from a different page, showing Jack in his miner’s gear, presumably near the mine where he worked. The label reads, “Jack the miner background right.”

Jack, if I remember the story correctly, went up north and basically squatted on some land where he built a cabin. He and Ollie lived there while he worked in the mines. Cousin Bob Smith will be able to correct and augment this account. Here’s a picture that may show the cabin Jack built. Maybe some antique car expert could identify the vehicle in the foreground.

And here's one more picture from this period in Jack and Ollie's lives, showing a group of friends near one of their cabins in winter. They look a rough and ready crew. Jack and Ollie far right.

And finally, here’s one of the hilarious pictures Mike Marlatt sent me. That’s yours truly on the left in, I believe, a pith helmet! Note the hipster jeans. By 1969, we were all in bell bottoms, so I’m assuming these were old jeans suitable only for work. The other guy is Don Caddy.

Following in their footsteps – virtually

I’ve been looking at (and scanning) pictures of and by my parents, Betty Smith and John Blackwell, taken during the war in England, mostly in London. Some are inscribed on the back in Betty’s hand, occasionally with mention of where they were taken. The one below, most likely shot in 1944, is an example.  

The inscription reads: “John and I in front of the house on Old Church St. where some of the kids live – couple of blocks from us.” It’s not a great picture to begin with – the faces are blurred – and it isn’t helped by the finger print in the emulsion, but note the number on the building on the left side of the street that juts out a bit from its neighbours: 30, or it could be 80.

So this is what Old Church St. looks like today, 75 years later, courtesy of Google Maps Street View.

The grey storefront on the left that juts out from its neighbours is number 30. Note the arched opening and multicoloured brickwork in the building next door. Now compare it to the 1944 picture. Much else has changed, as might be expected, but I’m pretty sure this is the place. (Number 80 looks nothing like the 1944 shot.)

Betty apparently shared a flat with another RCAF Women's Division steno named Pat, and possibly other girls as well. We have many pictures almost certainly taken inside that flat. And many more likely taken in the streets outside. Here’s one inside. The woman with John is Pat. With them, according to the inscription on the back, is "the famous radio." Why famous, I wonder? I suspect John built it himself. Building radios was a hobby shortly after the war.

Where was the flat? I now know. Among John and Betty’s papers were some letters – love letters – from 1946, when they were still in London, but apparently on hiatus, Betty having decided she couldn’t carry on carrying on with a married man. A letter from Betty, dated Feb 7, bears the return address “#1 Glebe Place, Chelsea.” Here’s what it looks like today. It’s the first of the yellow brick row houses near the corner, jutting out from the others.

Chelsea today, it’s worth noting, is a very high-tone neighbourhood. Flats sell for well in excess of £1 million. But here’s another picture likely taken inside #1 Glebe Place, back in the days when it was a cheap rental for overseas service people.

The narrative in the body language and facial expressions is delicious. John: “I claim you, you’re mine, I adore you.” Betty: “Oh, lordy. What have I got myself into?” Note also the radio, included in the picture deliberately. Why? 

This last picture is inscribed on the back: “Dougie and me in the park across from our building.” The woman sitting with Betty doesn’t look like a Dougie to me, but never mind. There is no park across the street from 1 Glebe Place today.

Uncle Robert Smith: Questions Remain

As all good Smiths know, Jack, Tom and their youngest brother, Robert – as well as sister Betty – all served overseas during WWII. Jack, Tom and Betty came home, Robert was killed.

Private Robert William Smith

Uncle Robert was not talked about a lot when I was growing up, but we all knew the key elements of his story, that he enlisted at 17, lying about his age, and that he was killed in Italy.

The best historical minds in the family, including Pat and Mike Morden, Sue Cornelius and Toby Albertson, have all had a go at figuring out where exactly he died and how, and where he was buried, and they have probably nailed it. But at the risk of flogging a dead…um, uncle, a few nagging questions remain.

We know that his full name was Robert William Smith because Sue Cornelius at some point dug out this death notice from the The London Free Press: “Private Robert William Smith, 19, killed in action in Italy August 26, of 2 Horn Street, London. Joined the forces in July 1941. Went overseas October 1942.”

Two Horn was a known Smith residence. Vernon’s Directory has Edith (our grandmother) and various adult Smith children living there from 1942 until at least 1946. I would expect as well that the Freeps would check the facts of Robert’s death with the family – but maybe not.

Mike Morden spotted this listing for a Robert William Smith in the federal government’s online Canadian Armed Forces War Dead database. Mike also found thisrecord of Robert William’s burial at Montecchio War Cemetery, which gives us a pretty good idea of where in Italy he died, and how - at least in which action.

This would seem to clinch it, except for a couple of minor inconsistencies.

First, the newspaper notice says he was 19 when he died, which sounds about right. The War Dead record, however, says he was born in 1922, which would make him 22 in 1944.

Of course, he did lie to the army about his age. But why would you add three (four?) years to your age when you only had to be one year older to enlist. Especially when you had a baby face (see photo above) that would make it difficult to pass even for 18.

The second anomaly is that he fought with the Seaforth Highlanders, which was and is a Vancouver-based regiment. Perhaps, he couldn’t fool the local enlistment office, so he went further afield? But why all the way to Vancouver? Or were they enlisting elsewhere than Vancouver at the time? Possible. Or was Robert already in Vancouver for some other reason? Seems unlikely.

Robert has been on my mind because he always seemed a bit of a murky figure when I was growing up. I wasn’t even sure what he looked like. I must have seen the old pictures of him that I’ve been scanning lately – and have posted here – but I evidently didn’t take them in. When seen on screen in a larger size, his character shines through. He looks a gentle, cheerful lad.

I think this one (see below) of Kay, Edith, Barbara and Robert on the front steps of a house (2 Horn?) speaks volumes.

Rear: Kay Yull, Edith Smith. Front: Barbara and Robert Smith

It’s inscribed on the back, presumably in Kay’s hand: “Mother and I, Barbara, and Robert on his last leave.” Robert looks impossibly young to be a fighting soldier. He also looks enormously gleeful, as does Barbara. Kay and Edith: not so much. Theyre the adults, they know how serious this is. Robert perhaps still think it’s a game.

This one is also striking, in context. It’s a class picture, dated (on the blackboard) 1938. Robert, looking not a lot different than he does in the later pictures of him in uniform, is sitting front and centre. He was apparently in the Senior Advancement Class (sign on blackboard again) that year. I’m assuming this was a Grade 8 picture. (Probably at Lord Roberts Public School, which was only a few blocks from 598 Princess Ave., where the Smiths lived in 1938.)

What’s striking about the picture? Just three years later, according to the Free Press notice, he was in the army. Less than a year after that, he went overseas. Childhood went fast for Robert.

Betty's Red Album

I've completed scanning and editing the photo album I talked about in the earlier post today. It's now available on Flickr, here. 

I scanned each page at 100%, and then enlarged selected pictures. The enlarged pictures follow the image of the page they appear on. The page images appear in the original order of the album.

Be warned: Flickr has changed, and not for the better. When you get to the linked page, you should see large thumbnails of the pages in the Flickr set, Betty's Red Album. Mouse over the first, cover picture, and then click on the diverging arrows icon in the bottom right corner of the thumbnail to make the picture full screen. 

Now you should be able to page through the album by clicking the the right-arrow icon at the far right of the screen. Note that if you click the Play button in the centre below the picture, it will launch an annoying slide show that uses pan-and-zoom techniques.

Oh, and here's one more sample from the album. Recognize anybody here? The setting, I'm guessing, is Wonderland Gardens in London.

Opening

As unofficial archivist of the (John and Betty) Blackwell family, I’ve been scanning some of the hundreds of old photos that have been in my keeping since our mother died. It’s a time-consuming process and often tedious, but it’s also rewarding in not altogether expected ways.

I wanted to share some of that experience and some of the results, and since I despair of ever being organized enough to produce anything comprehensive or final, I’m starting this blog. Assuming I don’t get bored with it, always a possibility, it will include my observations about not just the photo scanning project, but also the family history research I began last fall and will go back to…at some point.

It’s the photographs that are really inspiring me right now. I started with an album of my mother’s, begun, it would appear, in the mid-1930s and completed in the early 1940s. I’m guessing it’s something she took to England with her during the war to remind her of those she left behind. The pictures in it are all of friends and family. The oldest appears to date from about 1914.

The album is approximately 11 x 7 inches, with a red faux-leather cover and about 20 heavy black construction paper pages, tied together with decorative string. It’s very dog-eared and worn. Inside, there is little artistry in the presentation. The pictures are often crudely cut with scissors and haphazaardly arranged on the page. Many pictures are missing. On some pages, Betty has written titles and, in some cases, captions in white ink.

I’ve known this album and the pictures in it almost as long as I can remember, and have always been fascinated by it. But I had never, I realize now, really looked at the pictures. For good reason. They are mostly very small. There appear to have been two standard sizes of commercial prints in those days, one half the size of today’s 4x6s, the other a quarter the size. Most of the pictures are badly taken with cheap cameras. They’re scratched, dirty, many are covered in mould, most are faded.

As a result, at a casual glance, they don’t convey much information. They become merely abstract signifiers. ‘Oh, that’s Mum when she was young cavorting on the beach at Grand Bend with her friends – interesting, we did the same things with our friends at that age…’ But when you scan them – and I scanned most pictures at 200%, some of the smaller ones at 250% or 300% – and display them on a high-resolution 21-inch computer screen, suddenly you can see them. It’s almost magical.

I’ve made no or little attempt so far to clean up damaged and mould-covered pictures, something that can be done with Photoshop but is very labour intensive. I did scan them in 16-bit grey scale, though, rather than colour, so pictures that had faded to sepia tone instantly look more like real black and white photographs again. I also used Photoshop’s Auto Contrast function which improved most and miraculously restored badly faded shots.

Now you can see expressions on faces that were tiny dots on the album page. You become aware of body language, and interesting detail in the the background and the way people are dressed. The sense of real lives being lived, however posed the pictures, is palpable. This is true even with damaged, dirty, scratched and out-of-focus pictures. 

Grand Bend, Summer 1936 - Betty Smith (far right) and her friend, Ollie (third from right), later her sister-in-law when Ollie married Betty's brother Jack, apparently rented a cabin and partied with friends and family. Betty was 20 when this picture was taken. According to Vernon's Directory for 1936, she was working as a stenographer at the London Free Press.

Making it all the more powerful, of course, is that many are pictures of people we knew and loved. And most that I’ve been working with so far were taken long before I was born. This has given me a different perspective on my parents in particular.

Grand Bend, Summer 1936 - Betty relaxing at the cabin.

In “On Children,” Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Your children are not your children./They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself./They come through you but not from you,/And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” Ignore the Yoda-like syntax if you can. I think the sentiment is true. And I think that, in slightly different ways, it applies to parents (and aunts and uncles) too. They don’t belong to us, nor are they entirely defined by us.

Seeing these pictures of them young and vibrantly alive makes me realize how in some ways diminished they were by their roles in relation to us. More and more, I’m thinking of my parents as John and Betty. That’s who they were.

Notes: You should be able to click or tap the pictures and see them full-size, or at least bigger. Also, if anybody feels moved to submit a guest post, they would be very welcome.