Chapter One

     I was born on the 4th of July, in the record hot summer of 1921. Both the date and the climate have affected my life. That summer sunshine produced the finest vintage of Chateau d’Yquem, the superb Sauterne, a dessert wine known as the Queen of wines. The 1921 vintage became the Queen of Queens and wine became part of my future unexpected profession and a well-enjoyed hobby. The date I was born, revered as Independence Day in the United States of America, was the beginning of a bitter-sweet connection with that great nation, as you will later learn.

     But first things first, from the age of five, I lived in a pleasant North London suburb, in an Edwardian semi-detached house, with my mother’s parents, my mother and father and my younger brother Dennis. My mother’s parents, Tom and Emily Smith had come to live with us when we had moved from Finsbury Park to the northern suburb of Winchmore Hill.

     My grandmother had trained as a cook and worked for a doctor’s family in London before marrying Tom. She was petite but indomitable. They lived in an upstairs room and she prepared their meals over an open fire with a Dutch oven and a small gas ring. Whenever she went out she would bring us back a penny bar of Nestle chocolate so we could collect the special picture stamps inside. Granddad was a wonderful typical Cockney with a great sense of humour. He had earned his living as a painter and decorator and had been an avid patron of Collin’s Music Hall. He would amuse us for hours singing the famous old songs of his day – such as “Away went Polly, her step so jolly, I knew she’d win, I knew she’d win”; obviously a race-goer’s favourite! Looking back, life could not have been easy for them but I never remember them complaining. I am sure their living with us helped us to move out to this pleasant suburb.

     Our parents, Ethel and Harlow Le Croissette, were very special people and gave my brother and me a steady and happy start to our lives. They were never rich but they were never in debt.  We were encouraged to learn and were given a love of reading. From an early age, my mother would take us to the library and encourage us to choose a book for the week. “Paddy the next best thing” was my favourite choice. My mother was a very clever and able person and had she had the advantage of a University education, would without doubt have achieved great success. She had a superb head for figures and when younger had run the “Counting House” for a couture shop, Maud Owen, in New Bond Street. All her life she kept detailed household accounts, a habit which I have adopted to this day. I think it is from her my love of mathematics comes. My grand daughter Tiffany has also inherited this ability.

     My father came from an immigrant Huguenot family who had escaped from France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes at the end of the sixteenth century when a merciless persecution of Protestants took place. We have managed to trace the family back to the region of Picardie, in northern France, where they owned a small manor.

     Father, a skilled cabinet maker, worked hard and for long hours. Daily he would catch the seven o’clock tram, buying the workman’s ticket and not returning until possibly seven in the evening. He could turn his hand to anything – mending our shoes, cutting our hair, teaching me the names of the stars in the sky, playing the piano by ear, always ready to help in any way. He was also a superb gymnast, winning many medals in his early days.

 During my childhood, he volunteered as instructor to the Boys’ Brigade. He had served during the First World War as a despatch rider, experiencing the horrors of the Somme and Paschendale battles and then transferred to the Royal Flying Corps as soon as it was formed. Like so many of his generation, he barely ever spoke of his terrible experiences of the Great War.
     As a family, we weathered the depression in the 30’s and when my father was on short time, he made furniture at home to sell, thus ensuring we could go to the grammar school and buy the necessary uniform. I remember helping him move the elegant furniture he had made in our spare bedroom, downstairs to be transported to its new owner. After the Second World War, when eventually he could afford to buy a small car, this was his greatest delight.

     Each day my mother with her “Ten Minutes Book” polished up our general knowledge and kept our interest going in current affairs. What is the longest river in the world? Who wrote Lorna Doone? I still remember the answers.  

     We had good friends, annual holidays in b and bs in south coastal resorts.  We had special treats. I remember to this day being taken to the theatre for the first time and queuing for seats in the gallery at the Old Vic, to see The Wandering Jew with a then famous actor, Matheson Lang. I still vividly can recall scenes from it – the cross being carried as it passed the window.

     We were lucky with our other close relations. Although my mother was an only child, my father made up for it with two sisters and three brothers, all who lived in North London so we frequently met up with our many cousins. There seemed to be a strong work ethic which ran through the whole of the family.

     My parents never showed overt emotion. There wasn’t the constant hugging and kissing which is deemed essential today but we knew they cared. They showed it in so many other ways. They gave up their own pleasures to allow us to join in equally with our friends, with perhaps richer parents. They encouraged and praised our successes and commiserated in our disasters. In return they expected us to behave and to get as much out of life as we could. There was a light wicker cane hanging up in the kitchen – it was never used but it was symbolic of the fact that discipline would maintained if necessary.

     Dennis and I from an early age went to Sunday School. I joined in voluntarily and accepted all that was told me. Dennis never did. He questioned and needed to prove any statement at all times. Very soon he would not accept the teaching. This lead to him eventually becoming a confirmed atheist. It has taken me rather longer to become sceptical of religious teachings.

   

Ethel and Harlow Le Croissette

Early Life

Bridging the Centuries 

By Eileen Younghusband