15-Feb-2007
I was born in London, to the sound of Bow bells chiming, into a large family. I was the last late unexpected daughter and was completely spoiled by my grown up four brothers and 21 year-old sister! In the year 1938, when I was five, the family moved to a new house in the Essex countryside. 18 years later I married and we lived in London's Chelsea neighborhood, then traveled for my husband’s work to Africa and the West Indies before finally settling
in Dundee, Scotland.
I have enjoyed a fulfilled life on many levels. But I have always told myself I should have been an American, born and bred! In the year 1910 my mother’s family (her father, two younger brothers and three older sisters, who lived in Essex on the outskirts of
East London) all emigrated to America, sailing out of Southampton on assisted passages to New York, costing them five shillings apiece. They were deemed to be useful immigrants for the New World. The women were
expert dressmakers and milliners; the two younger brothers aged 16 and 18 years had already begun their apprenticeships in the building trade. Their
father (who enjoyed a pint of beer too many from time to time) was an experienced gardener in the cultivation of vegetables and cut flowers which
he had sold in the East London Markets when he was not too hung-over!!?
Alas my mother did not sail with her family as she was engaged to be married to her first cousin, who was ten years older than she. He had arrived back home from India where he had served as Regimental Sergeant
Major with the Royal Scots Fusiliers and had swept my beautiful mother off her feet. She was to stay with her elder married sister in London until her wedding day a few months later. It was to become a marriage of true love.
But the American connection remained very strong. Letters, cards, and photographs flowed back and forth across the "Big Pond." In later years cousins were to take holidays back in "Blighty!" During the Second World War my naughty older sister had a romantic affair
with an American Padre much to my mother’s horror, as they were both already married – it was a great scandal! But as an eleven year old girl I thoroughly enjoyed the gifts of chocolate and giant tins of peaches which he gleefully brought to our house, and I loved the delightful trips in his chauffeured jeep! Recently, in the last few years before my sister died, she confessed to me that he had been the love of her life in the two short years they had together, and showed me the few remaining letters and poems which he had written to her, kept secretly by her for 60 years. We were both in tears!
My first longed-for visit to America finally arrived when my husband and three young daughters and I flew from Barbados to New York for a two week visit. My very best school friend was living in New York at the time and was able to show us around that amazing skyscraper city. It was the strangest feeling to visit a country abroad where everyone spoke English (we didn’t have to refer to our French/Italian/Spanish dictionaries!) Somehow everything was familiar and yet strange! I loved everything – even pancakes with syrup and bacon for breakfast! I discovered, much to my glee, that Americans know how to enjoy themselves,
and take very seriously the words "And the pursuit of happiness!"
When I retired I was able to enjoy two holidays in Phoenix, Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco and Eldorado Hills in California to visit with one of my cousins (who was the daughter of my mother’s favourite sister). I felt this was a "tying-up" of all the ribbons and strings which bind me to America, making the visit which my mother, sadly, had failed to do herself before she died.
On this trip I experienced one very powerful waking dream where a young Indian Brave came galloping up to me on his horse – he leapt off and handed me the reigns and a brightly coloured folded blanket which he held out to me! I knew I had to accept these gifts and thanked him as I awoke. Several days later, while visiting a local bookshop, I opened a large book entitled Language of the Robe where I discovered that the greatest honour an American Indian could bestow was to give his horse and blanket away! I still feel greatly honoured by this dream and now know,
yes, I can claim to be an accidental American.
June Rosemary Maynard
Dundee, Scotland
Thursday, 16th November, 2006
