See Introduction and Contents.
This first part of 'Ina's Story: as I remember it' covers my mum's first years in Peru from 1938 when she was born there to 1945 when she came to Britain.
I was born in Huancayo on December 1st 1938. My parents frequently commented on my being born on such an illustrious date – it is Peru’s independence day. Evidently, I was given some sort of token – I think a coin or some money – because of this lucky coincidence. I remember nothing of Huancayo but in Dervla Murphy’s account of her journey through Peru she describes it as a very unfriendly and forbidding place. I think during her visit there were guerrillas based there and it was not a safe place to be. This was, of course, nearly half a century later. Beth was also born in Huancayo, 13 months before I was. Not much respite for my mother. I was named after my Scottish grandmother – Christina Gray (her maiden name) Speed. She had lived in Auchtermuchty, Fife. Beth was named Elizabeth Ruddock after our maternal grandmother who lived in Belfast. But her married name was Lowry.
[LM. Ina's parents were missionaries in Peru. Beth was her older sister. There were 4 sisters, Beth the oldest, then Ina, my mum, then Agnes, then Ruth]
My first memories were of Cuzco. This is, of course, a much visited place now with the Inca heritage around – Machu Picchu and Sacsawaman. I recollect going to these solid remains and placing our small bodies against the huge blocks of stone. I think we had picnics there and went with other missionaries. We were looked after a lot of the time by Elvira, smallish, dumpy with plaits around her hair and of course dark skinned. She took us once to the main square and into the church which was, naturally, Roman Catholic. As our parents were out there trying so save the souls of Roman Catholics we knew we shouldn’t be colluding by entering this forbidden place. I think it seemed very big and dark but otherwise of no interest.
My mother didn’t do her own washing – getting her hands wet gave her rheumatism we were told. Rheumatism was a constant point of reference ever after. She got herself stung by bees once having heard that would put paid to the pain. Later on, she tried all sorts of dietary things for her rheumatism and for her other complaints. Linseed oil sieved through muslin, prunes etc. One of her common statements was “I like it but it doesn’t like me’. Later on it wasn't only rheumatism but her heart altho' as she lived 'til 82 it’s hard to think her heart was that weak. But certainly there were many things she didn't do because of her heart or her head or her back or her rheumatism. In contrast, my father was very energetic and took on lots of things which at that time were only considered to be women's work. I should think they found each other trying in this area, him wanting to get up and go but her wanting peace. One thing I can see is him stirring porridge over the cooker and looking at the Greek New Testament. He also played energetic games with us, throwing us into the air and catching us just before we reached the floor and rolling us off tables and catching us just before we landed on the ground. Mother would have "my heart in my mouth". Another common expression of hers. She was timid where he was bold. We used to match around tables behind him banging things - pots probably, and singing hearty Gospel songs.
Beth and I loved dressing up and we either chose or were assigned one of the male missionaries each as our "novio" (groom). Beth's novio was Ken Case and mine Alex Jardine. We called all the missionaries uncles and aunts. We draped ourselves with curtains etc to be brides. And we lined up buttons to be children or people at a meeting. To be the preacher was the favourite role - we could also be organist or members of the congregation. Every night we had family prayers. But Beth and I had our own special prayer each. Hers was "Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me; bless thy little lambs tonight.... etc". Mine was "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, look upon thy little child; pity my simplicity; suffer me to come to thee". We then had to say "Bless Mummy and Daddy, Grannies and Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles..." etc. None of whom we knew of course. In family prayers we had a bible meeting usually read by my father and he would pontificate a bit and reflect on aspects of the reading. Sometimes my mother would say the prayer. If we were in Peru she would choke and stifle sobs as she prayed for the folks back home, usually by name - and she had a big family! If we were in Britain she she would choke and stifle sobs as she prayed for the "believers" in Peru and then she would name "Manuel and Angelina and Pedro and Juan" etc etc. We found this highly embarrassing, when we were older and also intensely irritating because we didn't know who the hell Manuel and Angelina etc were. We always knelt after the reading to say the prayers. When I first met Brian [LM, my dad] and he came back to Aberdeen Park in Highbury where my parents were at the time he became adept at judging when the prayer time would come and make a hasty exit. If possible I tried to avoid it too.
Back to Cuzco - I have a vivid memory of mother, Beth and I going down the street pursued by a woman who was demanding my "corazon" (heart). I was petrified, imagining her using a knife to gouge it out. In retrospect, I realise she probably thought I was cute and was using an expression like "sweetheart". My mother briskly led us into a shop to buy toothbrushes - when we came out the woman had gone. My mother explained the woman was 'loca', a madwoman. I felt a great sense of being protected by my mother and that she could deal with this disagreeable happening.
I next remember being in Arequipa but I don't remember moving or going there. We were based in a school and Agnes was born there but I have absolutely no recollection of her birth or her as a baby. My memory is of us all sharing a big bed sitting room and there was a bathroom and perhaps a kitchen. For some reason, father used to give us enemas - presumably we were bunged up!! But he showed more gentle care when he bathed my eyes with cold tea. I used to wake up and not be able to open my eyes. they were all sticky. I used to think that this time they would never open and I was blind. But they opened after the treatment. I also used to get pains in my feet - again this was called rheumatism. For this and for ear ache I would have a hot water bottle and generally get into bed with my mother.
In Arequipa we all got chicken pox. I felt terrible. It was in ears, eyes, everywhere. Somebody gave us a box of sweets. What magic! When I bit into them delicious liqueurs spilled out in my mouth. When we were better we went to knock at the door of another missionary who looked after a boy called Adolfo. We wanted to play with him. Miss Elder (from New Zealand) was the missionary and when she saw us she told us loudly to go away and slammed the door in our faces. We ran back to our mother who swiftly made her way to Miss Elder's and told her we were no longer infectious and need not be turned away. Once again there was a warm glow at being protected and championed.
I learned to read by sitting looking at books and jumping up and asking my mother words. The one book I recollect was 'Gulliver's Travels'. I presume it was a simple picture book. I was only 4 at the time. I remember the eagerness I felt to decode and understand these words. I think the stories we were told and read were probably all bible stories. I don't remember any others. Father had nicknames - he called me his 'apple pie' but also 'Demosthenes' and Beth he called 'Socrates'. He also taught us the capitals of the world and I remember looking at maps and in Arequipa there were blackboards and we wrote on them and he taught us our tables and gave us spelling tests. It was all quite agreeable and I can't remember any toys or sweets but they did have an ice cream machine at some point. My father always adored ice cream. It was always a great treat for him. We used to eat fresh mangoes too and sit on the ground outside with a towel round our necks and the juice oozing down our chins.
I also loved manioc and one day I saw a piece in the kitchen. I picked it up and put it in my mouth only to find it was soap. My mother came in and I was spluttering and gagging and had to explain. It was used as an example that I shouldn't touch things without asking.
I am sure smacking was in order but I can't actually remember being smacked. Many years later when Rael [LM, my brother] was about 3 and my parents visited us in Reading he had a (most unusual) tantrum at Child Beale [LM, a wildlife park]. My father sternly said to me "why don't you give him a good spanking?".
We used to go to Mejia for holidays. This was a house the mission had so that missionaries could have respite from the very high altitude. It was by the sea and I had a very frightening experience when I was in the sea and a huge wave engulfed me and my father pulled me up from what seemed like the depths - it probably wasn't. I think this was responsible for my timidity in water. I resent very much that on the few occasions when we were with our parents he didn't teach us to swim - my mother couldn't either. We went to school about 300 yards from the sea in Swansea but were never taught to swim there. We were near the coast in Fife in Scotland and I remember going to the beach with my parents but it ever seemed to occur to him to help us learn - he would swim and gambol while we paddled on the fringes. I suppose they couldn't afford swimming pools - in fact they probably didn't know about them. Years and years later I went on a swimming course for a week in Carmarthen. I managed to go in the deep end and swim a length with our tutor coming along and encouraging from the side. I felt so pleased and with regular practice could have coped adequately, I'm sure, but when I went to the pool full of hope with Brian and the boys they were all way beyond me and did their own thing and I didn't have the confidence. I realised it was too late. It wasn't particularly fun for me but I just wanted to feel normal and do something that practically everyone in the land can do. I would probably have come to enjoying it too.
Mejia - there was a railway line between the house and the sea and one day a skunk was run over by a train. The smell ....!!
That's about all I can remember of Mejia but when Beth and I were in Swansea at school we would get photos of Mother and Father and Agnes and Ruth at Mejia. We were envious.
[LM - Beth and Ina were sent to a boarding school in Swansea, Wales, aged about 8 and 7, and their parents and two younger sisters went back to Peru].
I know my mother arranged birthday parties for us and when we went to school in Swansea she would remember to send us birthday cards but we didn't have presents. My uncle [LM George], who was our official guardian when our parents were away, sent us a coin, I think, on these occasions. When our parents came back on furlough as it was called they would empty their cases and display a host of ethnic - for the most part - treasures. Little knitted llamas, brightly covered woven cloths, little wooden figures of Peruvian women with their bowler hats and capacious skirts; knitted woolen hats, brightly coloured, that men wore. These were 'recuerdos', souvenirs. We would be given something then. And I remember once I got a second hand Brownie camera - I was thrilled. When they were in Britain we got birthday presents. I remember getting navy astrakhan gloves which were all the rage then and being very pleased. My father took me to buy them - I was probably about 13. I remember being embarrassed because he kept trying to hold my hand - in public! And I felt guilty for finding it embarrassing but fathers didn't hold their 13 year old daughters' hands at that time.
So - what else in Peru? I know we went to church and Sunday school but I remember little about it. We did have to colour in pictures of bible stories etc and also sew picture cards of the same thing. I think I quite enjoyed these activities. We had to learn verses from the Bible by heart - I still pretty well remember John 13:16 in Spanish - 'Porque de tal manera amo Dias al mundo......', 'For God loved the world'. We also learned lots of choruses - these I remember in English probably because we continued singing them at Swansea - 'wide, wide as the ocean', for example and we had to do hand actions to go with them. But I also remember in Spanish quite a bit of 'Home, Sweet, Home' - "Mi hogar, mi hogar, mi dulce hogar....". What a pity we didn't learn a decent amount of prose or poetry. Different parts of the Bible would have been a good acquisition - actually we did learn Psalm 23, the Lord's my Shepherd, and that's pretty nice if hackneyed. We also had to learn the names of the books of the Bible - once more I was quite happy to do this and felt a sense of accomplishment at being able to. Don't think I can quite manage it now - almost.
My father had to do a fair amount of traveling - going into the jungle; visiting Indian villages; going to conventions where the Peruvian believers gathered and studied the Bible under the tutelage of the missionaries. They would also play football and my father loved this. He was very keen on sport and at this time Peru had a pretty good football team. When he went my mother wept copious tears. Really it must have been hard for her. She was a timid person, the last person you would imagine traveling thousands of miles to a land where she knew no-one and didn't know the language. Eventually of course it was her home and this was the stranger land. She had little education - had left school at 12. Yet she managed to learn Spanish and her English - and my father's - was always peppered with Spanish phrases, prepositions, ejaculations etc 'Postre' was always used for 'pudding' 'vamos for 'let's go','entonces', 'pues', 'tambien', 'hasta luego' were regularly used and many others. It seemed to surprise them that we couldn't launch into Spanish when they came back to England. We had been away from Peru for 5 years and only had each other to talk to but in fact we didn't see each other much as we were settled in with our peer groups. I can understand how these Spanish phrases popped in regularly but it added to their eccentric appearance - for young teenagers it was a bit painful.
Another ritual that continued to the end of my father's life was the sanctity of the 'news'. Of course, we were in Peru when war broke out. My father volunteered to be a despatch rider - what my mother and his daughters were to do I don't know! They must have followed the events with great eagerness. As soon as it was time for news we all had to fall silent. My father was always very interested in world affairs right up to his death. He would ask what someone thought about an event but listen rather sketchily waiting for the moment to launch into his own opinion. My mother's opinions on such matters were always the same as my father's. They strongly believed that a father was the head of the house and women were subservient. The war had, in fact, delayed their return to Britain. They should have been in Peru for 5 years but had to wait an extra 2 years until the war came to an end.
Beth, the oldest sister in Peru, I guess aged about 2 about 1939. Beth died in 2020. The other 3 sisters are very much still with us.
The next Part 2 covers Ina going to Britain.