(30) 'Mothers and MOTHERS'

[Ken]

My Mother rarely visited the 'Red Lion' pub but, on one of the few occasions she did, she heard Mick Stevens speaking to his Mother in an unkind way.  "Would any of your children speak to you like that?" Mick's mother asked mine.  "Mrs Tuffs, there are mothers and Mothers", Mick interrupted.  I will always remember that evening, it was after a cricket match in the mid sixties, not long after my father had died. Thinking back to Mick's mum and the way she lived her life, I have to agree her son may have been right.  There are mothers and MOTHERS and mine, Ruby Alice Jane Tuffs, was exceptional.

This memory is about two of the many Christmas days Jenny and I shared with my wonderful Mother. Jenny once told me that when, on one of our early dates, she first heard me speak of my mother, she found the love that came across somewhat alien to her own environment. Warm words of such affection were not part of her families everyday life.  Later, Jenny came to enjoy the warmth and obvious liking my Mother showed her, but most of all she loved my Mums sense of fun.  The different ways in which Jenny's mother and my mother viewed life can be found in this prank that I played on both women.  I had purchased, at great expense, a completely realistic telephone of what would now be described as the old fashioned sort.  Although it was identical in appearance to almost all the telephones of the time, complete with the coiled flex that went from the phone base to the actual phone. The difference was this phone was in fact a very deceptive, cleverly disguised, water pistol!

It was on a Christmas morning that I used it for the first time and both Mum and my brother Bob were staying with us.  I had called Mum to the phone, having told her that my sister Dot wanted to wish her a happy Christmas.  My beloved Mother picked up the phone and into the speaker softly said, "Hello Dot," and immediately received a face full of water.  As we all burst into laughter, Mum, with water all over her spectacles and running down her face, repeated into the speaker, "Dot?" and all our laughter rose in volume.  As we handed Mum a towel, and as she dried her face and dabbed her damp dress, no one laughed more than her.  My wonderful, good natured and fun loving Mother. Exactly one week later, on the morning of New Years Day, our visitors were Jenny's parents. I had just informed her Mother that her son John wished to speak to her, and you know the rest...Whoosh...  Did she laugh?  NO!  Was I popular?  NO! Was I described as an overgrown child? You guessed it!

The Christmas of 1984 was the last one I had in my Guildford home.  As usual, Bob and Mum were there, as were three year old Morgan, ten year old Kathryn, my forever young Jenny and, of course, me.  We were joined by two of our favourite lodgers, an Irishman called Martin McInerny and Kazihiro Akimoto, who was from Japan.  Kaz's female friend, a young Japanese teenager we'd met for the first time that day was also there, for we had heard she would be spending Christmas day alone and Jenny wasn't having that.  I do not remember what food the nine of us ate at our Christmas teatime meal, but I do know we would have pulled our crackers, read out the motto's and put on our hats.  Without doubt wine would have been consumed and the mood would have been good, as chat and laughter filled the room.  

At this point, I handed out a Blowpipe to everyone, together with a large supply of small sponge balls.  This was some kind of novelty game that I'd not seen before or since that Christmas, but one that gave me an enduring memory of a happy time.  I showed every one how to insert a sponge ball into a blowpipe and with a deep breath and a large blow, I demonstrated how a ball could be shot across the room.  My ball flew across the table to hit my aged mother on the head, and she immediately blew one back at me. Within seconds balls were flying in all directions from the nine of us as blowpipe war took hold.  Eighteen year old Kaz was blasting balls at my eighty year old Mother, and Kathryn and Morgan were attacked him, defending their Grandma valiantly.  Mum was concentrating on hitting Bob and Martin was whacking me with ball after ball. Bob was shooting at Jenny and little Morgan was busy picking up the shot balls from the floor and handing them to me, ensuring his Dad didn't run out of ammunition.  Eventually we all ran out of breath and I saw that the small sponge balls covered the entire room.  As we slowly calmed down I knew another memory of the future had been born.

I never saw the young Japanese girl again but I have kept in regular touch with Kaz, via post and email. Irish Martin did visit with his wife and child for the Christmas of 1989 but in time we lost touch.  My Mother was taken ill and died on the cup final day of the year following the above Christmas day gathering, shortly before our move to Wales so, sadly, she never saw our new home.  But sometimes Jenny and I will have a memory of that fun loving old lady, sitting in a crowded room with a blowpipe in her hand, shooting small sponge balls around that big old oak table. The same table I am now sitting at as I recall the words Mick Steven's spoke to my Mother way back in 1965.  "Mrs Tuffs, there are mother's and MOTHERS", and we, the Tuffs' of 'Shamley Green', had one of the very best!        
         

 

[Ken]

This collection of short memories of Ruby Tuffs tells of a woman who never lost her sense of fun, even in old age.  It explains the humour of her children and, perhaps, their children's, children!