Littlest One

On paper our childhood was idyllic, privileged and plentiful. We were born in Royal Leamington Spa hospital and my parents moved to a beautiful Georgian house in the Cotswolds when we were young. Prior to that we were in an equally beautiful house in the Warwickshire countryside, of which I have limited memories as I was very young. There was also a wonderful riverside house in Hereford where Dad enjoyed fly fishing and my parents entertained Princess Dianas father, Earl Spencer. (Don’t ask me details, but I think it involved whisky and an awards ceremony).

As I have mentioned previously, I am the youngest of four. My brothers, the twins, are the eldest and it is thanks to them arriving as a brace rather than just a singular infant, that we were blessed with our phenomenal nanny, Mary.

The story goes as follows:

When my mother was found to be carrying twins she went to find my father, who was having a suit fitted at his favourite tailors. When she made the announcement the tailor, rather than attending to my pregnant mother, immediately fetched my father a chair and a whisky to help him manage with the shock whilst my mother was left standing.

My mother was, understandably, also overwhelmed at the prospect of two babies arriving at the same time, as my father was working, often in London, and so they advertised for a nanny to help. The Lady, a magazine which still advertises for nannies, au pairs and home help, and has done so since 1885, was the place to start. Amazingly, it was our wonderful Mary who applied and succeeded in getting the job, all the way from Australia.

And so, Mary entered our lives and to this day has never left, and she never will as she will always and forever be our Mary Mime. Mary is one of those humans who genuinely makes the world a better place. Practical, matter of fact, straight to the point and full of the best hugs, beaming smiles, sage advice and bottomless love – as well as a never ending supply of tissues tucked in her bra, just in case.

It was Mary who wrote our baby books with our first solid foods, vaccination records, first steps and toothy updates. It was Mary who kept an eye on us whilst the grown ups enjoyed their dinner parties and boozy luncheons with friends. It was Mary who sat and built sandcastles with us and usually the children of our parents friends whilst said parents and friends enjoyed a boozy picnic. It was Mary that cut our fringes in that classic 1970s bowl style. It was Mary who saved me from falling in the pond when I was running away from the fireworks display and Mary who wiped our bums, noses, faces and tears. Mary was our safe space, our grounding. She humbled us when it was called for and taught us kindness and humility.

The plan was that Mary would stay to help Mum with the boys but then when my sister arrived Mary stayed on, and she stayed on again for me. Mary never left to go back home to Australia other than the occasional visit to see her brother – then she would come back with a suitcase full of exotic sweeties and clip on koalas for us. She stayed with us until we were all despatched to boarding schools – myself at the age of 6.

After my parents divorced and my father moved to Leamington Spa he made sure Mary had a home of her own, and there she started a small playgroup for the local parents. Mary then began fostering children and had a number of children through her care who had often come from the most terrifying experiences. With Mary’s guidance and love they would rebuild their lives and move on to new homes, often coming back to visit. In later years Mary fostered only small babies – I have never known anyone else like her in my lifetime with so much love to give. Mary adopted Richard, who is the same age as my eldest son and has bought him up as her own. He is now an independent young man who lives with Down’s syndrome, loves acting and singing and dancing. My brother is Richards Godfather and Mary, now in her 80s, is still at the end of the phone for all of us, truly with the patience of a saint. In fact I’ve just got off the phone to her and in true Mary style she is knitting a gift for a friends new born baby, counselling one of her previous fosters, making plans to take Richard to Blackpool where he loves to dance in the ballroom and asking all about my boys and my cancer recovery and recalling memories of looking after us all.

I’m sorry Pamela Lyndon Travers but your Mary Poppins has nothing on our Mary – she really is supercalifragilistic and more. The Best of the Best. Without Marys calming presence in our somewhat eventful lives I’m not sure where we would be, but I do know we will always and forever be grateful and feel tremendously blessed that it was our Mary who found us – and that we were lucky enough that she chose to stay with us, through thick and thin, the messy bits and the chaotic bits, the healthy and the happy bits and all the in betweens.