by Maggie Pollard
Mildred Pollard, my mum, should never have been born into a working class family. My first husband said she was ‘one of Nature’s aristocrats’. She certainly looked down on Dad’s family. He was fatherless and even poorer. (See my poem Coupled Up). There was a sense of the lady about Mum. Unlike most people, who doled out the evening meal on plates in the kitchen, she used serving dishes that were presented to the centre of the table!
Mum had gone to grammar school. She read books and The Manchester Guardian newspaper. Her parents had a lean-to kitchen (very posh), and she worked in an office. Because of the religious environment where we lived, becoming pregnant at 21 by a boy aged 17 brought shame. She married Dad soon after. Given his low-waged job, any hopes of a middle class life were now out of reach.
Mum’s own family was very musical. At that time, the influence of the Salvation Army was strong in those Northern towns. Despite what I consider to have been the dark side of the Salvation Army, it enabled many working class people to learn music, to sing and play. One iconic photograph was taken circa 1947. It is a photograph of the Burnley Citadel’s brass band. All are men, most known to me as family members or neighbours. Right there in the middle of the middle row is my diminutive mum. She played a cornet. My eyes fill with tears when I see that photo. How very special Mum must have been to hold her own in that world of men.
Mum was so vocally disappointed in her “lot” that it imbued her with bitterness and regret. I seemed to spend a lifetime trying to please her, but as Dad said, ‘You will never make her happy so stop trying.’ I remember challenging Dad as to why they stayed together, having apparently nothing in common. He assured me that they had always had music. Mum and I also shared a love of music in general and singing in particular. She had a beautiful contralto voice. I loved to hear her sing songs such as Kathleen Ferrier’s Blow the Wind Southerly.
When Mum left the Salvation Army for the local Methodist church, she soon became leader of the children’s choir and the recorder group. I was a member of both. It was something we shared from when I was around seven to twelve years of age. Mum always seemed relaxed and happy in those situations. She could have been and clearly should have been a teacher. I saw that she was a very enlightened educator with a naturally patient approach. As my life progressed I was truly blessed by her support and belief in me to continue in education, so that I could become the teacher she was never going to be.
Mum taught me the songs in The News Chronicle Song Book. My sister and I engaged with it from a very early age, as you can see from the drawings inside! Mum didn’t seem to mind our scribbling. And as I write, I see that we studiously only used the blank spaces. Although it wasn’t by chance that I carried this book to the Writing That Sings meeting to talk about my mum, it was a chance meeting that led to another discovery. Lacking a printed date, a passing encounter in the café revealed the book’s publication date to be 1930. Mum was born in 1927, so I now realise it probably belonged to Grandma or even Great Grandma. It is signed inside with a simple M Pollard. I cherish that signature. There was no friction when Mum and I sang together. Recalling it now, we would harmonise on Steal Away, Abide with Me, My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean, Swing Low Sweet Chariot.
Mum was also a member of the Burnley Municipal Choir. My vivid memory of being in the audience at their performance of Handel’s Messiah may have been influenced by the thrill of being handed the score. It didn’t matter that I was only eight years old. Trusted to appreciate it, I followed that score to the note, in my head singing along with my mum. I sensed that this was a world she could have inhabited. I can imagine her now, dressed well and cheerily attending concerts in Manchester or London. The choirmaster was a top man in the Council, educated. My sister and I often joked about how different Mum’s life would have been if she had married him instead.
But ah, then I wouldn’t be here to tell this story and honour my dear Mum and this precious book of songs.
About the author
Maggie Pollard writes poems and heartfelt, incisive reflections on family life. She is a member of Borderland Voices and the creator of Earth Song Poetry.
She performs her stories at venues in Staffordshire and Derbyshire.
Maggie wrote and audio-recorded an exObjects piece in praise of old decorating cloths for the Artificial Silk web magazine.
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To read the other 5 commissions in Writing that Sings click here
