Auntie Edie & Auntie Fran

Many people have a favourite aunt. Often, these women are considered to be The Zany One, the one who is always a bit off centre, the one you can count on to dish honestly about the rest of the family – and not judge you for asking.

(I like to think that I fit this description myself!)

But strangely, my own favourite Aunties – eccentric, quirky and hard core Mancunians – were not even real, legitimate Aunties.

Let me explain.

My mum’s older sister, Ethel (seen here swimming) had two sisters-in-laws named Edie and Frances. They were, obviously, the sisters of her husband but she openly disliked them, having no patience with their oddities, long stories or attempts to be friendly. My Uncle just shook his head wearily and didn’t feel the need to make things right or even better, so things just stayed like that between them and I believe that everyone just accepted it in the end.

However, both Edie and Frances absolutely adored my mother whom they openly claimed (and, I think, believed) was their actual sister. My mum was always ready and happy to listen to their stories, let them “borrow” our dog for walking and regularly made excuses for any eccentricities when they surfaced. (“Frances drove an ambulance during the war, you know,” my mum intoned darkly once although I was too young to truly understand what she was hinting at.)

Auntie Fran would have been an animal rights activist had she been born in a different time. She could be fierce, red faced and impulsive and her temper was legendary; however, if she liked you, she liked you and she certainly liked me. Her timid but affable husband Richie, was a lovely, wiry man, both long suffering and philosophical.

There was a story (myth?) about her witnessing an old donkey being whipped by its “Rag ‘n Bone Man” and she sprinted across the street to wrench the whip from his hand and apply a few good lashes herself.

To the donkey’s owner.

(If he was in any way a smallish man, I have no reason to doubt this story and apparently, he decided to hop it at a good speed with or without the donkey never being clear …)

Auntie Edie, on the other hand was a tiny bird-like woman with kindly eyes and a self-deprecating shyness that preceded every smile as she quickly looked up from under her lashes. She favoured dull tweeds and cardigans and like Fran, adored animals of any kind but particularly dogs, and particularly little dogs. I found it very easy to talk to her as a teenager as I always felt so at ease in her company. I also felt extremely sorry for her, partly because of Auntie Ethel’s unwarranted disdain and partly because she seemed so vulnerable. (Auntie Ethel often became cross with my mother for putting up with them although I wonder now if she was jealous somehow.)

Once after spending a pleasant evening at their house playing with their Fox Terrier “Chummy” and drinking copious amounts of tea, I came home laden with treasures that they had pressed on me from curiously sealed and impossibly interesting boxes – things like tiny glass blown animals of various colours, vintage dog calendars etc.

I was thrilled.

But I did ask my mum later if they had just moved into that house? Because there were boxes piled high everywhere, furniture stacked on top of chairs, boxes and boxes of Spratt’s Dog Biscuits. My mum and Auntie Ethel had a very good uncharitable laugh about this, since although no satisfying explanation was offered, I now realize that they were ‘Hoarders’ in the true sense of the word.

Edie told me once that there was a third sister but that the war had been “too much” for her and she had come home one day and attached her gas mask to the oven. I was incredulous that she was sharing something so personal and clearly still raw, but I felt truly honoured and important to be holding her trust. And her sadness.

One Christmas, when she knew that I had a new boyfriend, she gave me a fancy boxed set of Hartnell’s “In Love” perfume with a turquoise heart shaped bottle. I was so touched and kept it on my bedside table for weeks so that I could look at the elegant packaging. And I’ll never forget her leaning in with a squeeze of my arm, saying, “I thought this was appropriate.” But Auntie Edie herself had never married or even been involved with anyone.

I think of her often with her gentle ways and hope that she knew how important she was to me.

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