non sibi sed toti	Parsons Family and Friends

Emily Index Chapter One: Her parents Chapter Two: Growing up in Wicklow Chapter Three: The Years of the Great War Chapter Four: Boarding School Chapter Five: The Idyll Ends Chapter Six: The Morris Minor - and Poland Chapter Seven:January 3rd or My Journey to Warsaw Chapter Eight: Sewerynov 3 Chapter Nine: Love in a cold climate Chapter Ten: Escape with a baby Chapter Eleven: Dubliners Chapter Twelve: Post-war London Chapter Thirteen: In Metroland Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming Spires Chapter Fifteen: Sheffield Chapter Sixteen: Gold and Diamond Chapter 10: Escape with a baby 1936-39 Emily and Martin were keen to meet each other's families in England and Ireland, and took a holiday in the summer of 1936 at their own expense, going first to Weston-super-mare to meet Martin's parents, and then to Foxrock. Martin's father had suffered a heart attack and had retired from parish ministry. He and his wife took Emily to their hearts. She also met Martin's brothers Stanley and Howard and their wives. His sister was with her husband in Singapore. After crossing from Holyhead to Dun Laoghaire on the Mail Boat, they were met by Emily's mother in a hired car and taken to Alders in Foxrock. A high point of their stay there was a garden party, with tennis, to which Emily invited her friends and relatives to meet her new husband. She wore her wedding dress for the occasion, and Martin wore tennis kit. She also took him out in her Morris Minor up into the Wicklow Mountains, and almost ran out of petrol. They sat by a stream and discussed sending their son to Monkton Combe School - something they did, 12 years later. Returning to Warsaw, Martin continued to work very hard, and Emily settled into her role as housewife, while the grandparents-to-be made plans for the coming birth. Martin's mother found a nurse, Nurse Burge, to help when the time came. She was efficient but insensitive; her stay was not a great success. (Many years later Emily and Martin visited her in old people's accommodation in Uphill, near Weston-super-mare, and found a cantankerous old woman, complaining loudly of everything and everyone!) Emily's mother made the journey to Warsaw again. Martin arranged for a good Polish gynaecologist, Dr Jastrzebski to attend the birth. Evie Taylor, a good friend of Emily's, an Englishwoman married to a Pole, was there to interpret between nurse and doctor. The dining room of the Parsons' flat was transformed into a maternity ward. On 25th February 1937 Martin called the doctor at 7 a.m. Emily refused pain relief, saying that she wanted to know exactly what it was like to give birth. Labour lasted eight hours, and the experience was such that Emily did not refuse pain relief for her other children's births. But all went well, and at 3 p.m. Evie Taylor emerged to give Martin the news: "It's a lovely boy." If he had been born the previous day, he would probably have been called Matthias, since it was the feast of St. Matthias. As it was, they called him David, a Jewish name, and one which at that time did not seem very common. They considered adding Wynne, but just as Martin had only one Christian name, so they gave David just a single name. Neighbours were amazed that Emily put the baby out on a balcony in the bitter Polish winter, but he took no harm. Marta pushed him in his pram through the Warsaw streets, and enjoyed the admiring looks of strangers. "Man kann wohl sehen, unserer Kind ist ein besseres Kind," she said. The baby was baptised on Easter Day. When summer came, Martin arranged for Emily and David to go to the country with Evie Taylor and her daughter Peggy. He travelled in the car with them - he did not learn to drive until 1945 - and saw them settled. Then he and the driver returned to Warsaw. He planned to join them in August. The place was a country estate called Obrocz near Zanosc, a town in eastern Poland near the Russian border. It was run by a family named Los. There were good things about the place: wild flowers grew in profusion. In fact there is now a National Park there. One of the sons, Andrzej, grew very fond of David and was quite good at changing nappies. But David had some childish infection and conditions were primitive; the loo was off-putting and there was a plague of flies. Emily wrote about these things, and Martin replied on July 5th, in words that imply that Emily was not really recovered from the birth: I am so sorry about the flies, which seem to be the big drawback. I don't think they will have visited the place (euphemism for lavatory, evidently) because it is all dark there, and they like the light. And as long as David is strong and well I don't believe they will do him any harm. But it's wise to keep the muslin in use (like a mosquito net, it seems) and try to take him often to the woods. If the pushing is too much, hire someone from the village just for that. Why not tactfully ask that the maid should not touch Baby's hands? You could explain that he has the funny habit of sucking them. Darling, I think all will be happy in a day or two, and it will be doing you lots of good. Rest yourself a lot this week, and then you can begin tennis and bathing. Two days later Martin's letter included this: Dearest, I am afraid you are not very happy, and of course that make me sad too. I want to hear soon that David has been good, and that there are no ill effects... I believe even yet that you will both get used to the new surroundings and get to love it.... The reference to being good is a euphemism for passing a stool. A parcel came from Warsaw containing prunes and an enema. As for Emily's not being happy, it may be that she was suffering post natal depression. Martin considered joining her for two days, even though it was a long way. But before that plan could be carried out, he received news that affected him deeply. On June 12th he wrote: Sewerynow 3 Warsaw 12.vii.37 My darling Emily, A telegram came late last night to say that dearest Daddy has gone Home suddenly. "Dad died suddenly this morning, funeral Wednesday - Howard." How glad I am for the word suddenly, with I suppose no pain or suffering. Dear old Dad. I feel I must go if at all possible. If I get the night train I think I shall be in London by 8 on Wednesday morning, and then on to Weston. If I wire my arrangements I think they could make the funeral late afternoon. I know Dad would have me there, not for his sake but for Mother's. ... I wonder how you will be off for money if I go away for 10 days. I expect the Los's would see that you were all right in an emergency... Your ever loving Martin. Because of David's health problems, Martin waited for the next post before finally arranging his journey. No letter came, and he assumed, correctly, that no news was good news. All went according to plan, and he was away for ten days, not only supporting his mother, but visiting relatives, phoning friends, buying Cow and Gate baby milk and paying a visit to mission headquarters and talking with Mr Gill, who said, "You don't know what a comfort it is to me to have you in Warsaw." Emily would probably have found it more of a comfort to have him in Obrocz. On his return to Warsaw on July 22nd, bringing not only the Cow and Gate but also two dresses from his Mother for David, and baby reins from his Aunt Flossie, he plunged into the stresses of work. There were some German refugees, Jews probably, for whom accommodation had to be found. There was the continuing burden of financial administration and the wages of Mission staff, for which he had no training but which he was expected as Head of Mission to see to. And there were difficult people. One man who was a worry at this time was called Blumenstock. Without knowing the background it is hard to sort out what was happening, but this paragraph from a letter written one Saturday in that July shows the strain on Martin: Yesterday, Friday, I had another affair with Blumenstock. John was to go with him to get a room in the country, and then I had a 'phone from the house where he lives to say that he was bad and needed someone to go and help with his bag. John went, and to cut a long story short, found out from the woman there that B has been deceiving me. When she thought she had queered his pitch she wanted to take it all back and say that he didn't owe her anything after all. Then he rang me up and she said down the 'phone that he didn't owe her anything. But of course I could tell it was all made up. He came this morning saying his fate was sealed, i.e. he would commit suicide. I know he won't! He says he always tells me the truth, tries to blame John etc. etc.. I smelt drink again. I would forgive anything and everything if he would be straight enough to confess it. But this crooked deception is hopeless. How can you begin to help such a man? The following Monday: "Blumenstock came today, and wanted to assure me that he had begun a new life. But he was very upset that I did not help him any more. I was adamant, and did not give him a gross." So Emily and Martin were both at a low ebb when they were together in Obrocz. David had cut his first tooth just before his father arrived; that must partly account for his appearing unwell. Martin remembered that he and Emily played tennis and swam in the river, and that "in the course of a short walk I picked 50 different kinds of wild flowers." But it was a troubled holiday. Worse followed. Martin felt unwell, with a splitting headache, on the train journey back to Warsaw. The initial symptoms wore off, but by September it was clear that he had caught typhoid fever. We remember that CMJ had not thought to advise inoculation against this or any other disease. A medical reference book shows the symptoms, and the difficulty of diagnosis: Typhoid fever has an insidious onset characterized by fever, headache, constipation, malaise, chills, and myalgia with few clinical features that reliably distinguish it from a variety of other infectious diseases. Diarrhea is uncommon, and vomiting is not usually severe. Confusion, delirium, intestinal perforation, and death may occur in severe cases.... Persons with typhoid fever usually have a sustained fever as high as 103° to 104° F (39° to 40° C). They may also feel weak, or have stomach pains, headache, or loss of appetite. In some cases, patients have a rash of flat, rose-colored spots. The only way to know for sure if an illness is typhoid fever is to have samples of stool or blood tested for the presence of S. Typhi. This was a serious illness, then, but Emily would not allow Martin to be taken into hospital. She used the dining room as a sickroom. Martin's mother journeyed to Warsaw and looked after the baby. Emily donned protective clothing to visit her husband, and naturally David was not allowed into the room. It was more than a month before Martin, 'weak as a kitten' as he put it, was able to go away to convalesce. Whether because of all this strain or for some other reason, Emily's next pregnancy - they had been hoping for a girl, and had planned to call her Mary Evelyn - ended in a midnight miscarriage towards the end of April 1938. After the briefest period of recovery she made the journey to England with Martin and David. In Weston-super-mare there was Granny Parsons who, with other friends, helped care for David while she rested. Martin was sent on a senselessly crowded schedule of preaching engagements - a doctor commented when he collapsed exhausted, "The church is mad" - and Emily took David to her own mother in Ireland. Emily felt able to leave David with his grandmother while she went to join Martin in England in July. That period may have laid the foundation of a particularly close relationship between David and his grandmother. The two of them crossed to Wales to spend August with Martin and Emily in a rented house at Criccieth, where the Children's Special Service Mission was in action. Martin had led the Mission in Criccieth before going to Warsaw, but now under doctor's orders he took little part. In September David returned to Foxrock with both his grandmothers. Emily was free to attend the CMJ Summer School in High Leigh with Martin. Back in Foxrock she had a crisis. The toddler managed to grip the flexible pipe leading to a free-standing gas ring on a kitchen working surface, and to pull the ring, and the saucepan of boiling water, down over himself, scalding his neck and chest. The neighbours could hear the screams. If David had been plunged at once into a bath of cold water the results would have been less lasting, but the received wisdom about burns and scalds at the time did not include this, and he had the scars for life.This accident meant that Emily had to stay in Ireland when Martin returned to Warsaw in November. She and David were able to join him late in January. At that time a visitor from England, Ross Sage, took a short piece of film, black and white and silent, of Emily walking with David in his pram, which was used in a publicity film for the CMJ, and which has long disappeared. They were not, however, in Warsaw for long. Each train journey to and from Poland took the passengers through Germany, and each time Emily felt the Nazi presence grow more threatening. Hitler had annexed the Sudetenland from Czechoslovakia in 1938. In March 1939 he invaded and took control of the whole of Czechoslovakia. So on 31st March the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain issued a formal guarantee of Poland's borders. War was a real possibility. On the advice of the British Ambassador to Poland, Emily immediately took David home. The journey, on April 1st, was organised in haste. They did not even have enough money for the train from London to Weston; a friend in England came to the rescue and lent money. It was an anxious journey, and David was sick, but they arrived safely in Weston. Martin wrote to Emily: My mind is far easier now that you are safely away. I do not think there is any danger, but it is good to be sure of the little boy. On April 5th there were hints that Emily was suffering further internal trouble after the miscarriage: I know all things work together for good. I did just wonder if perhaps God had his purpose in sending you back because of your inside. Wouldn't you feel happier if an English doctor ... told you how it all was. Darling, I do hope we shall one day have a little sister for David. There were bigger problems for the world, as people waited to see what Hitler would do. On 7th April Martin was looking forward to the return of both Emily and David. "We may get more shocks, but it is mostly 'bluff'." On 8th he wrote: "You see, we are still not quite out of the wood with Italy and Albania etc. But I think in a week or so we shall know when you can come back. I expect it will be all right. I have a feeling we shall be kept on the edge of things for some time, and then perhaps the Lord will come before the last terrible war." By April 14th, as well as remembering their wedding day three years before - "I forget all the setbacks we have had, and remember only the joys" - Martin wrote more pessimistically: Dear one, we did right to send you home, and I don't think you should come back until we are quite out of the present mess. The Muntz's have now gone, and I think the Hankeys too. You are better where you are. Perhaps you should even go over to Ireland. On 17th there was more uncertainty: I do not know how to comment on the international situation ... But I do not think the Axis will miss the opportunity held out by Roosevelt. Of course they must shout a lot so as not to lose face, but I think war will be averted... Surely the world will soon breathe again as it did last September. But I hope for a little longer! ... I fear something awaits Germany for its treatment of Israel. If only the innocent Germans would not have to suffer too. By the 26th Emily had taken David on the mailboat to her Mother. Martin's Mother wrote after they had gone: I do miss you both most awfully. You know David is a very good boy. Dear little man, his tears touched me. The same day Martin wrote from Warsaw: People seem to think Hitler will speak peace on Friday - in his own sweet voice of course. Martin was feeling low. He wrote: Sometimes I get bad thoughts and think I am not strong enough for the work here, and ought to tell Committee so. ... Weissmann says it is because I haven't got you and David that I get a bit worn out. But sometimes I feel quite lively, so I am sure there is nothing wrong. His doctor disagreed. Very soon after the last letter, Martin wrote: I have been to the doctor, and he says the heart is not too good. For two years still I must be careful. Not to walk too much, hurry or lift. To lie down twice a day, for two hours at a time. ... It raises the whole question of my being able to carry on here. Emily came out, leaving David in Foxrock. It was on this journey that she was searched at the German frontier, though her experience was not as bad as that suffered by another woman, whose husband told her had been forced to strip 'ganz nackt'. She was also given some money on the journey by a friend in Germany. Having had to declare all the money that she had when she entered Germany, she was terrified about what might happen if she left the country with more money than she had had on entry. She spent all she could in the dining car, and put more in a charity collecting box. It might, she later said, have been for the support of the Nazi party, but she was desperate. Finally she threw the remainder of the money out of the train window. She and Martin returned to England, where Martin was presented to the King, who asked how things were in Poland. Martin simply answered 'Not good, your Majesty.' The family travelled to Ireland in May. They made their temporary family home with Emily's mother, and were in Ireland on September 1st when Hitler invaded their beloved Poland, and on September 3rd when Britain declared war.