Events

My mother Trudy Urmson died in early October at Northampton General Hospital. She had only recently moved from her home in Overstone Road to live in care, ending nearly 70 years as a Sywell resident.

After a fall at home in December ’24 Trudy experienced delirium, possibly because of medication needed around the surgery at NGH. She was 97 when she died, and had experienced a long and healthy life, so when we gathered at Sywell Village Hall in November with friends, neighbours and family, it was with a celebration of that life in mind.

We were fortunate to be able to show a video about her experiences during the Second World War. In the video, made by Trudy’s grandson James Roper when a film student, Trudy tells how she escaped the Russian advance as the Nazi regime collapsed in 1945.

Trudy was born Waltraud Waitz in Vienna in 1928. When she was eight, the family moved to a village near the Czechoslovakian border, leaving a capital city torn apart by civil war and a population despairing of the new authoritarian regime. Against this background, many Austrians did indeed welcome Hitler’s annexation of Austria, and initially it brought benefits to the Waitz family.

Trudy was selected for a place at a state boarding school where she remained throughout the war. These NAtional POLitical Academies (Napolas) were the brainchild of Nazis in the culture ministry who wished to ensure the future supply of politically indoctrinated, well-educated, and physically healthy Germans to lead the nation, no doubt for the next thousand years. Schools for boys were set up soon after the Nazis came to power, and were modelled on the great British public schools such as Eton and Harrow. There were pupil exchanges too, with Westminster, St Paul’s, Shrewsbury and Dauntsey’s schools.There were also sport tournaments with Eton, Harrow, Westminster, Winchester, and more. By the end of the war there were 40 Napolas, which included three for girls established in the late 1930s. No doubt these girls’ schools existed to ensure the supply of wives for the future leaders, but the syllabus was just as rigorous, with a heavy emphasis on sport and fitness. It certainly meant that Trudy received a much more intensive education than commonly available to girls in rural Austria, where KKK stood for Kinder Kueche, Kirche (Children, Kitchen, Church), and expectations were limited.

It was in many ways a sheltered life, and when suddenly in April 1945, as bombs began to fall on the nearby town, all the girls were shocked to be sent home. Arriving at her village, she found the front line forces were just days away, and plans were already afoot to evacuate all young girls and women in the village. (The remaining women, of all ages, decamped to the surrounding dense forest until some army discipline had been established).

The owner of a local sawmill volunteered to personally drive a small tractor towing a farm cart loaded with escapees. As he was also the local Nazi party chief, he had his own reasons to flee, but it’s more generous to suppose he recognised he had some responsibility for the dire situation.

The trip was fortunately uneventful and eventually they reached Bavaria and safety with the American forces. Back at home, the war had officially ended the day before Russian forces arrived so the family were spared the worst excesses of that triumphant army, some of whom had maybe fought all the way from Stalingrad.

Austria, and Vienna, was divided by the Allies in the same fashion as Germany. Trudy’s home village was in the Russian zone, a situation that existed until 1955. After eventual repatriation, Trudy enrolled at Vienna University, and in one summer vacation, she responded to an advertisement calling for young people to ward to Britain and help with the harvest. My father John also replied, and they met as part of a multi-national mob of fruit and vegetable pickers. Family lore always places the fateful meeting on a potato field, for extra bathos.

They married in Cornwall in 1952 and in 1955 Trudy and John bought the house in Overstone Road (for around £2,000).

Christa’s personal memories of Trudy were available on the day, and here they are:

I was so in awe of my mother, particularly as a child. She was so able, skilled and intelligent.

She was an excellent knitter and created knits that we were actually delighted to wear, and some involved complex patterns. Not only could she knit, but also watch TV and talk, all at the same time. I, on the other hand, had to knit mittens as a task to pass from Brownie to Girl Guide. Brown Owl pointed out that both mittens were for the left hand, which I hadn’t even noticed.

Mother was a marvel on the treadle sewing machine, producing everything from curtains to most of our clothes, always choosing wonderful fabrics (often purchased at a local Aquascutum sale). I took so long to make a needle case at secondary school and was so far behind that I was advised to give up after a year.

Mother could cook with great skill, and she appeared to have a heightened sense of taste and smell which gave her dishes extra balance and flavour. I didn’t have these skills and when undertaking my “O-level DS” exam, the moderator whispered to me, when tasting my soup, that she would avoid the lumps of flour. She also rescued my rolls that were burning in the oven.

We were not always as appreciative of my mother’s culinary skills as we should have been. I remember (Martin does not) clamouring for “shop-bought cake”, as, being taboo, it was made highly desirable. Chewing gum was also much wanted and not allowed.

We were taught the recorder at primary school. Mother played it beautifully, and I discovered how this instrument could and should sound. She had also learned the violin at school and had a good violin, second only to a Stradivarius, which unfortunately was lost. Her musical ability was also reflected in her singing and understanding of musical scores. She loved singing in choirs and also enjoyed translating choral music from German for the benefit of the choir members, so they could understand the text. Father and I growled rather than sang. In fact, children at a primary school I worked in were known to cover their ears with their hands and plead, “No, Mrs Roper, no,” as I sang next to them.

Mother had a great love of opera and classical music. We were taken to the Royal Opera House, the Coliseum, and the opera house in Schönbrunn, but we were not convinced. Mother hated pop music and only once said she quite liked a pop song—when “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was played in a café we were eating in.

To see my mother perform the Cossack “Hopak” dance was a wonder to behold, and her strength and agility seemed to know no bounds. She had a good repertoire of ballroom dances as she had been formally trained in her youth, whereas my father and I had no sense of rhythm or fluidity of movement.

I had no idea how coordination was achieved and also had flat feet, for which I had to wear big brown brogues prescribed by the hospital. I could manage a forward roll and climb up ropes. During athletics in the summer months at school, I was often asked to walk around the perimeter of the field, which spared me the constant failure to perform.

Mother studied English at Vienna University. She loved languages and was constantly looking up the etymology of words. Mother was mystified as to why British people spoke English so badly, and it is true that she spoke and wrote grammatically correct English. Sometimes she would take it upon herself to educate others in lieu of their grammatical misdemeanours, which, amazingly, people tolerated. She was frustrated by her accent, as she was constantly asked, “Where do you come from?” I was unable to discern her accent. Father and Mother loved to travel and enjoyed picking up languages. As they often visited Spain they undertook Spanish lessons. As many of you will know, Mother loved talking. When younger, her voice really carried, so when she phoned us, she could be heard in every room in the house!

I had my own trouble with language, as I was a martyr to spoonerisms, my favourites being “par cark”, “wot hottle bottle”, and “paste wafer basket”.

I haven’t mentioned Martin in the narrative yet. He was an extremely able child who had an outstanding talent for learning and displayed none of the deficits that I encountered. Looking back, I think that my mother must have been confounded by my lack of ability, as much as I was incredulous at how easily she achieved everything. I presume now that I had, and still have, dyspraxia. The common saying “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” isn’t always correct.

Mother had some strong views, including a dislike of all things American, including Disney. My cousins Peter and Thomas in Austria had Mickey Mouse magazines that I made sure I got a sneaky peek at, and I would occasionally see a cartoon on a friend’s TV. We didn’t get a TV until I was twelve. This absence allowed me to develop a love of literature and art. When the TV was installed, I was so mesmerised that I happily watched the test card.

Mother certainly lived life to the full until the latter years of her life. My parents were always off somewhere: to the theatre, a concert, a dinner party, etc. Visitors were a constant presence in their home. I always used to say that my parents did more in a month than we did in a year. Father was probably swept along by Mother to a large extent, but I am sure that he was a willing participant. Mother was always on to the next activity and found much pleasure in almost everything she did. She was physically amazingly healthy and rarely had an illness that would keep her in bed. Mother would often comment on what an easy life she had, luckily not confronted by the sad and terrible events that others suffer.

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