28 Sep 2002
Wife: Marie Elizabeth SCAIFE Also known as Betty died at age: 91
Born: 24 Mar 1911 in Wallington Surrey
Resided: 1939 in Broadstairs Kent
Resided: 1943 - c1960 in West Wickham & Beckenham Kent
Resided: c1960 - 1975 in Rye Sussex
Resided: 1975 - 2002 in Darley Road Eastbourne Sussex
Died: 20 Sep 2002 in Eastbourne General Hospital 1
Cremated: 27 Sep 2002 at Eastbourne Crematorium 2
Occupation: 1934 - 1939 Financial Times & Investment News 3
Occupation: 1939 - 1945 Queen Elizabeth School for the Disabled 4
Occupation: 1958 - c1970 traveller in fine Irish linen and exquisite baby clothes
Father: Edwin George SCAIFE
Mother: Emma SWEETING
Husband: Rowland CHEESEMAN
Married: 1939
Divorced: 1958
Father:
Mother:
F Child 1: Carolyn CHEESEMAN age: 59
Born: 1943
Spouse: Graham GRINNELL
F Child 2: Elizabeth Ann CHEESEMAN age: 54
Born: 1948
Spouse: Ian McPHAIL
Married: at St Georges Hanover Sq London W 1
Sources:
(1) Ind, after a serious fall and appalling NHS treatment in Eastbourne General
and All Saints Hospitals.
(2) Ind, Address by Michael Harte - at her cremation
With Betty's sad death, we as a family come to the end of an era. And what an
era that has been. Betty - the youngest daughter of Emma and Edwin Scaife - was
born before the first World War - married before the Second and brought up a
family as a single parent through the difficult early years of peace. From her
mother - a suffragette in her youth, she acquired a strength of character and
firmness of purpose, which stood her well in later years; from her father
perhaps she inherited her commercial skills and interest in fine fabrics.
Her childhood and young adulthood must have been a rowdy time. She and her
sisters were all active sporting girls - tennis, ice skating and swimming took
precedence over homework and lessons. They were four beautiful girls and always
surrounded by ardent admirers. I pity poor George - but would love to have been
a fly on the wall observing all that went on in Wallington in the 1920s and
1930. Writing about Edwin Scaife and his Tregarrick harem in 1925, Francis Fenn
sang:-:
Of Doris fair - who to the Bank doth wend
At eight o'clock each morn her
fairy way;
And loves for home to fly when work is done,
To sit near Mother after London's din.
And then of Gladys, cased in languid airs
And dresses black and red - with shingled locks
And lovers scattered far and wide - of whom
She sings with purest note at Theatre Grand;
She plays the hockey game, and in the bath
Doth sit for hours - when George is not therein;
And swears big oaths - for why? - because
She has to wipe the democratic dish
And Ruin Red stares 'mesdames' in the face.
And then of Peg - a winsome maid indeed,
Who once did cook and bake the
livelong day,
But now, alas!, is found in Britain's Bank
From ten to four - or even shorter hours -
She tired is of home's domestic drudge:-
Would'st like, old one, to be in Bank thyself?
Betty remains of whom to tell the tale -
That growing wench with lengthy look indeed -
And bright green frock which sleeveless is, I fear.
Times were hard - her father was in poor health and her mother had to carry a
heavy burden not only of responsibility but also of financial worry.
But schooldays had to come to an end and Betty went to work. Never one to shirk
a challenge. For five years she worked for Brendon Bracken, MP at the Financial
Times and Investors News where Winston Churchill was a regular visitor and one
of her duties was to buy his cigars - getting no more than a grunt in exchange
from the great man.
Travel was an enduring love of hers - from her early days she enjoyed exploring
Europe: travelling by train across France to Monte Carlo, she went into the
casino for an evening's entertainment. But money was probably short - and the
summer heat suggested that thirst could be a problem. So Betty bought a bunch
of grapes to take with her. But that would not look too elegant, so she wrapped
them in a box. Even in those days, security was an issue and the guards
suspected she might be carrying a pistol, so stopped and searched her with care
before allowing in to the hallowed tables. In the 1970s she often visited my
sister in Rome - wearing out my mother in the process! Indeed she really never
stopped travelling - Cornwall, Madeira, Lanzarote she knew them all. And she
travelled energetically - a five barred gate was no obstacle for Betty at 90,
when nature called.
She married Rowland in 1939. One of my first genuine memories was of that
wedding: as a page boy, I was more concerned with getting out of the church -
with my teddy bear - to feed the ducks, and later with feeding myself than
assisting in the ceremonies.
With Rowland away for much of the war, working for the Judge Advocate General
mainly in Dorset - but later in Germany on war crimes business, Betty had to get
used to being alone. She worked at the Queen Elizabeth School for the Disabled
and was very proud to have poured tea for the Queen Mother out of her own silver
tea pot. She had her first child Carolyn in 1943 - and travelled from place to
place through bombs and doodlebugs with a baby. Liz came in more peaceful times
in 1948 - and I had another ceremony - as godparent: not the best I fear - but I
was privileged to give her in marriage to Ian many years later.
Divorce left Betty on her own again but she accepted that challenge with vigour,
bringing up two children - successfully dare I say it! - and making a career for
herself, first as a commercial traveller lugging huge suitcases of fine Irish
linen and exquisite baby clothes round the smartest shops and later running a b
& b in Rye.
Throughout she was surrounded by friends - in her youth for sports of all
sorts, later for sailing, bridge and travel and in her final years for serious
conversation and gossip galore. She was also perfectly happy being on her own -
gardening and needlework filled many happy hours for her. Indeed in her last
week when her grand daughter visited her in hospital in a pair of rather frayed
jeans, she was offering to sew up the hems.
So what do we remember about her? First I think her courage - accident prone
to an alarming degree, she never gave in. Her last months were not only unhappy
but also painful in the extreme - but she never surrendered. She was looking
forward to driving herself in her new buggy to the bandstand and enjoying the
sea front - almost her last words were to ask the doctor if he could recommend
a cheap nursing home. Alas that was not to be.
Then her warmth. She always seemed to me to be the most approachable of my
aunts - and the most likely to give me a friendly hug and a kiss. She really
liked people and enjoyed hearing about what they were doing and telling them
about her activities.
And finally perhaps her energy and the noise she generated round herself. She
loved entertaining and was an excellent cook. Parties brought out the best in
her and she added style to any event she attended.
We will all miss her - and will not forget her.
(3) Ind, worked for Brendan Bracken MP - and used to be sent out to buy cigars
for Winston Churchill, who accepted them with a grunt!.
(4) Ind, where she poured tea for Queen Elizabeth from her own silver tea pot.
Name Index