These posts have been inspired by the imminent arrival of my first grandchild. I want to share the little knowledge I have about his heritage and his family …before all is forgotten and lost in the mists of time. Clouds have started gathering and I already struggle to remember some things that I think I used to know.
So working backwards. Here is Laura’s father, Allan Moran with his mother, Joan and his stepfather, Alan Jackson.
I say stepfather….but I don’t think Joan and Alan Jackson ever married. I think he came to Joan as a lodger when she was a widow struggling to make ends meet with two young children.
When romance actually bloomed for the two of them I dont know, but they were living together when, as a naive 16 year old I first met them. They were certainly sharing the same bedroom at that time, but Joan did occasionally refer to him as “the lodger” and he very affectionately called her “The Duchess” and did all he could to look after her and make her happy. The rest of her family always called him Jacko and it was clear to me that he was well liked by them all.
In those early days of my relationship with Allan…my first long term boyfriend, Jacko worked at the Croda Chemical works at Knottingley and Joan was a school cook. They were friendly and welcoming people who soon took me under their wing.
Every Sunday evening we would play card games, usually for pennies from the big jar Joan kept for just such occasions ….all the while listening to “Play Something Simple ” on Radio 2 or was it the Light Radio station then?I was always partnered with Jacko and Joan with Allan in any partner whist games. This odd partnering had gradually developed as Jacko’s less than expert play would infuriate Joan and led to much squabbling and bickering between the two of them
Connections are strange and pop up all over the place. When I first met Jacko he told me that he was a Knottingley lad and it soon turned out that he knew of my father and all his family who were also from Knottingley. He was slightly older than my father but spoke with some affection, respect and even I sensed admiration for the Hargrave family. My own father wasn’t sure that he could exactly place Jacko, but in later years whenever they met up they enjoyed chatting about the old days in that tight knit village of Knottingley and the eccentric characters and events they remembered from their childhood days there in the 1920’s. But that’s a different set of memories…