Nobody's Mother, Everyone's Mum

People come and go in our lives and some stay and make a real difference.

Rena Champion was a very special lady who came in to my life in September 1955; she was my guardian angel and I will never stop loving her.

Rena was born on 7 July 1904 and died on 12 May 1991. She was not famous and did not hold high office, but her work became her life and her life touched many hearts. Her story begins before the beginning in the small moorland community of Rosedale, although when Annie Farrow and Bob Champion were courting, Rosedale was almost a boom town due to the iron ore workings and the jet industry. There was no money for accommodation, so when Annie married her cobbler, the two lived with her parents on the family farm at Northdale. Shortly after the birth of their first daughter Rhoda, they went to live with one of Bob’s many sisters and by the time Rena had arrived the family were settled at Low Mill.

Rena spent a happy childhood in her beloved Rosedale. She helped her mother with housework and her younger brother Fred and doted on her elder sister. There were always plenty of aunts and uncles on hand as Bob was one of twenty three surviving children. It was almost like the Archers in real life with everybody related to a Champion.

The people of Rosedale were a lively bunch and enjoyed dancing. Most of the local musicians were culled from the Champion family and record has it that Uncle Jonathan, who conducted the local Farndale Silver Band brought them fame during the thirty years that he led them. Rena envied her sister who could play the piano and would often accompany her father as he played the fiddle at dances and weddings. Rena also played and sang, but she was very shy of her talents.

Childhood memories grow with passing years and Rena’s favourite season was spring. She loved to watch the first snowdrops give way to the daffodils that filled the Dale, but her most prized flower was the Primrose peeping shyly from the banks and hedgerows. Then there were the Pheasant chicks her dad reared to sell to the gamekeepers on the local estates; glow-worms in the early summer woodland, and the local school-master who always said, “Nice weather for ducks” whenever it rained. The snow was deeper, the wind colder, but in rain or shine it all belonged to Rena.

The family’s next move was to Brick House. It was larger to accommodate the growing family and there was better provision for Bob’s Cobbler shop. Soon Rena had two more babies to mother when Harry, then Consie (Constance) were born and the Champion household was complete. Sadly, as so often happened in those days Consie died in infancy.

Rena was ten when World War One began and this meant a boom in the Iron Industry. Bob’s brother William was Engineer and Head Blacksmith at the East Mines. It wasn’t long before Bob joined him as a train driver. The family moved again, this time to a worker’s cottage at High Baring. Rena never forgot it, if only because it was high on top of the moor and the weather conditions were often appalling. Many was the evening she would watch the workers as they passed the window, struggling against a blizzard to get to work, and, cosy by the fire, she could see men leaving their shift and being blown home again.

She was still a child when at the age of thirteen she left school and went into service as a Domestic at the shop in Rosedale Abbey. Mr and Mrs Shepherd were very kind to her, but Rena missed her mum. Every Sunday she would rise at 5.30am, sweep the grates, light the fires and prepare the vegetables for lunch before walking up the Dale to see her family. She took with her her wages of 2d (old coinage) which was solemnly presented to her mother. Annie took the money and placed it in a tin, then withdrew a ha’penny which was given to Rena as pocket money. It was always a tearful Rena that walked back down the Dale each Sunday night, sometimes accompanied by her father, but often alone. During her first winter away in 1917/1918, the weather was so bad that Rosedale was cut off from the outside world in snowdrifts of twenty feet. This caused Rena a great deal of anguish as she was unable to make her Sunday journey for several weeks.

Winter turned to Spring and Rena slowly settled down. She stayed with the Shepherds until they sold the shop then, at the ripe old age of fifteen she found herself at the Martinmas Hirings at Pickering seeking further employment. The arrangement was quite simple, prospective employers would eye up the likely candidates, agree terms, and another labourer was hired for a year.

One of her hirings was a complete disaster, but Rena knew that she had no choice but to persevere to the next Martinmas fair. She was hired once again as a Domestic and this time with a farmer’s wife, but was little more than a skivvy. Her employer was a big woman and very lazy and Rena often did chores out of fear than because it was her duty.

On one occasion however she had a taste of sweet revenge. It was late autumn and the wind was biting and fierce. As usual the farmer’s wife was in the dairy whilst Rena fed the hens and collected eggs. Despite being sturdy, Rena was also quite petite and with her hands chapped and raw she staggered across the fold yard carrying a very heavy pail of eggs. A cockerel ran in between her legs nearly making her drop the eggs and she kicked out. The bird was a favourite, a sacred cow and she hated it. She put the pail down by the dairy door and the cockerel strutted away, his head bobbing and his beady eye watching as she opened the dairy door. The wind howled, the door whipped open wide and slammed with force against the wall. She tugged at the door. Was that the wind whistling or a high pitched squeal? Rena froze. It wasn’t the wind. A voice called out from the dairy, “What are you doing you wretched girl? Come in and shut the door.” Head held low, Rena picked up the pail and scuttled in. Her mistress grabbed the door and pulled it too, but once more the wind took control and there was a loud crack as the handle crashed into the wall. By now her mistress had her dander up, she stalked passed Rena and yanked at the door, then gave a shriek as she saw the body of her beloved cockerel. Fortunately she blamed herself for the cockerel's demise and Rena spent the rest of the day unsupervised whilst the farmer’s wife retired to bemoan the loss of her precious bird.

Despite her background and the advances of one Herbert Strickland, Rena was determined not to become a farmer’s wife. Through a newspaper advert she found a job in Scarborough and left the farming community to become a domestic for the owners of Hebron’s garage. The move was a good one and helped Rena become independent, but unfortunately Annie became ill after a couple of years and Bob asked his daughter to return home and help nurse her mother. Rena was never happier than when she was looking after someone else and gave Annie the best of care.

There were one or two romantic attachments and in particular and young man whom I shall call Tom. Tom worked at Hebron’s garage and took a shine to the shy young country lass. Rena was sorry to leave him behind and did her best to keep in touch. The fashion at the time favoured Noel Coward and Rena filled in the odd moment knitting a white silken scarf like the one sported by the actor. It was to be a special present for Tom. She was very proud of her handiwork, but her brothers teased her mercilessly. One evening Fred found the precious bundle on a chair and pretended to be Rena knitting. Tears of laughter ran down Harry’s face as he watched his brother and Rena came to see what all the merriment was about. The scene that met her eye horrified her. She made a grab for the knitting, but Fred was faster and it sailed over her head. Harry passed it back and so it went, backwards and forwards like a tennis match. But then it went too high and Harry missed the catch; the white silken missile landed in the coal scuttle. This was not the only sad conclusion as Tom died of consumption within months of the incident.

Annie got better and Rena began to look round for another job. Once again she found herself in Scarborough, this time as a Lady’s Companion. Little is known unfortunately of Rena’s work with Mrs Allan except that she stayed for thirteen years and was extremely happy. Mrs Allan enjoyed her young companions fresh, but practical approach to life and in return taught Rena much about social etiquette and how the other half live.

The Second World War changed many lives, and Rena’s life was no exception. Waiting in a queue at Falsgrave Post Office one day she was attracted to a notice on behalf of the Save The Children Fund. They were seeking suitable young women who could care for evacuees in a home in Appleton-le-Moors. At thirty six it was beginning to look unlikely that Rena would marry and raise her own brood, and as she loved children this seemed to be the next best thing. Rena jumped at the opportunity.

Appleton Hall had been the residence of Joseph and Mary Shepherd in the late eighteen hundreds but, as with many large country residences it was left empty and untenanted. Although it was only eighty years old when Rena moved there, there were already stories of hauntings by a young governess who had died at the house from Scarlet Fever. Rena once described how she saw a girl walking up the stairs in front of her; she wasn’t familiar, but then children came and went. She asked her to hold open the door of the large linen press, Rena’s short arms being stacked high with clean sheets. Her annoyance at being ignored turned to disbelief as the apparition faded into the closed door of an attic bedroom.

Towards the end of the war, Rena went to a reception home in Rochdale as an assistant matron, but she didn’t want to stay there. The sky seemed always to be overladen with smoke, and Rena longed to see the sun and her beloved Rosedale. It was Scarborough to the rescue again when a vacancy arose at Sunnyside Home for an Assistant Matron. Back to Yorkshire came Rena. The only fly in the ointment was that it was a designated boys’ home, and in her heart Rena really wanted to work with girls.

In October 1945 Rena finally got the wish that was to shape the rest of her life. On that date, at the age of forty one, she became Matron of Park Lodge Children’s Home, looking after girls from around the age of five years to adolescence. The house was a rambling, redbrick Victorian semi that lay in the path of the sun all day long. It had a comfortable feel to it and Rena’s first priority was to create a homely atmosphere for her girls. There was nothing tangible about the transformation; no walls were knocked down, nor rooms decorated, it was more a question of personality and attitude.

Just because the children were in care did not mean that they should not have fun. They had never had a holiday and Rena just knew they would love Rosedale. To begin with they camped in an old shooting box (lodge) but eventually Rena found an old, ivy covered farmhouse to rent called White Lodge, and she and the girls made an annual pilgrimage to their ‘summer house’. White Lodge had stood empty for some time so, leaving the girls in the capable hands of the assistant matron, Rena went ahead on the first occasion to clean. The bus only went as far as Wrelton corner, but Rena was used to that. Hopping off the bus with her parcels and bags, she walked the seven miles to Rosedale as she had done many times before. It was very late when Rena settled down to sleep on a mattress on the floor, and she was very tired after a long day of walking and cleaning. But peace was denied her. The rats could smell the fresh food and were climbing up the ivy amid squeals and rustlings. It didn’t worry Rena. Raising the sash window high, she shouted, “Hoi!” And slammed the window hard shut. The rats scattered in terror and Rena slept soundly until the morning. The girls soon got used to the long walk to Rosedale; after all it was their usual mode of transport. When anyone asked how much further, the stock reply was always, “Just around the next corner!”

In later years Rena took a smaller cottage in the Dale, next door to her Aunt Lily and Uncle Fred Strickland and the girls went in two parties, but whatever the circumstances, holidays in Rosedale were a firm favourite. Stories of sheep being found sitting on the outside privy in the middle of the night, fights in the haylofts on various uncles’ farms, and carrying water, icy cold from the spring on the hillside were all part of the magic.

Somewhere along the line, a contented child decided that as Rena was the only mother she had ever known and loved, she would call her Mum. And Mum she became to countless children to the end of her days.

As with any other mother of the day, life was a question of keeping house, washing, cleaning, cooking and taking care of the children. The girls helped too, with the older ones looking after the younger ones, and there were rotas for bed making, washing up and other daily light chores. On a Saturday morning the radio would be tuned into Children's Favourites for Uncle Mac and the house would rock as duster clad feet bopped and polished the Playroom floor till it shone. But Rena took the lion’s share of the work. She would smile as they set out for school and express relief that she would be able to ‘get out the ham and chocolates’, but of course that was the signal that the real work would begin.

The home was governed by a committee and initially meetings were held regularly as a necessity, but Rena swiftly won the respect of the ladies who served. She formed a link for and on behalf of the children, helping the committee take decisions regarding health, welfare and any other issues. The most that any child knew there had been a meeting was a cup of fresh ground coffee to drink after school if there were any leftovers. There was always an annual Sale Of Work to raise funds for the home and Rena worked especially hard to make them a success. With her sewing skills she embroidered and sewed, making aprons and the like. But everybody’s favourite were the spiced loaves which she baked for weeks beforehand. Row on row sat in the pantry and the smell was divine; licking the mixing bowl out afterwards was great too. The recipe had been handed down through the family and despite pleas and promises, she never parted with her secret.

Rena always held a firm hand of guidance as is necessary with so many children, but there was always a twinkle in her eye and her sense of humour was ever apparent.

Porridge was the breakfast staple, especially in winter. One morning, whilst carrying two bowls of porridge through from the scullery to the kitchen table, she missed her footing and nearly fell flat into the dish. Whipping the porridge off her chin she declared 'I've not really got time for a face mask this morning.' It broke the tension and everyone laughed out loud. When the atmosphere was very giggly one night, Rena had finally had enough. It was school in the morning and the girls would be tired if they didn’t settle down, but the six in the big dormitory could not be calmed. In exasperation she held open the door to the back staircase and shouted up, “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you no more, if I come up these stairs I’ll give you what for!” For a brief moment all went quiet, and then the laughter broke out again, only this time it was far worse.

Christmas is a time of celebration and love and Rena was determined that her girls would also share the experience. A huge Christmas tree was donated to the home by a local school and the eldest to the youngest helped to decorate it. The lights were put on last and then the room was plunged into darkness as everybody waited for the magical moment when the tree would be lit. Christmas was on its way. Presents came from varying sources; girl guide and scouting organisations, churches, some from individuals and the occasional gift from guilt ridden relatives. Everything was taken in to the sitting-room, which was regarded as a shrine, an inner sanctum where the girls spoke in hushed voices. Leading up to Christmas it became a store room. All around the floor were large boxes once used for transporting eggs, and each one now bearing the name of a different child in black wax crayon. As toys and presents were delivered, Rena distributed them evenly round the boxes. Christmas Eve must have been a nightmare getting everybody to bed and quietly adding the finishing touches. Many’s the time Rena would be creeping up to bed at two or three o’clock in the morning to be greeted by a posse of excited girls sneaking down to find their presents. Presents were never put round the tree, there were far too many. Instead the large boxes were hidden around the house, in the pantry, the wash house, under the stairs, in the bath, on the toilet seat and so on. It was a game of Christmas to find your own box of presents and not reveal the location of someone else’s box. After a traditional breakfast of boiled eggs and freshly ground coffee it was usually time to clear up for Father Christmas and any other guests who had hopped on the sleigh. The other kids in the street were extremely envious.

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Treacle toffees under the pillow, picnics on the beach and tender nursing of sick children were all part of Rena’s philosophy; and she was very much a philosopher. She despaired of the treatment meted to children by their parents and was saddened when others were quick to condemn the young and slow to listen. Her religion was always simple. She believed in God and the place of worship was secondary, as long as God was in her heart.

There was a limited budget and many needs to think of. Meticulous records were kept, diet books, accounts, clothing, heat, light and petty cash items. Somehow she made everything come together and certainly deserved her one day off each week. Sometimes there would be a live-in assistant matron, otherwise a cleaner and care assistant would help ease the work load.

Speech days for school were an important event. Rena had seen most of her girls become prefects, and she was always proud of their academic achievements. Most parents attended four, maybe eight speech days with some overlap according to family size, Rena attended at least eighteen and was known by all the staff at Falsgrave Secondary Modern School. The school, which was very old and split over two sites, finally closed in 1964. There was a token Speech Day that year, held in the school hall rather than Queen Street Methodist Hall, the normal venue. Rena was asked to attend, which she was pleased to do having one last child at school who had excitedly announced that she would be first to receive her prize. Uncharacteristically Rena was late, tip-toeing into the back of a tightly packed hall. She was hot from rushing, and the hall was stifling; for a few minutes at least she was pre-occupied getting her breath back and settling her feathers. The voice of Mrs Newton, the Head Mistress droned on, but suddenly there was a familiar name, “Rena Champion.” That was her name, what was going on? “Could Miss Champion come forward please?” One teacher took her brolly and bag, whilst another took her arm and steered her through the rows of cross-legged school girls to the stage and the waiting Head Mistress. She was the only ‘parent’ ever to receive a prize for ‘Services to the School’.

As the children grew up and into their teenage years, Rena and the Committee members would discuss their future. In the early years girls had been trained for Domestic Service, but as attitudes changed the girls sought other roles in Nursing, Shop work and Secretarial. And when the girls left they soon came back to visit Mum, where there was always a welcome as in any other home. Attitudes were changing all over however, and in the late fifties and early sixties the numbers of children in homes began to drop in favour of Foster Homes. The situation was reviewed, Rena was nearing sixty and efforts to attract more children were abandoned in favour of closure.

With retirement in sight Rena’s thoughts turned at last to a home of her own. She chose a two-up two-down in the centre of Scarborough with an eye to the future as she still walked everywhere which meant the shops would be nice and handy. She wasn’t the only one excited about her ‘little mud hut’ and there was always a volunteer willing to help clean and scrub. But her entourage were not so keen on being seen out with the mop and bucket. It was two miles between the two homes and Rena puffed along, her little legs doing ten to the dozen. The helpers could be seen a few feet behind, pretending to help the little old lady across the road. The house was soon ready, but not needed for a couple of years so, practical as ever, she let it pay for itself. Her luck was in and the house was let to a couple from the recently formed Theatre In The Round company and they looked after the house with as much tender loving care as Rena could have wished.

Another money making scheme was Rena’s dressed dolls. Always good with her hands, Rena bought small model dolls and dressed them in pretty foam ball gowns which she fashioned herself. As her reputation grew, so did the outlets and the orders. By the time Rena retired in July 1964, her house was paid for and she was ready to move into her first, very own home.

Retirement did not slow Rena down however, she merely changed direction. There had been one child remaining on closure and, from the goodness of her heart, Rena agreed to give her a home. The two settled into a steady companionship despite the age difference, the younger at school, the older now working part time at a home for the elderly. With her ‘family’ in tow, Rena babysat first for the home for the elderly and then for another Childrens’ home where the matron was on extended leave. Although Rena and Miss Fox had been great friends for years, their attitude to childcare was completely different. The girls of the Alice Brook Home were as astonished at the change of regime as Rena was at the facilities available to her. Perhaps Rena was before her time, or between times, but all the children in her care lived in peace with love, and without fear of mental or physical abuse.

At last Rena was free to come and go as she pleased. But life and old age slowed her down as the rheumatism in her knees gradually became worse and left her in a great deal of pain. She always blamed her condition on scrubbing the cold stone floors of the farmhouse kitchens that she had worked in as a young girl, and she may have been right. But her brain was as sharp as ever and she loved to talk. There was always a visitor, friend or relative and a constant stream of old girls wanting to show their own families to Mum. Rena gained a new name of Granny Champ which she relished as much as being called Mum.

Many people will have honours heaped on them, but there are many more like Rena, who go about their work quietly and whose stories remain in the souls and hearts of the people they have touched. Attempts were made to get her a civic recognition of her work, an MBE or an OBE but sadly failed. In 1972 however, Rena did receive a rare honour when she was presented with the Maundy Money by the Queen. The ceremony was held in York Minster and was the first time it had been held away from London. Each person was chosen in recognition of their good work and I’m pleased to say that I was waiting in the crowd outside to catch her as she left. Rena treasured the memory of meeting the Queen, although she confessed that she had been unable to kneel, and with her failing eyesight hadn’t seen much either. She was quite shocked when a coin collector approached her only minutes after leaving the Minster offering to buy the much coveted prize, and made her feelings known in no uncertain terms.

The first of April 1977 saw another milestone in Rena’s life when she was admitted to hospital for a new knee. There were times when she thought the pain of the new was worse than the pain of the old, and she hated the Remedial Gymnast even though she knew she had to do as she was told. But she gritted her teeth and got on with life. During the convalescent period her constant visitor and companion was her sister Rhoda’s only daughter, Lesley. Rena was as devoted to her niece as she had been to her sister before her. In the remaining fourteen years their friendship flourished and it was interesting to see the familiar sparkling brown eyes shine from another face; hear the same ready wit come from other lips.

Rena suffered some confusion towards the end and then it became her turn to be cared for. Her light faded, just like Tinkerbell’s, but although she died, her light never went out. She always believed in children and she was always right.