Too Many Mothers: A Memoir Of An East End Childhood

  • ISBN: 9781843543015
  • Author: Roberta Taylor
  • Description:
    "Too Many Mothers" is the remarkable story of Roberta Taylor's early life, and the extended family that brought her up. Roberta travels to the emotional heart of her childhood to reveal the lives led by the men and women who influenced her most in her formative years. "Too Many Mothers" is a portrait of an embattled family at war with itself and the outside world. From petty crime to pet monkeys, tender romance to emotional blackmail, illegitimacy, adoption and even murder, Roberta Taylor has written a bittersweet and memoir of her early life. From the Inside Flap ‘A gut-wrenching memoir that still has you gasping with laughter… simply unforgettable. A hell of a book. Give it to your prosperous friends who wonder what it's all about.’ FRANK McCOURT ‘A marvellous book! I couldn’t put it down. Roberta Taylorbrings that era and that part of London zinging to life with such an authentic voice. It’s so rare to find the East Enders given their real voice.’HELEN MIRREN --This text refers to the Hardcover edition. About the Author Roberta Taylor is one of Britain’s most respected actresses. A member of the world famous Glasgow Citizens’ Company, Roberta has worked for years in theatre. In 1997 she became a household name when she played Irene Raymond in the BBC soap EastEnders. She now stars as Gina Gold in ITV’s The Bill. Excerpted from Too Many Mothers by Roberta Taylor. Copyright © 2005. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Boxing Day ....Mary eased her heavy legs out of bed and sat up. The roomwas like an icebox. Her feet fumbled around in the darkand found the torch. It was five o’clock in the morning and shehad a hectic day ahead of her. The corpse that had been lyingnext to her gave off a fart which blew Bob into a morecomfortable position. His gaping, gummy mouth closed with adamp smack. She shone the torch over the bed and grabbed oneof the overcoats that masqueraded as blankets, shivered herselfinto it, and stared at him in the brutal pencil of light.‘His face has eaten him,’ she thought, and remembered thedifferent face and body she had married all those years ago. MaryMary Roberts, née Burke, started smoking when she wasnine years old, had her arms tattooed by the age of fifteen,and married my grandfather, Robert Victor Roberts, ateighteen. She shuffled the facts of her life to suit her intentions.She swore that she was born on . August .... to an Irish tinkerfamily. Her birthday was always celebrated on the eighth ofAugust, even though her birth certificate insists that she pokedher nose into the world on .. May ..... Like a brass band on aSunday morning the speed and energy of the cockney accentcooked very nicely thank you with the southern Irish tones andvernacular of her parents. The scenic route of her life wouldnot have much to do with geography; she lived and died in theEast End of London.Mary sauntered away from her family home, away from theslums of Poplar, without so much as a by-your-leave, inFebruary ...., and walked four grim miles east to Bob Roberts’smother’s house in West Ham. She was pregnant. How andwhere Mary met Bob had never cropped up. He came from abetter class of cockney, apparently. Perhaps they washed moreoften, had antimacassars, books, and sat at the table to eat.Mary’s children were in no doubt that it was the Roberts sidethat was the civilized side. Would he marry her? Of course he would. She was gorgeous.Pale skin, green eyes, a mass of complicated red hair, and acheeky little figure with a temperament to match. A Shetlandpony in human form.They whispered their dilemma in the privacy of ClaraRoberts’s front parlour.He couldn’t marry her right at that moment, he had to returnto sea in two days’ time. She hadn’t reckoned on his going awayso soon, and neither had he, but there was a war on and theMerchant Navy had an important job to do.If Bob and his brother William managed to survive, theywould be away until Christmas at least.‘In this situation, it’s all hands on deck,’ he tried to explain toher.All she owned she stood up in. She didn’t look that muchdifferent from most poor girls of the time, but for her hair, herswagger, and the minx-eyed look she’d give instead of a straightanswer. Leaving her, Bob braced himself and walked to thescullery.His mother and brother took the news better than they mighthave done in peacetime. Clara had bigger things to fret aboutnow. Her boys were going away and she couldn’t guarantee shewould ever see them again.Today was Mary’s first meeting with Clara and William, andher first meeting with the inside of their house. She had sidledpast a couple of times last year, out of curiosity, when she hadbeen waiting to meet Bob at the street corner.Her own living arrangements had consisted of a bug-infestedtenement, surrounded by thieves and vagabonds. The daffy offourteen Burkes shared one and a half rooms, one cold tap anda black cauldron on the open fire stewing lumpish, waterybroth. An iron double bed catered for her mum, dad, and thethree youngest toddlers. Two large mattresses on the floor sleptthe nine other Burkes: girls in one, boys in the other. She hadslept with somebody else’s feet in her face all her life.Here, she was in a real house. Mary sniffed her future in thebeeswax of the parlour. On the mantelshelf were two postcardswith camels on them, a wooden-framed photograph of Bob andWilliam in matching dark overcoats, a pair of pewter candlesticks,and a small metal candle-snuffer. The shelves on the wallto the left of the fireplace were home to a pink flowery tea set,the six cups, face down in their saucers to keep out the dust,separated by the round fat teapot. On the top shelf, taking prideof place, she eyed up an ancient-looking carved ornament of awithered old man.She ran her fingers over the highly polished sideboard againstthe opposite wall and looked at the squat wooden clock sittingon a lace runner.Three o’clock in the afternoon.Thursday, .. February ...., she reminded herself.Stealthily she opened the sideboard drawers. In the left-handdrawer, packed to the gunwales, lived pieces of yellowing laceand neatly folded gentlemen’s handkerchiefs. The right-handdrawer contained a pile of formal-looking documents, a pair ofscissors, some buff envelopes, and half a dozen collar studs.Right at the back of the drawer she spotted something else. Aroll of large white five-pound notes gripped by a rubber band.At the sound of the Roberts family coming towards her Maryquickly re-arranged herself as a scrap of humanity that only thecoldest heart could ignore. The money stayed in the drawer.Clara was first in, followed immediately by her two sons.William had his arm around his younger brother’s shoulder. Itlooked as if Bob had been crying. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.
  • Pages: 320
  • Format: Paperback
  • Genre: Biography
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  • Too Many MothersIt's Boxing Day, 1956 in East London, and it's freezing, inside and out. Roberta, aged eight, sits in the kitchen in her overcoat, determined to make herself invisible, watching the shenanigans of the grown-ups. Her gran...
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