The
Fruitbowl
Anita Gregory
| About
63 years ago my parents had their first child and named her ‘Anita
Louise’ consciously, or unconsciously, after a then popular actress.
This was the England of 1938, the year of the so-called ‘phony war’
when Hitler seemed constrained, and there was a ‘lull’ in lullaby. No
doubt, at this time, the multi-colored ceramic fruitbowl with its
fluted design and straw-covered handle was in place on our sideboard –
whether filled with fruit or not. WWII broke out in earnest in 1939, with the very real threat of a German invasion, and my parents, Harold and Dorothy, packed everything, including the fruitbowl, sold their newly-purchased house in Newcastle – a city near the Scottish border – and my mother and I joined her sister and my two cousins, Nigel and Ann, in a small home in the country. My father went through the rigors of the almost nightly bombing of Newcastle, joining us when he could after an arduous journey in trains crowded with troops. Due to these circumstances I was exposed to a way of life that would never have come my way otherwise, and enjoyed it: the one-room schoolhouse, grassy banks down which to slide, the sounds of an unseen stream underneath the snow, and visits from my dad with the continuing episodes of his ‘Neet&Nige’ stories. Local Farmers added to our rationed supplies with the fruits from their fields, but I don’t recall seeing our fruitbowl anywhere during those years. When the War ended my parents and I moved back to Newcastle into a flat where my brother ‘Tim’ was born just before my 8th birthday. Because there was a baby in the family we did get some extra ‘perks’ such as orange juice, but the fruitbowl, now unpacked and sitting on the living-room sideboard, was always empty. Rationing after the war was worse than during it, and we no longer had our neighboring farmers to rely on. Meanwhile, letters were coming from Pasadena, where my dad’s parents had lived since the early 1930s, telling them that this is a wonderful place to raise children. At about this time I recall racing home from school, up the stairs and into the living-room, where I stopped – probably with my mouth open in astonishment and awe. For the first time in my memory the fruitbowl contained a real orange and a real banana. I don’t recall eating them, just the wonderful shock of their presence in our home. After an arduous journey by boat and train, we arrived in Pasadena, then surrounded by its own ‘fruitbowl’ of orange groves in all directions and even in my grandparent’s back yard. My mother used to recall with delight one of the last trips she made to a shop in England where she held up one of the few oranges, imported from Spain, and declared to everyone’s amazement, “I’m going to a place where these are grown!” I have had a ‘fruitful’ life since then with family, friends, a good education and a career in all aspects of Librarianship. The surrounding orange groves may have gone but fruit abounds in the stores, coming from all over the world. My challenge now is to make my last 25 years (or however many there will be) as fruitful as my early and middle years. With retirement, somewhat limited mobility, and a changed family situation, I need to create a new life, and this will be a continuing process. The fruitbowl now resides with me, and it is up to me to keep it filled with fruit. If I falter, the sight of the fruitbowl reminds me that what is empty can be filled, and what is packed away can emerge, again. The infinite possibilities for a ‘fruitful’ life are all around me. Pasadena,
May 2002 |
