George Timms

George was the youngest in his family. His mother had died when he was six months old. He had five older sisters and an older brother.

In 1926 George was forty-nine years old and employed as a taxi driver. He had most likely started his working life as a groom but by the time he married, he was a coachman for a large estate on the outskirts of Old Milverton near Blackdown.

Married. In name only. Ten years ago, that had all changed. Truth be known it was probably earlier than that when things started to fall apart. His wife didn’t have a lot of family like he did; she was close to her brothers and when they emigrated to America the trouble began. He had kept finding excuses not to follow them, and all the while their family had grown. Her behaviour had worsened; she became quite erratic and neglected the children and the house.

For a while he had hoped she would return to full health, but it had become apparent that that would not be the case. Taking the children to visit her had become an ordeal, they did not know what to expect and she refused to acknowledge them. He stopped taking them and put all his energy into work. The older girls helped run the house even though they were still at school.

Now only their son was at school and the girls had all found employment. The oldest had just married and emigrated to the other side of the world. To New Zealand. Should he tell his wife? Even if she didn’t acknowledge him anymore? Should she know that their daughter had married? That she was braver than he was and had boarded a ship and made a journey to a new country?