Norman was 18 years old, and on leave from the army, when his large family was featured in the December 28, 1946 edition of Illustrated magazine. A readable version of the article is printed below these photos of the original.
YOU could search far and wide and not find a family more
contented than the Maycocks of Twickenham. Seventeen of them have just been
moved from a three-bedroom villa in Teddington to a solid three-storey house of
their own, hard by Twickenham's famous green. They moved because they refuse to
be split up into three families. The three generations of Maycocks believe in
sticking together. They are always chirpy in each other's company. Sunday is
the happiest day of the week for them, and Sunday dinner their jolliest meal.
The new Maycock home was bomb-damaged and the basement is still unfit for use except as a workshop. That is the domain of the head of the house, Albert Maycock, his son-in law John Stanley, and Mr. Maycock's strapping lads. Above stairs, the supreme ruler is smiling, brown-haired Mrs. Dorothy Maycock at fifty, grandmother of five girls. If Mrs. Maycock had to choose her favourite proverb on Sunday morning, it would be "Many hands make light work," not "Too many cooks spoil the broth." Some of the grandchildren are a little too young to have an allotted job in the house. They watch and are useful for running messages. But all Mrs. Maycock's daughters lend a hand. Their work is parcelled out carefully beforehand. Some of the boys, too, are roped in for odd jobs. This has always been the way of life for the Maycocks. Living in overcrowded conditions, it has had to be. They have always fitted into the family scheme as neatly as parts of a jigsaw puzzle. Sunday for Mrs. Maycock begins at 8.30 a.m., when she has a cup of tea in bed. "Ma's gunfire," her ex-soldier sons call it. Sunday is the only day of the week Mrs. Maycock can indulge in this luxury. The other mornings she is busy seeing off her bricklayer husband, the boys who work at the local gas works, her coach-trimmer sons-in-law, and the children who go to school. She takes her time getting up on Sunday because she knows the morning is going to be pretty hectic when it starts. Mrs. Maycock handles all the money in the Maycock home. At 10.30 a.m., she has opened her purse and three shillings have been put in the gas meter in readiness for the Sunday cooking. Ted, fourteen years old due to start at the gas works after Christmas, has been reminded that the supply of logs and coal is running low and has departed to bring more. The Maycocks prove that three women can share the same kitchen - and like it. Mrs. Maycock and her two married daughters never have a cross word. Mrs. Marjorie Stanley, the eldest, has her own two lively daughters Val and Pat around her as she works. Mrs. Doris Jones, whose husband is still away with the R.A.F., is attended by Wendy, aged five, and Linda, aged four, both fair and chubby. Marjorie's particular job is scrubbing, dusting and polishing the Maycock home. "I am very fond of housework," says Marjorie. "I chose it in preference to all the other jobs in the house." Doris, another good-looking girl, does all the shopping. ''It's a full-time job handling seventeen ration books and coping with BUs and points, but I always say a big family is much better off than a small one for rations. The rations we get are big enough to see." Marjorie and Doris are at home all the week, but on Sundays. a. young unmarried daughter, Olive, who works in a grocery store throughout the week, and twelve-year-old Brenda, willingly lend a hand. |
Mrs. Maycock herself,
as befits her position, does the cooking. All week, she has planned for the one
meal when her large and hungry family sit down together. She has carefully
saved fat so that she can put baked potatoes on the table. The meat ration has
been watched to make sure that enough is left for a big joint. Money has been
spun out to provide the few extra delicacies that make all the difference to
the children.
The first Sunday in their new home, Mrs. Maycock lifted from the larder the joint Doris had brought in the day before. It was a leg of lamb. The cost was 6s. 9d., and it represented part of the ration of six books.
When it was safely in the oven, she and the girls started on the vegetables. There were twenty pounds of potatoes to peel. Eighteen-year-old Norman, who had spent 16s. of his 22s. pay as a conscript on fares so that he could be with the family for a few hours, sighed with relief when he heard there was no "spud bashing" for him. The potatoes were put into a large boiling pot and two baking tins. Four pounds of sprouts were cleaned and two pounds of peas were put into a pan. Doris totted up the cost of the vegetables, and said it was 5s. 2d.
With no work to do, Norman was free to press his Army trousers, and he did it where most of the work in the Maycock home is done - in the kitchen.
The first Sunday in their new home, Mrs. Maycock lifted from the larder the joint Doris had brought in the day before. It was a leg of lamb. The cost was 6s. 9d., and it represented part of the ration of six books.
When it was safely in the oven, she and the girls started on the vegetables. There were twenty pounds of potatoes to peel. Eighteen-year-old Norman, who had spent 16s. of his 22s. pay as a conscript on fares so that he could be with the family for a few hours, sighed with relief when he heard there was no "spud bashing" for him. The potatoes were put into a large boiling pot and two baking tins. Four pounds of sprouts were cleaned and two pounds of peas were put into a pan. Doris totted up the cost of the vegetables, and said it was 5s. 2d.
With no work to do, Norman was free to press his Army trousers, and he did it where most of the work in the Maycock home is done - in the kitchen.
In another corner, Olive and Doris got out the dried egg and flour and began to mix a Yorkshire pudding. That put the cost of the Maycock Sunday dinner up by another 11d.
By this time, the Maycock house fairly hummed with activity. In the basement, Mr. Maycock had begun his usual Sunday morning task of mending the family's shoes. Dennis was making blackboards for his little nieces. Edward was splitting up more logs. John Stanley, busy making tiny armchairs, took time out to speak words that might well go down in history. "I love my mother-in-law," he said feelingly, "I was a lodger with the family before I married Marjorie. I made a vow to remain one of the family. The council has offered Marjorie and I alternative accommodation several times, but we always refused it. We preferred to stay with the big family, even after the children were born."
Upstairs, the kitchen was beginning to warm up. The children larked about with Monty, the good-tempered dog given to the family on VE-Day. Mrs. Maycock bad turned her attention to the sweet course. There were two tins of fruit, which had cost 1s. 7d. each (sixteen points). Doris had bought a sponge cake for 2s. 5d. for a trifle. Two of the family's eight pints of milk were earmarked for making custard. Olive opened a tin of sweetened milk and started to prepare two jellies for the children. They had cost 6d. and six points each, and were a special treat.
The children were sent to wash. After a hard morning's play, they were ready for lunch. The men were ready, too. The basement workshop was closed for the day. Mr. Maycock reached for the cloth cap he always wears. He had one more job to do before he sat down to dinner: to fetch lemonade for the children from the pub next door - six bottles at 6½d. a bottle.
And there was just time to slake his own thirst with a pint before it was dinner-time.
The children scrambled into their places. "Not a bad lunch for 27s.5½d." commented Mrs. Maycock, as she looked round the table with quiet satisfaction. "This is the time I like best of all. It's lovely to see all my family together." The family shouted its agreement.
"Let's celebrate," they said. Mrs. Maycock, hot from making dinner, was propelled towards the piano. The Maycocks, replete and jolly, began to sing. Their first song rang through the tall, old house so that solitary passers-by looked up in surprise. And the song they heard ring out was one they would have expected if they had known anything about the Maycock family: "The more we are together."
By this time, the Maycock house fairly hummed with activity. In the basement, Mr. Maycock had begun his usual Sunday morning task of mending the family's shoes. Dennis was making blackboards for his little nieces. Edward was splitting up more logs. John Stanley, busy making tiny armchairs, took time out to speak words that might well go down in history. "I love my mother-in-law," he said feelingly, "I was a lodger with the family before I married Marjorie. I made a vow to remain one of the family. The council has offered Marjorie and I alternative accommodation several times, but we always refused it. We preferred to stay with the big family, even after the children were born."
Upstairs, the kitchen was beginning to warm up. The children larked about with Monty, the good-tempered dog given to the family on VE-Day. Mrs. Maycock bad turned her attention to the sweet course. There were two tins of fruit, which had cost 1s. 7d. each (sixteen points). Doris had bought a sponge cake for 2s. 5d. for a trifle. Two of the family's eight pints of milk were earmarked for making custard. Olive opened a tin of sweetened milk and started to prepare two jellies for the children. They had cost 6d. and six points each, and were a special treat.
The children were sent to wash. After a hard morning's play, they were ready for lunch. The men were ready, too. The basement workshop was closed for the day. Mr. Maycock reached for the cloth cap he always wears. He had one more job to do before he sat down to dinner: to fetch lemonade for the children from the pub next door - six bottles at 6½d. a bottle.
And there was just time to slake his own thirst with a pint before it was dinner-time.
The children scrambled into their places. "Not a bad lunch for 27s.5½d." commented Mrs. Maycock, as she looked round the table with quiet satisfaction. "This is the time I like best of all. It's lovely to see all my family together." The family shouted its agreement.
"Let's celebrate," they said. Mrs. Maycock, hot from making dinner, was propelled towards the piano. The Maycocks, replete and jolly, began to sing. Their first song rang through the tall, old house so that solitary passers-by looked up in surprise. And the song they heard ring out was one they would have expected if they had known anything about the Maycock family: "The more we are together."