Becoming BeritBerit Frydenlund McMillan

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Daddy Number 11. ................................................... 1

Daddy Number 22. ................................................... 5

Mummy3. ................................................................ 11

Story Interlude4. ..................................................... 13

The Darkening Years5. ........................................... 17

Visiting Granny6. .................................................... 23

Daddy Number 37. ................................................. 27

Husband Number 38. ............................................. 35

Emergence9. ........................................................... 39

Southport Renewal10. .............................................. 43

Time for College11. .................................................. 47

Hello, World12. ......................................................... 51

Frydenlund Reunion13. ........................................... 53

Lime Street Station14. .............................................. 57

A New Life15. ............................................................ 59

Reflections16. ........................................................... 61

1

1DADDY NUMBER 1

At a private nursing home in Widnes, Lancashire,

in northwest England, on March 5, 1946, my twin

brother and I made our way into the world fifteen

minutes apart—ladies first, of course. We were the

only children born to Biorn and Alma Frydenlund.

Our parents named us Berit and John. Since my father

was Norwegian, one child was endowed with a Nordic

name, the other with a good, solid English handle.

I don’t remember my father. The tale goes that we

lived in England until we were six months old when the

young family sailed to Norway, there to live with our

bestemor, “grandmother.” It wasn’t to be a happily-ever-

after lifetime. The tale also goes that, about two years

later, my mother took John and me and disappeared

from Norway, returning to England.

2 BERIT FRYDENLUND MCMILLAN

My first real memories see me at about four years

old. By this time, we lived on the northwest coast of

England, in Southport, where John and I were to spend

the rest of our childhood. I remember living in a house

on Southbank Road that had a hairdressing business in

the front part. Next door was the Tabernacle Church.

John and I must have been a handful because I recollect

that we were in reins (a very common sight in busy

cities back then). As we walked down the Eastbank

Street Bridge towards home, John and I would silently

signal each other as only twins can. Then we would

bolt down the hill at breakneck speed. It always took

my mother by surprise; she would drop the leather

straps of the reins, and off we’d go! It was great fun

for us but certainly quite scary for our mother, who

was only too aware of the danger of heavy traffic on

the main road.

Nearby was a sweet shop. I remember going in

there using ration coupons. I also recall the end of

rationing when we could choose whatever we wanted!

Cadbury’s and Fry’s chocolate come to mind, also

chocolate Smarties, which were like M&M’S. There

began my lifetime love of chocolate.

Soon, we were almost five and were ready for school

at Linaker Street Infants’ School. I loved my teacher,

Ms. Randall, and story time.

3BECOMING BERIT

It was during this time that I first remember meeting

my maternal grandmother, Dorothy Webb. When she

arrived at our house, I had no idea who this imposing

person was, and I was terrified of this haughty lady

with the slightly too large upper teeth and the severe

pageboy hairstyle.

On this occasion, she brought me a doll. I seem to

remember that she emphasized the great expense she

had experienced to procure this beautiful toy. I think

she became angry or behaved in a disturbing way

because right in front of her, I threw the doll down.

There it lay, its face irreparably smashed. Granny’s

response to that was swift and damning! This little

four-year-old was derided as being out of control, a

spoiled ingrate, etc! Really, I was afraid, reacting to her

meanness. In retrospect, I think it was a rather brave

and apt action!

Another memory I have from that time concerns

a hospital stay. I had suffered from frequent abscesses

in my ears since I was ten months old. These days, I’d

probably be diagnosed with allergies, but back in the

late ’40s, there was little knowledge of allergies. My

hearing was also quite impaired.

Anyway, since John and I were twins, we shared the

fate of having our tonsils and adenoids removed. One

morning, we were told there would be no school for us

4 BERIT FRYDENLUND MCMILLAN

that day. My mother took us to the Promenade Hospital

and duly deposited us in the children’s surgical ward

where we undressed and were put into bed. We had

no idea what was happening, but other children were

there, so I guessed we would be fine.

The following day, a gurney was wheeled into the

ward, and a child was popped on each end and wheeled

away. Sometime later, back they came, the patients fast

asleep and rather floppy. One of them was John.

Pretty soon, it was my turn. I don’t remember

being afraid, but we were certainly unprepared.

I do remember waking up back in the ward, and I

remember the ether mask being lowered over my face

in the operating theatre. I have no memory of being

visited by my mother. That was how it was; parents were

encouraged not to visit—it might upset the children.

After we returned home, we ate soft food and

sucked on sweet lozenges prescribed by the doctor.

By now, I had forgotten my early days and all my

Norwegian relatives including my father, whom my

mother had apparently divorced. My “daddy” was Robert

Cooper, who became my mother’s second husband. In

my memory, we were a nuclear family of four: Mummy,

Daddy, Berit, and John—or Beritandjohn, as we were

collectively called. Our surname was now Cooper.

5

2DADDY NUMBER 2

There were happy times during the only years I

ever felt part of a family. I remember lovely outings

to Southport’s Hesketh Park, Botanic Gardens, the

local dunes and beaches, and Peter Pan’s Funfair

& Amusements where my daddy would treat other

children to rides too. We took a holiday to Cemaes

Bay on the island of Anglesey, North Wales. It was to

be the only holiday I had until I was sixteen. Once we

travelled by car to visit our great-grandparents, whom

I instantly adored. Granny and Grandpa Pim lived

in Farnworth near Widnes. On other occasions, we

went by steam train, which was always great fun. We

had to go via Liverpool, passing WWII bomb sites on

the way. Hearing the words “bomb damage” meant

little to me, but I knew it was something with sad and

6 BERIT FRYDENLUND MCMILLAN

serious associations by the tone of people’s voices who

commented on the huge piles of rubble.

We moved around quite a lot during the years

between our ages of five and nine. We changed schools

frequently, which was a trial for me as I was quite shy.

John made friends more easily. I admired him for

that, but I have to admit to some jealousy too. We

lived in several towns and in different areas around

Southport.

Lostock Junction, near Bolton, was our home for

a while. John and I enjoyed a freedom that many

children don’t have anymore. There was a stream near

our house where we’d wade and fish for tiddlers or

tadpoles.

In the village was a weir spanning the river, beside

what may have been a textile mill. One day, some

kids dared one another to walk across the weir. Of

course, John volunteered, and I stood terrified, glued

to the spot, while I watched him walk carefully across

successfully. He was king of the village kids for as long

as we lived there.

Schooling took place at a local private school run

by two ladies who I believe were sisters. All the students

were in one room, the youngest at the front of the

class. I cannot say I was particularly happy there. One

day at recess, I hit my brother, got scared, and hid up