WOMEN RECLUSES

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 19887, 15 March 1939, Page 16

WOMEN RECLUSES

STRANGE LIVES LED THEIR HIDDEN HOARDS MEMORIES OF PAST Frequently we read of hermit women who shun society; they exist in every neighbourhood, but only a few people ever hear of them until they die. Usually they have lost someone dear to them —husband, lover, sister. Instead of building up their lives anew and finding fresh interests, they have withdrawn from the world to brood in solitude, writes Trevor Allen in Tit-Bits. A touching case a year ago was that of Miss Bessie Nora Hornby, of Hartfield Square, Eastbourne. A gentle little woman in the fifties, she had been a professional companion. Six years previously her employer had died, leaving her the large house in which she lived alone.A dozen radio sets were found in it after her deatn, all working and tuned into different stations; and about 20 valuable clocks and watches, all ticking away: “Radio gives me a world of friends.” The radios, the ticking clocks, were friendly voices which mitigated her loneliness. She had moved all furniture from the upper to the lower rooms, and lived in these. Shrubs choked the front garden. For 27 years, until she was past 70, Miss Rhoda Yallop lived alone in rooms in Colebrook Row, Islington. Neighbours understood that she had fallen in love with a man she met on a voyage and became a recluse because she could not marry him. Souvenirs of Old Days She cherised many souvenirs of the gay pre-war years; theatre pro- „ grammes, posies, ribbons, faded photograph aloums; often dressed in old taffeta frocks over a quarter of a century ago, and pored over them. She must have been very beautiful when young; her father had been wealthy, and she left behind a tin box containing £735. There was a similar story behind Mrs. Mary Ann Tripp, of Rodney road, Walworth, of whom her landlady said: “For 20 years she had not received either letters or callers. Three years ago, her real name, Woodford, was revealed when she applied for her oldage pension. She told me she had changed it because the name belonged to the man she loved. She read countless romantic novels. We.understood she wanted to remain alone with her memories.” An eccentric Leicester widow, Harriett Parker, who recently died at the age of 80, wore rags, slept on the floor, and was thought destitute. Pinned to her clothing were notes to the value of £125; in odd places about the house were more Treasury notes, stock, and share certificates; she died worth £6600. She was once a beautiful, brilliant leader of fashion, one of the bestdressed women in Leicester. When her husband, an ex-Naval surgeon, died 12 years ago, she vowed never to do housework or dress again. Bodies Guarded There have been recluses who, deprived by death of husband, relative, or companion, jealously guarded the remains. Mrs. Emily Cudas lived in a New York flat for a year with the* body of her husband, and neighbours heard her carrying on animated conversation with him. When Miss Marie Salisbury, aged 58, of Princes road. Altrincham, died of burns two years ago, the firemen discovered in a room the skeleton of her 60-year-old sister, Elizabeth, who had not been seen for two years; it was covered with sheets coated with dust. They also found a number of bright toys, for it was just before Christmas, and Marie always made presents to children. i A skeleton and children’s toys in a house cluttered with dozens of dusty parcels and bundles of papers in every room! Indeed, a strange contrast, indicating the strange life the survivor had lived. The sisters were spinsters who owned property in the town. A few years ago I saw the house of two hermit sisters on a lovely hilltop overlooking the Wye Valley at St Briavels. They had lived and slept in one upstairs room, the others being shuttered. With them, in this room, were the r fowls and about nine cats. An old torn mattress covered with sacks served as a bed. The window was thick with cobwebs, the furniture dilapidated. The chimney had long been blocked up and smoke from the fire curled to the ceiling and escaped through the top of the window. As Black As Negresses Everything was black with soot. A neighbour told me: “Once, when I got mside as far as the stairs, I found the old women as black as negresses. One of them said: ‘Don’t te l anyone you’ve found us looking like this.’ ” A small dog-cart which they had once used stood ruined and discarded in the neglected garden; the donkey had been allowed to run wild in an adjoining field. Yet they were gentlewomen of good breeding, Lois and Bertha Brown; one had been a governess and ran a private school. A few days previously, I.ois, aged 76, had died in her chair; and a neighbour found Bertha, over 80, sititng opposite watching her and mumbling: “Wake her up! I can’t get her to wake up!” Mrs. Florence Mary Thompson, a 70-year-old widow, lived alone nt| Southbourne. Bournemouth, with a dog and six budgerigars. Last autmn she had the* dog destroyed and took the six budgerigars to the R.S.P.C.A., to which she had bequeathed her money. Then she left the quiet house, leaving a light on in the hall, a fire burning in the sitting-room, her rings and rosary on the mantelpiece.' She had been troubled, it was said, at the death of her friend, Canon Dick Shephard. She was found in the sea at Weymouth. Charity and Hoards

Countless women recluses have lived on charity—and left hidden hoards. Mrs. Kate Longmdre, aged 87, of Bishop Waltham; Hants, had been helped by neighbours who thought her poor; £3OO in notes was found in' an old chest, the key of which was