Lytton Road Under Fives

In a recent post I dredged from the shifting sands of my personal narrative a lowering memory of the Lytton Road Under Fives, a unique 'starting' school for toddlers that was held in a dark, Baptist church hall that seemed gloomy even in summer. The children were dressed in a uniform of Osh Kosh dungarees or handmade Clothkits dresses. Members followed a strict rota for setting up the tired and battered toys, clearing up and making coffee. The hall smelt of dust and floor polish.
One of the mothers, expecting her second child, developed breast cancer during the pregnancy. Bad enough to have cancer at any time but during pregnancy, the choice is between treatment or the child. This mum opted to go without treatment until the unborn child could survive outside the womb. When this day came, the child was delivered and her treatment started. Anyone who's had a baby can imagine her life; coping with a new baby, a toddler and chemotherapy. I remember her as cheerful, busy and positive but she died within twelve months. The group planted a climbing rose for her and put a plaque next to it on the church wall. The church is now a Hindu temple and when I drive past, which is rare, I wonder whether the rose thrived and if the plaque is still there. I should go in and ask. I think her name was Lynn. While I tell this story I wonder about using other people's lives as part of my own narrative. I'm reading the Secret Scripture and found these lines: 'a person without anecdotes that they nurse while they live, and that survive them, are more likely to be utterly lost not only to history but the family following them.' I hope that Lynn would be okay about not being 'lost' to at least one former member of the Lytton Road Under Fives and about sharing the end of her story with you. And I will check her rose.