Millicent Theresa Morton
To do justice in a few minutes to a life
which, to all intents and purposes, spanned
the whole of the Twentieth Century, is of
course, an impossible task but Kit and Roger
have compiled this little biography of Milly,
which will. I am sure, find resonance in
all of you here, as it certainly did with
me.
Milly Burns was born at 7 Henry St, Bolton,
on 23rd July 1905. She was born the 4th child
after three boys, and was followed by two
sisters, Dora and the youngest, Rene, my
mother. Unfortunately the two boys immediately
above her had died young, so she became the
second child of the family. Her father was
manager of a family butcher firm in Bolton,
and business was good. So good that Milly
often hitched delivery rides in a prestigious
client's Rolls Royce- I am sure that would
have pleased her! From a house with only
outside facilities, they moved within Bolton
to Deane, to a three storeyed affair, with
electricity! At the age of 11, Milly moved
with the family to Sheil Road in Liverpool
as the business expanded.
She went to Notre Dame School in Mount Pleasant,
which still exists as part of the John Moores
university Campus. She progressed into teacher
training and eventually took up a teaching
post at the same school where she herself
had grown up. She was, therefore, the first
person in the family to go into higher education
at a time when this was a rare event, and
even rarer for a woman. She was very bright,
and her grand child Pippa records her saying
"I was nearly always top of the class,
and never lower than 3rd". The family
had now moved out of Liverpool to the leafy
suburb of Knotty Ash, just down the road
from where another young man was to later
put that particular part of Liverpool on
the map.
Milly's father, Joseph Burns, was a very
sociable fellow, who loved company, music
and song, and it was Milly who learnt the
piano and played all manner of tunes at home
for the evenings of revelry and companionship
that made him a very popular chap, but were
also destined to be his downfall. His pals
used to supplement Milly's pocket-money playing
"Nap", and from that time on, she
loved a game of cards.
With the exception of Uncle Jack, The family
survived the 14-18 war, although towards
it's end, her beloved elder brother George
volunteered for the Royal Flying Corps, crashed
in his plane, but fortunately survived in
one piece.
After that war, however, business was not
so good, and the family fortunes dwindled,
and money was tight. In 1926, her father,
who adored her, as she did him, died, at
the age of 52, leaving the family in some
financial difficulty. But somehow or other,
with all the children, now all nearly grown
up, and mucking in, her mother kept the family
house in Knotty Ash going, and it was always
a busy household and a lovely atmosphere.
In 1928 a young man on the Liverpool Post
came calling, and after what I believe was
a difficult courtship, he proposed. The courtship
was intense. After walking her home after
an evening out, the young man would write
a letter, post it, and the letter would arrive
promptly for her the next morning. Marriage
in Liverpool at that time to a non-Catholic
was barred, and no Catholic church would
marry them, so in 1930, Cyril Morton took
her down to London and they married at Corpus
Christi in Maiden Lane, just off the Strand.
Cyril, felt he was ready for bigger things,
and moved to London to work on the Daily
Express, and moved Milly into a flat in Belsize
Park, where she was pretty lonely. Her consolation
was that she managed to get Cyril to buy
her a grand piano, on which she loved to
play, and shortly after, probably to the
neighbours relief, they moved out to Whitton,
in the Twickenham area, close to an old school
and university friend.
In 1934 her first son Kit was born, and just
before the war, in April 1939, Roger arrived.
Cyril was doing well on the Daily Express
as their Chief crime reporter, and on the
outbreak of hostilities whistled Milly, and
family, up to the Colwyn Bay area, to join
her brother George, his wife Muriel and daughter
June, where the two families shared a house
together for the rest of the war. Food rationing
was a continuing problem, and on one occasion
the family discovered, on pouring out a somewhat
weak cup of tea, that no one had put any
tea into the pot! And apparently Roger's
butter ration always ended on her plate!
Cyril continued to make his way towards the
top in Fleet Street, and there were always
things to do and places to go to, first nights
and the like. But Milly never came to like
the glitzy and shallow life that she saw.
She was always a private person, who from
her upbringing had learnt to respect money,
and a job, and she was always fearful that
her husband, despite his reluctance to join
the rackety life of the Fleet Street man,
would lose his position in the unstable world
of journalism.
They moved to Hampton on Thames, and Cyril
had moved upwards again to the Daily Mirror
in a senior capacity; the two boys were away
at Douai, and Milly and husband enjoyed a
comfortable life during the fifties, - but,
as Milly feared, in 1955, a boardroom coup
saw Cyril out of a job at the age of 55.
Not for too long, however, and they continued
to enjoy a relatively comfortable existence,
moving to Ashtead, Surrey, in 1960, until
Cyril retired completely in 1965.
During this period, Milly played the harmonium
for Mass every Sunday, she gave talks and
music recitals, and she ran a local Ladies
choir. She loved to go to the Albert Hall,
or any ballet, opera or concert she could
get tickets for.
Around this time Kit got married and three
years later Roger followed suit, and although
she was as critical as any mother casting
her eye over a wife-to-be, Milly later admitted
that her sons could not have done better.
Eight grand children arrived at regular intervals,
and she was lucky in seeing them often, -
but not too often. But she was always interested
in each and every one of them, even though
she could, on occasion, as all grand-parents,
be a little tactless, and a shade critical.
She loved them all and they loved and respected
her.
During the seventies it was obvious that
Milly's knees were giving a lot of trouble.
Gradually her walking became extremely painful
and this was to dog her for the rest of her
days. Cyril died in 1984, but she continued
to drive an automatic car for a further few
years, until her sight deteriorated too far.
Finally in 1992, at the age of 87, she became
a member of this Friary Parish when she came
to live with Jo and Kit, where she lived
until her death on January 9th She was known
as 'Grandma' by all and sundry during this
time, listening to Radio 4 and Classic FM,
and watching, (or later listening ) to the
Tele, keeping abreast of the news at all
times. She loved quizzes, crossword puzzles,
and comedy programmes. She enjoyed sport
in general, but she loved Wimbledon, and
had watched, as far as she was able, every
match since the days of Drobny and Co. She
supported Liverpool, if asked, unless they
were playing Bolton. Amazingly, her mind
continued to be first rate to the end, enjoying
University Challenge on the night before
she was taken into hospital, and although
she was very ill in her last few days, she
had rarely had a real illness during her
long life.
Our own personal memories of Mum, Grandma
and Auntie Milly will invariably come flooding
back on this occasion. For me, it was being
treated, as a small boy, to a Knickerbocker
Glory at Bentalls in Kingston just after
the war, which I remember cost the princely
sum of 2/6 and contained exotic things like
melon and pineapple - going to my first prom
at the Albert Hall - her visit with Uncle
Cyril to me and my host family in Germany,
when she made a plausible attempt at speaking
German - Christmas round the piano in the
40's and 50's in Thomas lane - the recipe
for chocolate pudding which still graces
my sister's and my dinner parties - I am
sure we could all go on for ever. Talking
of Chocolate, Roger suggested last weekend
that her longevity might be ascribed to her
considerable consumption, against all current
medical advice, of that delicacy - nobody
could demolish a box of chocolates with greater
expertise and alacrity than Auntie Milly.
I think, however that is was certainly due
to her good fortune in remaining at the centre
of a loving and caring family, whose multifarious
activities enabled her to feel part of life,
long after her her physical capacity to enjoy
it to the full had abandoned her.
She was, and remained, a staunch Catholic
throughout, with a simple belief in Christ,
the Rosary, which she said every night, and
Christianity. These simple beliefs came occasionally
under stress, as events such as those of
September 11the took place, but she recovered,
as we all do, and placed her trust in the
Lord.
She went into Hospital saying her Rosary,
and as she lay, semi-comatose on the stretcher,
with her family around her, she continued
to pray.
Milly had a good life and a long one; it
had its ups and downs like everyone has,
but she retained her intelligence, her sense
of humor, her interest in her family, and
by no means least, her faith. May she now
rest in peace