May Gibbs

May arrived in the world abruptly on December 26, 1922 when her mother, taking down Christmas decorations, crashed through the cane chair she was standing on. The doctor placed the seven month preemie by the coal fire saying Either shell live or shell die. Live she did, long and well passing away July 25, 2014 at the age of 91. May was shaped by her childhood times in England between the bookends of two World Wars. Born shortly after the Great War to a father who lost a lung when gassed in the trenches, she grew up in the Depression. I didnt know we were poor, everyone around us was poor too! And unlike in the States, life was steeped in history. Hoddesdon, her hometown, is so old it is mentioned in the Doomsday Book written in 1086. Her house was built in 1602 near a road built by the Romans. Thats why she could never get interested in the history of the U.S. An only child, she was a tomboy and preferred outdoor adventures with her friends to playing with dolls. If the gang needed any sensitive supplies (like matches) she was assigned to get it from her house since her mother was deaf and less likely to catch her. She was delighted the day she persuaded her dad to take her to the barber and cut short the waist-long hair her mum loved to braid. Although a good student she finished her schooling at age 14 to help support her family by working five and a half days a week for the grand sum of 12 shillings a week! When war broke out in 1939, life changed dramatically for everyone in England. It is hard for us living in our affluent society to comprehend life under wartime conditions. Compulsory service for both women and men. Everything was severely rationed. Only two fresh eggs a month and 1 pound of meat per week were allowed. New clothes were almost unavailable and could only be purchased with ration coupons. You were told where you would work; where the government needed you for the war effort. The War Board told May she was to work for Cosmos, a radio valve maker (the Yanks called them radio tubes.) Her quick wits and agile fingers landed her in the experimental department working on CRT scanners for radar and other items for the war effort. For her compulsory service she worked all night every sixth night at the fire station sounding the siren Alert and All Clear as well as dispatching the fire trucks and using her local knowledge and map reading skills to tell the crews where water was available. She had many war stories of ingeniously coping with the rationing, carrying gas masks everywhere and adventures of getting home each night in the darkness of the enforced blackout no street lights or any bit of light from windows allowed. Even headlights had to be reduced to a narrow slit. One foggy night the bus driver had her walk in front of the bus with a flashlight guiding it along the road. Another very dark night she heard the noises of someone following her as she walked along the path from the train station; she whipped off her shoe and turned to confront the threat.... the neighbors lost goat! But moonless or cloudy nights were a blessing; when the bombers moon was out, there was danger from above. The factory where she worked was bombed and she lost close friends. One day in a London lunchroom May accidentally spilled a cup of tea down the front of a GI standing too closely behind her. That was the unlikely start of their lifelong love story. Al Gibbs was stationed at Alconbury (the airbase portrayed in the Gregory Peck movie Twelve OClock High) a several hour train trip from London. They met in London at least part of a day each weekend, becoming engaged in early 1945. With the war in Europe winding down, Al received a tip his squadron was about to be shipped out to the Pacific. So he and May rushed their wedding and were married by special license May 12th, 1945. Al sailed back to the US with his squadron on the Queen Elizabeth mid June. Fortunately he had enough points for discharge by October and so did not go to the Pacific theater. Meanwhile May and the other war brides waited in suspense for the end of the war in the Pacific so ships would be available for transport to America. May and Al wrote each other every day. Finally nine months later May and a large cohort of war brides sailed on the SS Washington. After years of severe rationing they were lavishly supplied with food, but a very rough passage made most too seasick to eat. After landing in New York City, they were issued destination tags to wear as labels and sent to Grand Central station. May spent two days on the train arriving at 6AM in Lathrop, Missouri, Als hometown. Actually, the engine arrived at the tiny station and loaded milk from the farms. May, many cars back could see nothing but foggy fields of broken-down cornstalks. The poor porter kept insisting this was Lathrop, but she refused to get off the train until she finally spotted Al running down the side of the track towards her. (How comforting to be in Als arms again!) After a year in Kansas City they moved to Southern California where May and Al made their home for many years. May was a wonde knitter and knit for a shop in Beverly Hills for a while, using her earnings to finance her first trip back home to England in 1949. (Not by sea! Once was enough and she always went by air even though piston airplanes were slow and expensive.) One dress she knit was made for Ingrid Bergman. In 1950 and 1953 their two sons, John and David, were born (Had not even picked out a girls name. How lucky can you get, two boys?) May stayed busy as a homemaker and the usual activities of raising a family such as Scouts and PTA and kept her men folk well-outfitted with hand knit sweaters, vests, mittens and caps. She also was in charge of planning many a family trip, consulting her tidy box of carefully filed maps and neatly clipped articles of interesting destinations. The family car-camped whenever they could, especially enjoying Yosemite, the High Sierras and Arizona. This was particularly brave of May as on the first day of her very first camping trip a bear clawed open the side of the tent to get at cookies David had left inside! When the boys were in the upper grades May went to work in an elementary school cafeteria, eventually becoming the manager. Her earnings financed more trips home to her parents. With an empty nest, Al took early retirement in1978 and they moved to Prescott, Arizona. There they enjoyed 26 truly golden years. With the Prescott Outing Club they walked and backpacked throughout Arizona. Als cousins, Violet and Rod Ramirez, were a big part of their lives and together they went jeeping and exploring many places. Finally May could really do all the traveling she wanted. (There is a big wide world out there so we made sure we saw part of it...) Britain (often), most of Europe, China, Thailand, Malta, Turkey, Morocco, Costa Rico, Mexico, Russia, Australia, Canada and New Zealand; May led tour groups to the last two. She also knit hundreds of sweaters for the school nurses Dress-a-Child program. (Sometimes I think I must have been born with knitting needles in one hand and a passport in the other.) When Al hit his mid eighties, life on their own in Prescott became more difficult. John and his wife Kate found a house in Edmonds that had a separate apartment for May and Al and in March, 2004, they made the move. For several years they continued to travel abroad, drive locally and work hard in the garden. May managed also to squeeze in knitting scores of hats for cancer patients. Als heart attack in 2007 and increasing problems with his dementia ended the driving and traveling and made him increasingly dependent on May. The stress of 24/7 care giving put a severe strain on their relationship. Finally May agreed to put Al in a memory care center. (That was the hardest decision I have ever made.) But it turned out to be one of the best things, for with the stress removed, they rediscovered their love for each other. Their 65th wedding anniversary was a wonde event that we shall always remember. Two years ago May was diagnosed with advanced terminal cancer and told she would not make it to her 90th birthday. For Als sake, she decided to risk chemotherapy even though it could only slow down the spread of the cancer, not cure it. It worked unexpectedly well and they had many good times together. A great one was May 12th, her last time seeing Al, when they were able to enjoy a quiet celebration of their 69th anniversary. May is survived by her husband, Alfred, her two sons John (Kate) and David, and two granddaughters, Elizabeth and Margaret.