A Whole Year of Giving Money to Children to Pay Off a Loan! Not a Penny More from Me!

I look back now, many decades later, to the time when my husband Thomas and I, both from a modest village near York, decided that one child would be enough for us. I, Eleanor Whitaker, had grown up in the austere years after the war, when every neighbour expected a wife and children as soon as a woman reached her thirties. Back then a childless woman was spoken of as if she carried a curse upon her.

In our middle age we were blessed with a son, James, and we thought our family was complete. We knew, as sensible folk, that raising a child cost a great many shillings, and that the more children there were, the deeper the hole in ones purse. So we set out to give James a good education, a proper upbringing, and a stable home.

James, however, had other ideas. Not long after his wedding to his wife Blythe, she discovered she was with child, and soon after the baby arrived. The young couple had no flat of their own, so they took out a mortgage on a modest terraced house in Manchester. We found ourselves paying a portion of that mortgage each month, believing we were easing their burden. Then Blythe announced she was expecting again. I asked how they could possibly feed two infants and still meet the mortgage repayments. They bristled at my question, insisting they would manage, and I replied, If you can, then good luck to you.

For a while they did manage. Then Blythe fell ill and could no longer work, and James was laid off from the factory. With no income, they turned to us, asking if they might move into the room we had rented in a house we owned. Thomas declared that he would help the young family clear their debt, and for a full year we covered their mortgage payments, thinking we were doing a great service.

It turned out we had been misled. Only a few months later we learned the mortgage was still six months in arrears. The money we had paid never reached the lender. Thomas was incensed, saying he could not endure the strain any longer. I was stunned, unsure what to say or do. We had tried to help our grandchildren, yet they seemed to lean on us without gratitude, leaving us to shoulder the weight alone.

Now, looking back, I see how our good intentions were taken for granted, and how the promise of family support can sometimes become a heavy chain. The memory of those hardwon pounds still haunts me, a reminder that generosity must be matched by responsibility.