Michael Cundy (13 Jul 1940 - 15 Nov 2022)

In memory of Michael Cundy.
A most wonderful person.

Michael Cundy

Michael Roy Cundy was born in Dunmow, Essex, in our temporary home at Rushin, Dunmow Road.
Our father and his brother, Geoff, had moved their families away from the London area fearing that the German bombing would be too dangerous. Geoff moved first with his wife, Gladys, her mother and two young children. Our parents, Lewis and Olive, joined them with Tony and me. Nine people were living in a small house, with a floor laid on the beaten earth and, at some time, with a thistle growing between the flagstones on the kitchen floor. We were refugees. I say nine, but Daddy was living with his mother during the week as he needed to go to the Union Castle office in London every day for work and only came to us at weekends. We had been there for only a short while when Michael appeared on the scene. It must have been his birth that triggered the family's next move.
I remember the discussions amongst the midwife, the district nurse and my mother, presumably about the unsuitable living conditions for the new-born Michael, who made up the now five children under five years old. The fact that Auntie Gladys was expecting her third child must have exacerbated the situation. Being an astute four-nearly-five-year-old I was conscious of the discussions, although not aware of the full implications. The midwife had a colleague who had a friend who was the district Nurse in Stebbing. She would be asked if she could help.
A few days later Michael experienced his first move on the refugee trail.
It must have been while we were in Dunmow or Stebbing that the Union Castle announced its intention to move its head Office from the dangers of London to the more secure Glasgow. We stayed in Stebbing for about six to eight weeks and then our father took the family to Glasgow, to Michael's third home in as many months.
Michael settled down in 106, Essex Drive, Glasgow W4 and gradually we accumulated a number of friends - especially Michael. A group of teenaged girls, from the senior department of my school, were admirers rather than friends. First there were one or two of them, but over the months, especially from the Spring onwards, numbers increased. The girls took to using our corner house garden as a short cut, partly in the hopes of seeing Michael lying back in his pram, cooing and gurgling at anyone and anything around him. The girls also wanted to see Michael being bathed and dressed and tried to help by passing safety pins, nappy, soap - anything for Michael's needs. I only remember witnessing this once, but our mother told me that they liked to come in when it was convenient.
I remember Michael lying in the garden, propped up in his pram like a little king, being admired or even worshipped by his subjects; "Michael's Harem", as our mother called the girls.
"Can we take him for a walk?" was the oft asked question in the summer in which he had his first birthday. The two original girls were so sensible and reliable that our mother allowed them to take him out, reminding them of the rules she had laid down. I remember the girls politely argueing amonst themselves as to who was going to have the first turn at pushing the pram. Michael, benign in his pram, welcomed all his subjects.
By the time Michael was eighteen months old he had another sister, Fiona. A futher event which ocurred around this time and which was to change all our lives, was the letter our father received saying that, although he was in a reserved occupation, shipping, and that he was by this time thirty three years old, he was to be called up for National Service. (Thirty two had been the maximum age, but the Government increased the age limit as they needed more Forces.)
I was six (nearly seven), Tony was four, Michael was two, Fiona was about seven months old and bombs were dropping on Glasgow. Our father was desperately searching for a safe place to leave his family before he left for the Navy.
The refugee family set off for Lauder, in Berwickshire, in the south east of Scotland. We were well away from Glasgow - in a small town, in an agricultural area. There were few cars on the road as only a small number of people, like the doctor and the funeral director, who doubled as a taxi driver, was allowed petrol coupons.There were few vans on the road. Our milk was delivered in a churn, by horse and cart. We were never short of food and could buy as much milk as we wanted from the local farm's dairy. The lack of traffic made the roads safer and so, with no garden, we played in our quiet back street and when we were older just roamed the countryside. We all went to the village school and made friends with other children, rapidly picking up the Lowland Scots accent. Lauder was a safe, idyllic place for children to grow up.
When they were about two, three or four years old Michael and Fiona were the greatest of chums and companions in mischief. Mummy would see them in a corner, arms around one one another, whispering about Michael's latest plans for mischief, Fiona being a willing collaborator. It was quite innocent fun, like hiding something needed. Mummy could easily find the hidden object, but it always ended in gales of laughter.
As there were so few children of or own age group we made friends across the board. Michael and Tony befriended Alan and Donny Miller who lived only a few doors away. They came from Edinburgh and were, I suppose, refugees like us.
When we were old enough, Michael, like the rest of us, was free to roam the countryside, as long as I, the eldest, was there to look after Michael and Tony - and later, Fiona, too. A favourite place for all children was the River Lauder, commonly known as the Burn Mill. After wet weather the burn was swollen with dark rushing water and the pond looked dangerously deep. In summer we paddled in cold, clear, sparkling water. I particuarly remember Michael and Tony down at the burn in spring, collecting frog spawn, or trying to, and attempting to catch minnows with a rod furnished from a stick and a piece of string to which was tied a lump of bread. The minnows were totally disinterested. However, it provided Michael with hours of entertainment.
We spent four and a half idyllic years in Lauder, although I am not so sure our mother thought the same - with no gas,only oil lamps for light downstairs, no bathroom and only a kitchen range for cooking, baking and warmth. The range also supplied a meagre amount of hot water that trickled out, a rusty brown, via a tap from a small tank which was part of the range. The tap dripped very slowly, but continuously and we had to leave a jam jar under the tap to catch the drips. The kitchen was the only warm room in the house.
In 1945 the war ended. A Welcome Home Comittee was formed and bunting from 1918 was unearthed as the whole population decorated the town and joined in preparations for the Welcome Home Party for the returning forces. There was a buzz of excitement in the town and Michael, now five, and having little or no idea what was going on, joined in any celebrations going, including the party which offered free food. Like the other little boys he made a beeline for the cakes.
In November 1946 Michael and the rest of the family, which now included our latest brother, Alaric, returned to England. Daddy had been unable to find us a permanent home so we went to Leigh-on-Sea, to live temporarily withour paternal grandmother and Uncle Ralph, Daddy's brother, at 124, Rectory Grove, Leigh-on-Sea, Essex. It was a three bedroomed house, so our parents shared the middle bedroom with Tony, Michael and Alaric. Fiona and I had air raid shelter beds, 18 inches wide, in Grandma's room. I believe Michael and Tony had similar beds. For Michael this was home number five.
Michael, with his elder brother and little sister, started at Leigh North Street Primary School, a short walk away. This was the school that our mother, aunt and four uncles had attended. My siblings' schooling in Leigh was short lived as our father had found another home for us, this time in Rayleigh, a town about five miles north of Leigh.
17, Warwick Road, Rayleigh, was a mile or so from Michael's new school, Rayleigh Primary, so he, with Tony and Fiona could walk there. Michael and Tony became closer and their lives revolved much around two new friends, the Ager boys, who were similar in age to them and who, conveniently, lived right opposite us. Our next door neighbours' son was another friend. Tony took over the role of "looking after" Michael and is better able than I am to recall the fun and escapades in their life.
Michael had a charming, charismatic personality, seeming to sail through life without problems. He was an easygoing, happy little boy who loved life. He had a tremendous sense of humour and kept us in stitches of laughter. I particularly recall an incident in our nxt house, in Vernon Avenue, Rayleigh when we were asked to do the washing up. I washed, the others wiped, although in Michael's case that was a bit of an exaggeration Michael kept up a running commentary on his actions
"He is looking for the tea cloth. He can't see it. Oh! It's on the table. He is walking towards it. Is he going to pick it up? No. Yes, his hand is hovering above it."
By the time he reached the draining board , continuing the commentary, there was only one small plate left and possibly a saucer. None of us had minded. Michael had kept us rolling with laughter an the entertainment had kept us working without realising it.
Life was just more fun when Michael was around. He had inherited his father's wit and could keep us rolling in laughter with a two or three word comment. Even towards the end of his life, when the five of us WhatsApped one another to comment on the latest political "you couldn't make this up" Michael's often brief comment was the most apt and the funniest of all of us and often had me laughing out loud. I really miss that.
I think, however, that the five of us with our husbands and wives are really fortunate to have been able to meet up every two years with our children and later, our grandchildren. Different, but equally wonderful, have been the annual meet-ups in an hotel with just our generation. I am so pleased that, even though he was very ill, Michael and Bernadette were able to come to the most recent, last summer.
Michael, this year's reunion will be hard for us all; but be assured that we shall look after Bernadette for you.
Sheila Stokes
03.01.2023

Michael had a memorable introduction to the McGrath Family. After the incident with Therese in the Mini on a hill in Castlewellan, (was it not a Jaguar she tried to overtake?) his first “taste” of Northern Ireland was a leaden vegetarian meal, featuring rather too many chickpeas, which I cooked but no one could eat/digest. He must have wondered what he had got himself into but he immediately settled into his role as a trusted “Outlaw”, earning the love and respect of all of us, including our somewhat hard-to-please parents. I am forever grateful to Michael for making their, and all of our lives, so much better for having known him. We enjoyed so many good times together. He was always courteous, generous and kind. He bore his illness with enormous dignity and was always concerned for the welfare of others. He and Bernadette were inseparable until they could no longer be together. We miss you, Michael. Rest in Peace.

Michael fondly remembered and candles lit in Saint Colman’s Church, Dromore, a place where he came on several occasions with our family.
Rest in Peace