Jean Hole (22 Oct 1930 - 11 Dec 2020)

A Celebration Of Jean Hole

‘Life began at 40 for this woman in a hurry’ was the headline to a 1984 newspaper article about Jean in The Somerset County Gazette. But extracts from her personal memoirs (written after pleas from her family, since there was far too much for anyone to remember) show there was plenty going on long before that.

Born as Lorna Jean Watts in North Tawton, Devon she spent her early years in Woolacombe. The outbreak of war relocated the family to Taunton, where her father had found work. She went to St Andrew’s and Bishop Fox’s schools and lived, perhaps, much as any girl at that time. By her own admission shy and quiet, she had little inkling of her own potential. She once recalled sitting next to the Mayor of Taunton at a street party at the end of the war and was in awe that she should be next to someone so important. Imagine if someone could have tapped her on the shoulder and convinced her that, one day, she would be the mayor wearing that same chain of office.

The first nudge to her self-confidence came through dance. Classes with Taunton Amateur Operatic Society after the war saw her performing ballet, tap and the can-can. During one show in 1950, she remembers having to swap costumes with another dancer for something more exposing:

"The assembled company watched as we came down the steps from the stage and broke into applause at my appearance. Eva, to my embarrassment, said: ‘Yes. . . her legs’. How I wished I had shaved them that day! I was placed in the display just before a statuesque redhead and every night I drew applause . . . The shows were a sell out; fifteen hundred seats each night. . . I had found something, dancing, that I was recognised as being naturally gifted and good at."

However, married to Mike in 1953, it was made very clear by an in-law that as an obedient wife she should not be “kicking up your legs” in public. And while she did manage to sneak on stage one more time (“The secretary of TAOS went to see Mike at work to get him to agree that I could appear. The mind boggles now!”), something else came along that proved her brain cells could stretch just as ably as her legs.

Encouraged by Mike, she applied for a job as a Traffic Handler in 1956. £10 a week was a lot more than the £5 for working in a dress shop and there was a house to save up for. She had to learn touch typing, Morse code and the ‘A’ code; punched holes in tape, representing letters. Oh, and the Cyrillic alphabet. . . She was then sent to Ivy Farm in Knockholt in Kent, which had been used as a listening post during the war and from which despatch riders relayed information to Bletchley Park.

"We worked in one of the famous war-time ‘huts’, learning the processes for recording messages from punched tape and from Morse code teleprinter tape. We didn’t see the room where the receiving equipment was based. We returned to Taunton when the station was finally transferred there – a single-storied building at Culmhead on the Blackdowns, ringed by very many tall aerials. A ‘man from the ministry’ (Foreign Office) arrived and gave the traffic handlers a talk about never, ever disclosing our work to anyone. We all had to sign the Official Secrets Act. I told no-one until information about Bletchley Park emerged in the 1980s."

It did seem curious how Jean was once able to answer – in seconds – a TV gameshow question about the Russian alphabet, with no explanation given whatsoever. Surely, they hadn’t taught that at Bishop Fox’s?

Passing her driving test first time in 1957 and buying a car for the commute (“1936 Morris Tourer. I needed a block of wood for my right foot to reach the accelerator! We had to double declutch from second gear down to first and the doors could not be locked so we kept it in an alleyway near Portman Street.”), the daily trip to Culmhead took her through Trull and past a sign announcing a new housing development. Those extra earnings soon went towards the purchase of a home in 1959 and the beginning of motherhood.

Whilst the Sixties were swinging for some, nappies were drying for Jean. Four children – Mark, Sarah, Martin and Matthew – plus the Dalmatian, Harley – kept her busy. By the end of the decade, however, she replied to Mike’s question, ‘What haven’t you done, that you wished you had?’ with a now typical Jean response: she embarked on a six-year part-time degree in sociology and politics – being one of the first women students in the Open University to boot.

The passion was now politics and she was soon elected as a Labour councillor to Taunton Deane Borough Council. One of her “most visible” achievements was the creation of a hostel for the homeless in Taunton and, less visible, her work for the Women’s Refuge. She also researched the history of local government and produced a booklet ‘Left, Right, Left, Right’. But if standing up and addressing full council meetings were not achievement enough for that shy girl, how about the national Labour Party conference and arguing the case for more representation for women?

"I was lucky enough to reach the rostrum. I was very quiet and shy in all my upbringing and I suppose people would have been as surprised as I was to see me stand up in front of 1000 people and the television cameras and wishing it wouldn’t stop. I think if you’re convinced of what you’re saying, you’re halfway there."

In addition to all this, by the way, Jean also held down a full-time job as a clerical officer for British Telecom. Yet in that Gazette article she said:

"I don’t feel exceptional at all; all women are busy. I think the only difference is that my work is more in the public eye. But any woman who has brought up a family knows how to do half-a-dozen jobs at once."

However, within two years Jean’s life was turned upside down by Mike’s unexpected passing. “I didn’t know how I would cope.” The answer, of course, was typical Jean: travel. Russia, Egypt, Italy, India, South Africa, Canada, Portugal, China (twice). . . she zipped around the Great Pyramids, strode along The Great Wall and sailed down the Nile. That’s what you do. You pick yourself up.

Although now retired, she continued working hard for Halcon ward and involving herself with local organisations and charities – a particular passion being Homestart – not to mention running for the Taunton Parliamentary seat at the 1992 General Election and returning an increased vote over her predecessor. Her political role was topped off in 1995 by election as mayor, bringing with it, of course, attendance at a Buckingham Palace garden party. Certainly a step up from that street party of fifty years before.

Unable to sit still for long, she soon took several Open University courses and uncovered another dormant talent: poetry. “They come to me pretty quickly. If I can get a good first line I’m off!” One of her poems, ‘Lost Luggage’, was published by the OU as part of an anthology and was about the journey of life. Another, somewhat sillier, remained in her personal collection:

The Chair

Good, I’m on time for
my appointment.
I sink into the chair
my legs rise in front
my eyes close as my
head reaches back
ready for the
warm water and shampoo
A voice in my ear says
Open wide!

Jean turned increasingly to her faith in her later years, continuing to support and attend St Andrew’s church weekly – just as she had first done with her mother in 1939. Technology and a pandemic were no barrier to her either; she logged onto the live stream on her iPad to take part in the weekly communion service. In October this year – on her 90th birthday, no less – she was invited to read one of her poems via Zoom for a ‘Christians On The Left’ national 60th anniversary service, rubbing virtual shoulders with the Bishop of Salisbury and a certain Rt Hon Keir Starmer MP. Unbeknownst to Jean, local Labour Party members had already applied for a long service award and presented her with a gift which she kept proudly displayed.

Always abreast of the news and chiding politicians on the TV, her active mind meant cryptic crosswords and Sudoku were despatched pretty swiftly every day. And in typical fashion, even on her last day, the Sudoku grid was fully completed. In recent months such activity was followed by a spot of knitting for relaxation but, being Jean, this was her contribution to ‘yarnbombing’ to raise awareness for various causes through the church. The Gazette headline for one display said, ‘Poetry and colourful yarns helping cheer the Taunton community’. It is not a great stretch to work out who supplied the poem. . .

Jean leaves her four children and a grandchild, Emily. She also leaves a Somerset town which – had it known any better than she quite what it was getting from Devon in 1939 – could surely not have quite believed its luck.

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Lost Luggage

Uneven rails, a jolting journey for
the short black puffing train.
I’ve no companions, not even one;
I travel alone.

A rocky ride returns my muddied mind
to glass and grass and books,
a station peopled with blazer-clad girls,
with coronets and curls.

This, a short halt, so long ago,
controlled by crusty crammers of note
redeemed by those of worth concerning
a delight in learning.

The line runs on along the coast;
carefree crowds, on sand built lodges,
the sea splashed journey washed the wheels
and salted meals.

Non-stop, the travelling must go on,
no halting habits; new friends, new loves,
new lives to nurture in places
as time races.

At last the terminus is reached,
my dream is done, I see no faces
long since departed from my sphere,
they are not here.

I had no permit to find lost friends,
they are gone forever with the luggage of life.
the return journey is swiftly done;
with familiar friends, I’m home.
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