Marjorie Conduit (Fuller) 1900 – 2002
A tribute by her daughter Mary Fuller (now Stephens)
Not long after
the tragic sinking of the Titanic in 1912, a girl cycled with her father from
Camberley to Farnham to attend an interview at Farnham Girls’ Grammar School.
That girl was my mother Marjorie. She was awarded a teaching bursary; on the
ride home her father bought her a hockey stick – and an Italian novel. I still
have the latter on my shelf, ninety years later! Those two items seem to
symbolise the future awaiting my mother.
Marjorie’s childhood home was over the little Conduit
music shop opposite the Royal Military Academy in Yorktown. Pupils travelled daily
to school by train and on rainy days were appreciative of the kindly attention
of Mrs Scantlebury, who dried their outer garments in the School boiler-house.
The good lunch provided by the school was also welcomed, it seems. 1915 was the
year when a Zeppelin raid halted the train in which the girls were travelling,
on their way home to Camberley.
In recent years my mother was delighted, through the
Newsletter, to renew contact with Edith Todd, and a warm correspondence ensued.
Edith was a younger pupil my mother took charge of, during those train journeys
to and from school. In one letter among the bundle I treasure, Edith reminds my
mother of how the station-master would call out the names of the stops as if
they ought to rhyme: “Camb-er-ley, Frim-er-ley..”
The girls had music in common. Edith became a
professional singer and pianist. She continued to play the piano in her
retirement home, to which she had moved on her brother’s death. There was
already plenty of sport enjoyed at the school during the years of the Great
War, and my mother went on to excel at the High Jump and when in the Civil
Service Sports Club, to engage in the 100 Yards Sprint. She swam often, but
then caught an ear infection which was not cured until after the 1939-1945 War,
with the advent of antibiotics.
Following the loss of her brother Sydney at the Battle of
the Somme in 1915 and with her mother’s increasing ill-health, Marjorie had to
abandon ideas of a career in teaching. She left school at age 18 and attended
Clarke’s College in London. Acquiring a proficiency in Gregg shorthand and
typing, she began to enjoy the new freedom for young women to leave home and
earn a living, this being one effect of the Great War.
During this period she stayed in hostels run at the time
by women with a concern for the welfare of their lodgers. An evening meal was
reserved for those who arrived back late from evening classes. Later on, after
her mother’s death in 1924 (probably of TB), Marjorie moved to a London flat
where she was joined by her elder sister Kate and their grieving father.
As for the Italian novel, it led to a lifelong interest
in languages. My mother and father met at a Spanish evening class in 1926; they
became engaged and six months later married. My brother Tim was born in 1928. I
followed in 1929, and younger brother Michael in 1933.
By the 1950s my mother was able to accompany my father on
his business travels abroad – frequently to South America where their knowledge
of Spanish contributed to the enjoyment and success of each trip. Tim, too, was
a linguist but chose to make his career as a mathematician. He joined Surrey
University where a much-later generation of schoolchildren attended his master
classes.
Each stage of Marjorie’s life was tackled with energy and
enthusiasm. My father died in 1960. Shortly after, my mother moved to
Guildford, joining her sister Kate and brother-in-law Nelson Leaver, a music
lecturer. Here she found scope for forming new friendships, plenty of music and
vigorous gardening. After Kate and Nelson died in 1972, she continued to occupy
the house in Guildford as life tenant. Then at the age of 82, a heart pacemaker
became necessary (the first of three!) and at the age of 96 it became apparent
that a little supervision would be sensible. My husband and I moved in and
gradually took over the housekeeping and garden care. My mother used to play
the piano with relish daily until deafness began to render this pursuit
unrewarding. We have a poignant tape recording of her voice at the age of 100,
at one last attempt: “…no, it doesn’t sound right”. However, Wednesday
afternoon tea parties continued as before, as she accepted with sadness the
departure of old friends.
In the two years before she died, my mother lost both
sons. Losses like these could not be borne without the kindness of friends and
the support of others in the family who loved her dearly and responded to her
unfailingly warm personality with attentive visits and letters.
Last year, we
all assembled in the Lady Chapel of Guildford Cathedral at a memorial service
for my mother. On that day there was further evidence of my mother’s attitude
to life: the absence of a coffin – she had donated her body to medical research
and teaching.
This brief summary of the life of a former pupil of many years ago, cannot conclude without some reference to the undoubted contribution made by the School to my mother’s abilities: whether in her ability to dash off an excellent letter in impeccable English or in more generally exhibited life skills, adapting to the circumstances of her own life within a century of rapid change.
Recently, when I visited former FGGS pupil Eleanor Clark (now Mrs Barnard), she confirmed that her continuing good health must be ascribed to all the hockey they played at school! It was Mrs Barnard who introduced my mother to the idea of joining the OGA, some years ago. Recalling those happy schooldays at Farnham, and receiving the Newsletter and Stella’s kind personal letters, greatly enriched my mother’s life.
29 August, 2003