I don't really know the tale of Joan Gerow, despite being her grandson.
My Grandma is a mystery. She is a family legend. Most families have these legends. And, like most families, I suspect the legend is more about misunderstanding and questions never asked. .
In the end, I suspect she might just be a Grandma, like a thousand others out there.
Too long have women's tales been secret and hidden. The triumphs and pains and sacrifices of women's lives have been the norm.
My Grandma fits that pattern.
Joan (Shermer) Gerow was born outside London, England and became a young woman in the thirties in one of the most cosmopolitan of places. I suspect she saw more and experienced more than she ever let us know. I only saw glimpses of this when I was older and it surprised my younger self. A lot of things surprised my younger self, but nothing shocked me more than women labelled Mom or Grandma or Sister being for more than I imagined or was allowed to understand.
My Grandma grew up near London in a time of prosperity and cosmopolitan adventure. I wish I had some idea of who she was back then. But, like so many, the war changed her memories forever.
My Grandma became a part of WWII. I can't say exactly what she became, except she said she was in "communications". In my imagination she was a part of "Bletchley Park" and was a code breaker. In reality, she was likely a cog in a machine that use women as glorified secretaries and assistants.
The truth may never be known. That is the funny thing. That is the thing we rest our family legend upon. Grandma never really told us what she did. We knew she could translate Morse code for my big sister when Jen went away to Sea Cadets many decades after the war. We knew she recognized former heads of MI5 on the cover of books when we shopped for presents during one holiday season when all her grandchildren were grown. But, we had no idea what she really did.
Like my Grandpa, she doesn't talk about it.
I reality, I know she wasn't a spy. I knew someone whose Mom was a spy in WWII - and until the day her Mother died the British secret service would show up and tell her what was still classified and what wasn't.
My Grandma didn't have those experiences. My Grandma, I suspect, was one of many, many women who did what their country asked for them, without recognition and without celebration. She is another cog in the machine of the Patriarchy.
This isn't meant to belittle her. It is, in fact, a celebration of life lived and which is still lived.
My Grandma turned 99 this week. She is alone in a home, cut off from family and friends due to Covid-19. She is still a mystery to me. But, she is a mystery I understand a little more each year.
My Grandma took one of a very few paths available to her, so that her children may have more. She married my Grandpa as a war bride and came to Canada to expand the possibilities she didn't have. She was still constrained by so many things I did not understand as a child. But, her choices and sacrifices have made my life possible.
Thank you Grandma. I am sorry I didn't see it earlier. You were stoic and calm and an unwavering presence when I suspect you would have appreciated a "Thank you Grandma, I love you" even more. Or maybe your British upbringing wouldn't have allowed it.
Well, I'm not British, and my upbringing is slowly being peeled away, so I will say it now:
Thank you Grandma. I love you.
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