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She was born in 1924.  London England.

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She was 15 of 16 kids.
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Her given name was Mabel Robbins.  No middle name.  It kind of bugged her because one of her sisters had 3 names; Lillian Rose Hopper AND everyone called her Dingle.  So really she had 4 names.  One day she questioned her father about it and he said to her “it don’t mean nothing to me old darling call yourself anything you want”.  So she chose Jean.
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They lived in Rotherhithe and then Deptford then Greenwich.  She told stories of walking to town with her dad leading the way, holding up his hands to stop traffic at crossings to help all his little ones cross the street.     On Mondays her mom would bring the dirty wash to the baths in Bermondsey.  She would stand in line and then spend all day washing clothes, sheets and towels.  She would spend all day on Tuesday ironing.  Nanny would say her mom worked all the time.  At night sometimes, her dad would put the earphones for the radio on her mom’s head, set her in a chair with a cup of tea and a cigarette and he would get all the kids ready for bed.  She remembered him saying “I am married to the finest women in England”.

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She said her family was always singing, that they were a “happy lot”.

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They lived on the river Thames.   She love the hustle and bustle of the city and the river.  The river would rise and flood the street that was made of wooden blocks soaked in creosote.  They would carry them back home and use them for firewood.  She would say to us… “yes I do know the muffin man”, because growing up, her neighborhood not only had a muffin man, but a lamplighter and a coal man.  She told of a guy on a bicycle that would come by and sharpen your knives, a salt and vinegar man pushed a wheelbarrow with a barrel full of vinegar and a big block of salt.  He would fill up your jug and cut a wedge of salt for you.  They had a man that sold shrimp and winkles, cockles and mussels and jellied eels.  If that doesn’t sound like the start of a Charles Dickens novel I don’t know what does.
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She lived through the bombing of London in WWII.  She had stories of hearing bombs drop, black outs and rushing into bomb shelters.  She would collect shrapnel to earn money.  She had so many stories.
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She met our Grandad Jimmy Doyle, an American GI in London during the war.

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They married, became pregnant and Jimmy was eventually sent back to America.  When the baby, our Uncle Terry, was 8 months old, she finally immigrated to America to be with Jimmy.  It took her a few tries, she didn’t want to leave.  Once she was bound for a voyage to American on a ship.  She got to the dock and couldn’t do it.  She didn’t want to leave the only family she knew or her beloved London.   Eventually, she did get on a PanAm flight from London to NYC.  She arrived on Christmas Day 1946.

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When she arrived in NYC her pocketbook was stolen.  Along with it all her money.  She was 22 years old, in a strange country, full of strange accents.  She held an 8-month-old baby and had no idea how far NYC was from St. Paul, MN.  The American Red Cross gave her a train ticket and she hopped on the train to her future.
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There is so much more to her story.  More than I can possibly share in a blog post. Nanny as a Mermaid?

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She and Jimmy lived a nice life.  They raised 5 kids, who raised 24 grandkids, who are raising 13 great grandkids.
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Quite a legacy.
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She was a glass half full girl. She always believed the best would come, and for her it usually did.
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She was always smiling, knitting and singing…always.

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She taught us to be glass half full people too.  To believe that the best will come.  And for us, so far so good.
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Carly and I and the rest of our clan, are proud to be part of her legacy.  We will smile and knit and sing too, remembering our Nanny.
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Life well lived Nan.  Well done you.  Rest in peace.

More of our blogs mentioning our Nanny here and…here…and here…and here…

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