Travelling Home to Heaven: My Aunt Doris

by Sylvia Harrison

My Aunt Doris was born to a Gypsy family in the north of Devon. The family didn't move around a lot, so it was possible for Doris to go to school, which she loved to do. Doris then went on to go to grammar school.

During her younger days she would write stories and poems. When my Mum, Dad and I visited Doris's family, she would read her stories and poems to me, which I very much enjoyed.

Then at one of the fairs, Doris met and later married her soul mate Jimmy, and moved with him to Plymouth. Sadly, her mother-in-law died, and at about that time, Doris turned to the Lord and became a born-again Christian.

A few years later she had her own church. This church became one where Gypsies and non-Gypsies went to hear her sermons.

Doris was very calm and loving and also a good listener. She would give very wise advice, when asked. Romany Gypsies loved to have her around when they were ill or dying; they all said she gave them a lot of comfort with her soft voice and her strong belief in God.

Aunt Doris gave me a different outlook on life. I already had a little belief in the blessed lord and his Son. Aunt Doris gave me the true love of God.

The born again Christians were different to the church I grew up to believe in, but she never pushed her church onto me. Instead, she would tell me little stories, for example about my family, because she knew I loved my grandparents very much. She told me different stories about how they believed God had helped them through the bad times when the were treated badly by other people, and how they were not only forgiving, but loving, giving people the benefit of the doubt. They would say that people didn’t know what they were doing or saying.

Aunt Doris taught me to think first. Very often, when I became angry with people who didn’t understand our way of life (Romany life) I just thought of my Aunt Doris and my grandparents and of course the blessed Lord; I would then calm down. She told me that I should see their point of view, because other people would all get together to convince them that they were right, that you only need one bad apple in the barrow, and that all Romanies are the same. But in every walk of life there are good and bad.

I will give you two of the poems from her book, which the family had printed for her.

This was written with very much love by her niece, Sylvia.

The Missionary

O for to be a missionary

was such a great dream of mine!

And while I waited upon the Lord,

I sat knitting to pass the time.

How I longed to be one of God's chosen

and travel across the world.

And may a prayer was spoken

down through each line of plain and purl.

On a vest I went out to the Congo;

on a coatee I went to Japan;

and down in the toe of a tiny boot,

I was lost in the streets of Milan.

Then all my garments were ready

far over the world to roam

in the hands of other missionaries,

while I sat knitting at home.

Then one day a missionary told me

how God in answer to prayer

had sent little parcels of clothing

to those who were naked and bare.

So when you sit at home knitting,

don't envy the gifts of some,

for when you stand in the line at the end,

the Lord will say, "Well done!

"Thou too art a good and true servant

though thy job seemed fruitless and bare.

The gift that I gave thee of knitting

clothed my lambs who had nothing to wear."

The beautiful flower

Close to the river bank, hidden by bushes,

a beautiful flower grew sadly alone.

Tears trickled over her pearly white petals, 

for she hadn't one little friend of her own.

"What can I do?" she said, shaking her petals,

"There is no-one to see how pretty I grow.

Even the river runs by with a murmur,

'Can't stop little flower, I've a long way to go.' "

Then high overhead she heard a strange buzzing.

"Have you come to see me?" she cried to the sound.

"Please Mr Bumblebee, come down and sing to me."

With a swish of brown velvet, he circled around.

"Of course I will sing you a song, little flower!

Then I must hurry and fly away home.

My mother is waiting with my honey supper,

and she doesn't like me flying alone,"

So all through the summer the beautiful flower

let tears of self-pity fall over her cheek.

"Very soon now," she cried, "I'll lose my petals,

and then I won't even be able to speak!"

But time waits for no-one and soon it was winter.

The north wind blew stronger each day.

Too cold to care now, the little flower

just let her petals blow sadly away.

Then Somebody found her close by the river bank.
Sadly neglected, she lay in the snow.
Digging her gently, he laid her small body
in a beautiful garden where she was to grow.

Suddenly springtime unfolded her petals.
"Where am I?" the flower called out in surprise.
"With friends!" called the voices of other white flowers.
"We thought you would never open your eyes!"