She grew up just down the road in Warninglid.
During the First World War she worked in the Huntley and Palmer bisuit factory in Reading. 
After the war, she went into service with a rich family who had a holiday home in Oulton Broad.At some point she got friendly with one of the gardners at the holiday home. And when I say holiday home, it was a mansion on the side of the Broad. Anyway, she ended up marrying James Hadingham and they moved into a small house on the Rock Estate, less than half a mile where they used to be in service, and round the corner where I would would end up living once I knew I was leaving the Air Force.
38 was an age back then to fall pregnant, and when Dad was born, he was a couple of months premature. He was lucky to survive, the only effect was him having one layer of skin missing, meaning he was cut easily.Dad grew up, went to school and then to college as an apprentice ship's carpenter. On 5th January 1960, at the age of 57, James died suddenly of a heart attack wherehe worked on the branch line to the fish docks in Lowestoft.
So, Edith, or Nannie as I called her, spent the long years from 1960 to 1998 alone, once Dad married Mum in 1964, though they lived nearby.2 Moyes Road was an unusual house, it was a detached terraced house. I'm not sure if the houses next door were bombed in WWII or they never got built, but there was this detached two up, two down that came with a large garden, large enough to have an orchard.
I remember an old fashioned house, with no central heating, just a small coal fine in the living room, and the rest of the house like a fridge in the winter. An extension had been built at some point, so they had a bathroom and indoor toilet, though Nannie did use the horrible shiny toilet paper, so horrible i would never use the facilities there. The elctrics were from whenever the house was connected to the mains, with tiny round pinned plugs and sockets, and she watched a 425 line black and white TV, which was like peering through fog at whatever she was watching.She watched variety shows, Coronation Street and all-in wrestling. Wrestling was something that ITV put on at four every Saturday afternoon, was a low rent version of what the Aericans call WWF or whatever it is now. And was famous for all these sensible-coated grannies in the front row of the crowd, hitting the "bad" guy with their handbags. Given the chance she would have been with them wielding handbags at Giant Heystacks or Mick MacManus. Her favourite was Les Kellett, who pretended to be drunk and always ended up winning.
Then she would go down the chippy in Hall Road to get small cod and chips for her, and a battered sausage for me, before I was walked to my other Grandparents in nearby Chestnut Avenue.
She lived there until 1982, when we had a dreadful winter, and snow fell off her roof, blocking her back door meaning she was stuck indoors. Thankfully she did have a phone by then, so called and Dad went to dig her out. Soon after she moved into sheptered housing up in Oulton village, and never really looked back.
She had a small kitchen, living room, bathroom and bedroom, and was lovely and toasty warm all year round, and there was a warden on call 24 hours.
No Mother should ever have to outlive her child, but Nannie did by nearly two years. Mum had to break the news to her, I don't know how either survived that. Nannie said that if she started to cry, she wouldn't stop.
Her final years were spent in a care home, where in a metter of weeks they managed to giver her bed sores, she caught pneumonia and once that happened we knew she didn't have long.
I went up from Wiltshire in January 1998 to see her the last time, she cried when she knew it was me. To ease her mind, she asked if I was happy. I was, so told her I was, and she was happy with that.
She passed away a couple of weeks later, meaning I did not have to break her the news I was going to have to go to the Falklands for four months.
And that was that. Sadly.
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