Valerie Fillingham
1940 – 2025

Valerie Wass was born in Mansfield Woodhouse on the 11th January, 1940, to Tom and Sally Wass. The youngest of seven children, with sisters; Ethel and Joan, and brothers; Ken, Bo, Tommy and Frank.

She attended York Street School. She was fit and athletic and ran for the Sutton Harriers – something she was always very proud of.

After leaving school, she worked at Mansfield Shoe Co. and Barringers.

It was in Mansfield at the age of sixteen that she met her future husband, eighteen-year-old, Roy Fillingham. They spent the next couple of years courting, meeting-up every week at Turner’s Dancehall.

On 26th January 1957, they were wed and set up home at 36 Appleton Road, Blidworth. Their busy social life continued for the next couple of years, meeting friends at the dancehall and at the local Miners Welfare.

These were the heady days of and rock and roll, and they had a huge collection of records. Valerie liked to dance and liked to sing – and boy could she sing – loudly! There was nothing quiet about mum.

She was cut from the same cloth as her mother. And continued her legacy with powerful, unaccompanied renditions of Gracie Fields’ ‘Sally’ that harked back to the war years when she was just a toddler.

In the early 1950s, her brother Tommy served in Korea, returning home with trinkets, kimonos and lessons in boxing and self-defence. Tommy taught his kid sister how to look after herself. And mum always told us that ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’

Valerie loved musicals. I think we’ve lost count of the number of times she watched Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, joining in with the chorus at the top of her voice. Despite her small size, she could really belt out those tunes and was pitch perfect too.

In the early days, her favourite singers were British teen heartthrobs; Cliff Richard, Joe Brown, Adam Faith, even Shane Fenton (AKA Alvin Stardust) who used to hang out with them when she was growing up in Mansfield Woodhouse. Mum never did like me saying ‘Wudhus’.

Later, she took to vocalists like Matt Monroe, Shirley Bassey, Dusty Springfield, Tom Jones and Cilla Black, and in 1978 added Kate Bush to her repertoire. These sounds formed the soundtrack of our childhood.

On the 18th February 1961, their first-born, Paul came along – that’s me!
I was four years old when I accompanied my mum to Blidworth surgery. My mum was pregnant and I had a half-crown bet with Dr Spencer that if the baby was a girl I’d call her Mary. But if it was a boy, we’d call him Peter Robert as suggested by Dr Spencer. The baby was born at home in August 1965. It was a traumatic birth by all accounts, so serious that Dr Spencer had to prescribe Park Drive Cigarettes. There was no Mary, I lost the bet, the baby was called Peter Robert, and my mum never did give up smoking.

The 1960s were busy times for Valerie and Roy. In November 1966 they added a third child, Mark to the family. However, my mum’s quest for a baby girl continued. And in May 1968, her fourth child, Michael, was born. It’s been pointed out to me that my mum was simply going through names in the bible. Though we never did get to Mary, and we never got to Zebedee either.

Supporting a family of four boys was no mean feat, but mum and dad had an amazing work ethic. Dad worked at Blidworth Colliery and mum worked as a part time cleaner at the Miners Welfare and The Forest Folk where she also cooked.

Putting food on the table was always a priority. We ate well and we were all taught how to bake and cook. Sometimes food would stretch a little further when other kids from the village turned up.

There was always room at our table for waifs and strays. That included animals too – we had loads of dogs; Ben, Smokey, Big Blue, Little Blue. We also had ferrets, and a magpie, and mum loved them all.

I remember a period in the early 70’s where we offered sanctuary for neighbours who needed a bed after house fires in the middle of the night. This happened on more than one occasion – something in the coal, I guess?

Mum’s generosity extended to our friends in our teenage years. When she’d feed and house them, but also offered advice, sometimes chastising them, sometimes giving warnings about the most taboo of subjects, including the ominous ‘avoiding catching something you couldn’t get shut of.’

She was soft as anything and was known to most of the village as Auntie Val. Late one night, it was Boxing day, and there was a group of teenagers at Appleton Road. Dad was tired and went to bed. But before mum went up, she asked if anyone would like some turkey sandwiches. Dukie pipes up that he’d prefer a chip cob. And low and behold Auntie Val had the chip pan on, and everyone enjoyed a midnight feast of chip-cobs. People remember daft things like that.

It was one Christmas after dad claimed to have seen Santa Claus that mum hung him up by his collar on a coat hook. Putting into practice the kind of self-defence she learned from her brothers.

Her sayings were old-fashioned and witty, and she kept on using them throughout her entire life. And I think we are going to miss hearing them. Though I’m sure they will always be somewhere in the back of our minds when we are up to no good.

The pit holidays were really memorable too and full of comic episodes. As kids we had great times at Derbyshire Miners Holiday Camp, Butlins Skegness, Pwllheli and Barry Island, Great Yarmouth and Morecambe Bay. Sometimes you’d have half-a-dozen families all travelling to the seaside together by coach. It was like that back then – your friends were your family – you had countless cousins, aunts and uncles; there was uncle spanner, auntie Ann, Mal and Sue, Bryn and Jean, Roy and Thelma, Barry and Maureen – the list goes on.

And if you walked around Skeggy Market in August, half the village would be there. There were downsides though – if you did something wrong, it would always get back to mum.

I thought mum and dad would live in Blidworth forever, even though grandad Tom called it ‘the last place God made.’ But when the pit shut in 1989, and all her ‘handsome’ boys had flown the nest (her words not mine). They moved to a bungalow in Mansfield. With dad working as a Hospital Porter at Harlow Wood, and Kings Mill.

In these later years, mum and dad visited their extended family connections in Spain and Holland. They also welcomed a new generation of young Fillo’s with the arrival of Sam and Jack, and the girls that mum always wanted – Hannah and Daisy. After dad retired, came ‘our babby’ Gilbert who mum referred to as ‘her fifth son’ and then a few years later, grandson, Harley who kept her occupied over her last few years.

Mum and dad welcomed other youngsters into their life too; Chloe and Olivia, Shannon and Finnley. And, great granddaughters Eliza and Olive. And let’s not forget the Daughter-in-laws; Colleen, Nicola, Fiona, and Clare who continued to be supportive after we lost dad in 2018.

More recently, mum became less mobile but continued to attended family events. And was around to meet her great grandson Rudie at the end of the pandemic.

Mum always spoke fondly of her nephews – Joanie, Mick, Glen, Frank, Trevor, and Keith. And her brother Frank and sister-in-law June. She had great neighbours at Bramble Lane; Tony, Richard and Cath, and they always looked out for each other.

The last seven years without dad were tough for mum. Roy and Valerie had been married for 61 years after all. And when dad got dementia, mum covered for him – for the best part of three years.

Family life continued to be mum’s key focus – it’s what kept her going. Her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren.

But she was tired, she didn’t want to leave Bramble Lane. Yet strangely, when she was admitted to hospital she seemed at peace – probably because she sensed that dad was still there, in the corridors, pushing his trolley – she took comfort from that.

In fact, she was quite insistent about it. Sitting up in bed after her operation, she said ‘In the past few days I’ve seen Roy four times. And if I see him again, I’m going with him.’

The staff at Kings Mill were fantastic and deserve praise for the care and dignity that they gave to mum in her final days. Her hospital bed was always crowded with visitors, and she spoke to lots of people. Her room overlooked the B&Q Warehouse which was once the location of the Sutton Harriers racetrack. But mum knew she was nearing the finishing line.

During her final evening, when she was drifting in and out of consciousness, she suddenly perked up and appeared to be having a conversation with someone – it was that forceful voice, you know the one, the one when she voiced her opinion. And she said as clear as a bell – ‘I married him you know!’ She mumbled a bit, and then said it again, just in case we missed it the first time.

The very next morning, whilst the nurse and my brother Mark were out of the room, Roy came for her, and like she said, ‘I’m going with him’. And she did!

Valerie’s suffering is over now, and we’d like to think that she’s with her beloved Roy – because she married him you know. She told us she’d had a good life. And I’m sure we’d all agree that she was kind and generous to everyone she met. Aunty Val as she was known to many, would give you the shirt off her back and the food from her plate.

She was also quite religious and God fearing, she knew all the hymns and always sang along to Songs of Praise every Sunday. And I think finally she’d want me to tell you this…

‘Don’t go drinking too much ale and behave yersen. Cos if you don’t. I’ll come down there, and I’ll smack your bloody arse.’