From the day she was born life has never been easy for Frances Durham.

One of two children born to a black father and Portuguese mother, her family was constantly on the move. Her mother suffered ill health and could not walk, so the little girl was expected to help out where she could. Along with her brother and cousins she had to lift her mother in and out of bed and sit her by the window each day, and she was given sixpence a week to polish the furniture with kerosene oil.

"We didn't have no fancy sprays in them days," Mrs. Durham says.

The family was poor. With no lawnmower, they cut the grass with scissors, and ate in relays due to a lack of cutlery and china.

"I remember standing on a kerosene box washing two of everything because that was all we had. I had to wait until my mamma and daddy ate to feed my brother and me," Mrs. Durham remembers.

For some reason, her mother insisted on the children staying home when they weren't in school, and her brother clung to his sister like glue. Frances was not allowed to be in the school plays, despite the pleas of her teacher, Mrs. Gwenelle Robinson.

"She's got plenty of work to do here," her mother replied. "She can play piano on the washboard."

Small wonder, then, that the child cut rather a lonely figure at school, preferring to be quiet and alone - traits she says she still has today.

Just three years after Frances started school, her formal education ended. Her mother died, and she was taken out of school to do everything for the family: cook, clean, make beds, wash and iron, and more.

"There was no stove, we had a chimney, and I had to go and collect wood in bags to cook with," she says.

It was a tough road for one so young, and there were no luxuries to ease her burden. She washed the clothes by hand on a washboard, and starched them with hot, boiled starch. She had but one pair of shoes, and one set of underwear which was washed at night and put on again in the morning.

"I had no childhood," Mrs. Durham says.

The years rolled by in a blur of domestic toil, and she married Elliott Durham at age 18.

In time the couple had six children - a daunting figure for some, but Mrs. Durham had long since discovered the secret of running a smooth household: organisation and rules.

A no-nonsense figure who tempered discipline with love, she brooked no laziness or defiance, and her word was law.

She believed in everyone pulling their weight, so responsibilities were evenly divided, with timetables to guide the children. Homework had to be completed, and of course the older ones kept an eye on the youngest ones.

"I had my children young and we all came up together. We were like brothers and sisters because we were so young," she says.

As if six children of her own were not enough, over the years the indefatigable Mrs. Durham went on to become a foster mother to no less than 46 children, most of whom were referred to her by the appropriate authorities. Some came from dysfunctional families or the courts, others had severe behavioural problems, but all of them were treated with the same mixture of love and discipline she meted out to her own children.

"I am a serious person. I didn't brutalise them but I was firm," she says. "The last boy I brought up said, 'Granny' - they all call me Granny - 'growing up you used to put some licks on me, and it done me good'. Why these people can't look after their children today I don't know.

"Today they are so rude that the teachers can't do anything with them. I used to tell my foster children straight: 'Now listen, this is my home and you are brought here for me to take care of you. You do what I tell you to do, and what I don't tell you don't need to know."

"Yes, Granny," they'd answer.

She took care of children ranging in age from ten days to 17 years, often with very little notice. It was not unusual for the phone to ring in the middle of the night and she would hear the voice of Mr. Garry Wilkinson saying, "Mrs. Durham, I have another one for you."

"He was one beautiful social worker," she remembers. "Him and I still get along."

Some foster children remained in her care for years, and bunk beds and cots were crammed into the bedrooms and even the dining room of her small home. She and her husband had to finance the foster children as well as their own, and there were many times when the money was stretched to breaking point. In those days, Government and other agencies provided no financial assistance to foster parents.

Again, organisation was the key. All of the children had chores to do before and after school. There was a variety of animals to feed, uniforms to be made ready for the next day, homework to be done - and all before the evening meal. Bedtime for all ages was 8.30 p.m. because everyone had to be up at 6.30 a.m. the next day. The system ran like clockwork.

Then her husband hurt his back, so while the children were at school, Mrs. Durham went out to work, but she always made sure she was home in time for their return. Life wasn't all drudgery, however. Mr. and Mrs. Durham found time to welcome friends, including many policemen, into their homes.

"We put on parties for the policemen. When they knocked off at midnight they came to the house," Mrs. Durham says. "We also made fish chowder for them to take home in bottles. One time a top came off a bottle in the police car, and it took them months to get the smell out! Can you imagine?"

Naturally, she has many memories of the young lives that passed through her home.

"When they arrived they were like something you let out of a corral, but they tamed down," she says.

She is proud to say that all of her foster children turned their lives around. They still visit her today, and still call her "Granny."

Despite the onerous domestic responsibilities, Mrs. Durham also made time for civic duty, giving many hours of active service to both the St. John Ambulance Brigade and the Bermuda Reserve Constabulary.

"My grandmother was a nurse and I always loved nursing," she says of the former. "I attended parades and sports meets, and was also an ambulance attendant, and I always travelled with a first aid kit."

One incident in particular stands out in her mind. She found a young man lying in the road in the darkness with head injuries and an eye hanging out. She sent for some water, cleaned the eye and put it back in his head.

"He came 'round the other day, he didn't know why, and told me he always credited me with saving his eye," she says. "I hadn't seen him in years. They all come back sooner or later."

Mrs. Durham was also a proud member of the Bermuda Reserve Constabulary for 12 years, and her wide-ranging duties included everything from directing traffic at the bird cage on Front Street to shepherding children across the road at Warwick Academy and Paget Primary School.

During the last riots she was assigned with a white colleague to Court Street because "they knew they wouldn't trouble her if she was with me. Everyone knew and respected me. In those days there were beautiful policemen. They wouldn't harm you, rough you up, or break into your home. What they are doing today is wrong."

When her husband died Mrs. Durham was forced to give up fostering. The family home still had a mortgage on it, so both she and her children had to work together to pay it off.

Today, 72-year-old Mrs. Durham lives quietly in the same house with two of her sons who, despite being grown men, still mind their mother.

During her lifetime the Paget resident has undergone 23 operations, and today her health is not good. She spends much of her day either resting or sitting by the window, just as her mother did before her. When she can she does a little drawing and painting, and also some gardening. Her living room is virtually a shrine to her fostering days. Stuffed toys abound, and the walls are filled with photographs and art. The dining room is now free of cots, but it too has its memories.

"I'd do it all over again if I could," she says of those days.

With 17 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren, there are plenty of family photographs on display, and other memorabilia to remind her of more hectic days. She often leafs through meticulously kept scrap books and photo albums.

Mrs. Durham still keeps a collection of live animals, including cats, a dog, geese, turtles, and a cockatoo who makes sure he is heard loud and clear.

"I have always tried to lead a decent life. I don't like telling lies and I don't like anyone telling lies to me," Mrs. Durham says. "I don't regret any part of my life. Our family is very, very close. I like to be alone but I am never lonely."