My paternal grandmother was always more of a mystery to me probably because she died while I was off in the army and I never got to go to the funeral to hear the tales of her life. I remember her as a happy person, so too was my grandfather from the little I saw of him. She was quite short and had a head of curly hair like Frieda from Charles Schultz’s Peanuts
Her only other remarkable feature was that she seamed to have a rather large nose and I can see traces of this on my own face when I look in the mirror. I think, that like me she suffered with congestion as she always seemed to be talking down her nose and not in a snobbish way. I am not sure of her name, but I have an idea it may have been Phyllis, but it did not matter, to me she was always nan or gran.
As all good grandmothers do she would make an extraordinary fuss of us children on the rare occasions we visited, our family have never been good at keeping in touch but, rather relying on the old adage, no news is good news. We would all be greeted with a wild hug, smile and a kiss. She always took the time to be interested in whatever we told her even to the point of stopping a conversation with the adults whenever we butted in as most children do. No matter how trivial our comment she would great each word as if it was an explanation for the meaning of life.
I remember she loved flowers, and I guess that is why granddad grew them in is predominately vegetable orientated garden. Out the back of the house grew large wild daisies and as a young child I can remember thinking they would be just the thing to make nan happy. Proud as punch I would grab a handful and rush in to present them much to my dad’s disgust. She would receive them like a bouquet of orchids at an Oscar ceremony and rush off to get a vase for them. It became a ritual until I grew old enough to see them as weeds and my brother took over. Still they took pride of place in the vase.
The only other thing I can remember about her was the great spread of food she provided at tea time and the fact that she was a chain smoker. The smoking killed her. She died of cancer. It is so sad that my father’s parents were so distant from me that their deaths, were in the end, easy on me, unlike the deaths of my maternal grandparents.
Looking back, it is such a shame we never got to meet as adults, I could have learned more of her life. I know my grandfather was lost without her. He had little to say after her death and the compulsory purchase order took away his farm.