As a few of you guys might know I’ve had a bit of a sad situation recently. My much loved grandmother got very sick and passed away.

I did think a lot about whether I should make a post about it on here,  but hey… I bet there’s a lot of you who have lost people you love who’ve thought “I just wish more people knew how awesome they were.”   So that’s what I’m doing. This isn’t a drone about how I’m feeling (I’ll spare you that), it’s all about her.

My Supergran, Eve.

If grandmothers were like sticks of rock, mine would have had “You go gal” written inside and the wrapper would advertise “free cuddles with every bite”.  She was always first to dance at any party, and one of the last to leave. Optimism and kindness were her watchwords. She was from that generation who came through WW2 with Dunkirk spirit by the bucketload, never complained about what she didn’t have, and could create just about anything from not very much at all.

I could gush on like that for hours, but I think people are best described by what they have done…

Where’s The Midwife?

Back in the “Olden Days” babies weren’t born in hospitals.  The miracle of birth happened at home and the midwife would come with a nice cannister of gas and air, and some words of encouragement.

Through the local telegraph, Gran heard that one of her neighbours had gone into labour.  “I’ll just pop round there and see how she’s getting on” she thought (as you do).  Upon arriving at the door she was greeted by a very, very white faced husband.

“QUICK, get in here!!”

The midwife was, for some reason, nowhere in sight and things were um… progressing alarmingly. Bear in mind that in those days a husbands place was firmly elsewhere when children were being born, so he quickly grabbed my grandmother as a drowning man might grasp a lifering and ushered her through to where the action was at.  Without too much fuss (well, that’s how she told it many decades later!), my grandmother duly delivered their son.

A few minutes afterwards the midwife turned up clutching her gas and air cylinder and remarked,

“Och, it looks like youse are doing fine. I’ll away then.”

And away she went.

And every time my grandmother saw that boy for the next 50 years she’d say “Awww… look at the size of ye!  And to think I delivered you.”

How could he forget?

Mum, Where Did That Pram Come From?

One Christmas Gran was at the town square at the annual carol service. Her cohorts informed her one of her friends had been taken into hospital, leaving her husband to look after their young baby.  In those days the most a man knew about a child was that they brought in the dough to feed them, and someone else looked after them and their ablutions.

“Oh dearie me” Said Gran in no small amount of horror. “He’ll never be able to look after that baby. He hasn’t a clue!”

So off she toddled round to her friends house and told her (very relieved) husband that she’d look after the baby until she was all better.  My Mother told me she went out to the Christmas Carols, and simply returned with a pram, announcing they had a new lodger as she pushed it into the livingroom.  The baby stayed for around 6 weeks.

In total my Grandmother had 7 children of her own between when she got married and her early 40′s. At this point she probably already had 4 or 5 children of her own in her very small 3 bedroom house. She might have been limited on space, but her kind heart really knew no bounds.

Good God Gran, Why Were You Topless Sunbathing?

A few years ago I went to visit my gran, with my then boyfriend in tow. She’d just returned from a lovely holiday with my Aunt and Uncle – she loved the sun so was looking very brown and happy.  She was in the kitchen fussing around and called through “My holiday snaps are on my side table – take a wee look”

I dutifuly went through all the usual nice pictures people take on holiday. The apartment, group pictures at character filled restaurants, Georgious the waiter (my what a laugh he was etc etc etc. My boyfriend knew the family well so was also looking at the pictures with interest.

There were lots of pictures of the beach which I spooled through until to my horror, there was one of my Grandmother laughing away and sunbathing TOPLESS!!

“Arrghhh… Gran!!” I squealed, recoiling in horror. “What the hell’s this?!?!”

“What’s what?” She said, emerging from the kitchen looking genuinely puzzled.

“You’ve got your boobs out on the beach, were you at the topless sunbathing???”

“Ah…” she said, “No no, I took my bra and top off and draped my t-shirt over them to protect my modesty. That auntie of yours bloody whipped it aff me and took a picture. The minx.”

“I see.” I said, somewhat mollified by her unruffled reaction.  “Umm…. did you not think to remove that one?”

She just giggled a bit, treated us to a mischevious look, and wandered off back into the kitchen, leaving myself and the boyfriend to regard each other in uncomfortable silence. We didn’t look at the rest. Just in case.

And Finally…

Thanks dear Gran for everything you’ve given me. The little dimples that appear when I smile (I always saw them mirrored in your face), my creative streak, my strong sense of empathy.  But most of all, thanks for my sense of fun and the delight I take in dancing the night away. All of these gifts have come from you and I will always carry them with me.

I use them often and in the same way that I think of you – with love, joy, and laughter.

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