Hetterbell
I am very sad to say that three weeks ago my beloved Grandmother died.
I debated with myself whether or not to write about this. There were times when I wanted to celebrate the wonderful woman that she was. Then there were times when I felt like I didn’t want to talk about it at all. I didn’t want to write a tribute to her, detailing her life story, because Grandma was a very private person and she would have hated that. So, instead, I’d like to share with you just a few of many treasured moments I spent with my Grandma. Most of them are my own memories, but a couple of them are stories I’ve been told which really touched me.
Early Days
Apparently, when my Mum told Grandma she was expecting me, Grandma cried with happiness at the thought of her first grandchild, and who turned out to be her only granddaughter. Grandma was looking out for me very early on. When I was only a few days old I was ill with yellow jaundice. The first person to know something was wrong seemed to be my Grandma. Her wealth of experience from having brought up two daughters, mixed with instinct, were enough to prompt her to say to my Dad: “It’s none of my business, but that babe doesn’t look right.” Needless to say, I am very grateful for having had my condition diagnosed, treated and cured.
Sweet Treats
I fear being painted as a glutton since so many my favourite times with Grandma include food, but I wasn’t really. I think it’s just that grandmas like to do nurturing things that they know will make us happy. How could sweet treats not fit that bill?
After school I used to go to my grandparents’ home. (The primary school I attended and my bus stop for high school were both opposite their house.) Pushing the heavy wooden sliding door with its frosted glass panel open, I’d walk into the black, white and orange themed kitchen, its air of familiarity making it seem like a second home. On the table I’d see a glass of orange squash and a tall grey metal biscuit tin standing there, which Grandma had set out for me. If it was just Grandma and me sitting at the table I would tell her about my day and I’d chomp away at more biscuits than I’m proud to admit to. There were nearly always Rich Tea fingers, Orange Crumble Creams and Coconut Crumble Creams in the tin because Grandma knew they were my favourites. Something about the filling in those crumble creams tasted so cool, even though they weren’t stored in the fridge.
It was during such chats, in my younger years, that I would sometimes do such daft things as drumming my fingers on the underside of the kitchen table and then ask Grandma if she could “see the invisible horse”. To her credit, Grandma would always humour me, giving me an answer of some kind in her gentle, patient way.
Tuesday afternoons, after school, were a particular treat because Tuesdays were Grandma’s baking days at that time. If Grandma had been baking her delicious currant buns, the bag of mixed fruit would still be lying open on the table for me to help myself to. And the big brown mixing bowl would be standing on the table, wooden spoon still inside, waiting for a little granddaughter whose scraping out skills constantly needed honing. Among the treats Grandma used to bake most often were her melt in the mouth rusks and shortcakes – the cheese ones were my favourites – and her Butterfly Buns. She made chocolate ones with buttercream, and lighter coloured ones which had buttercream and jam in. As a child, I could never quite get my head around the science of how it was possible for the hole in the top of the bun to be big enough to accommodate both the generous dollop of buttercream and the sponge wings which she always perched so nattily on top. Come Easter time she would make us a lovely sponge with jam and buttercream filling, and with buttercream icing and mini candy covered chocolate eggs decorating its top.
Changing Times
Before the bus came on my first day at high school, I called into my grandparents’ house. Grandma, busy in the kitchen, turned to look at me in my new school uniform – navy jumper, green blouse and grey skirt – and said with a smile: “All the boys’ll be chasing you!” In all honesty, I didn’t believe that for a moment – I looked like a boy myself! But that was such a typical Grandma comment, lightening the mood at a time when my nerves were threatening to choke me. That afternoon, when I got off the bus and re-entered their kitchen, I think I must have seemed like a different person from the tentative eleven year old who’d left that morning, all neatly dressed and expectant in the chilly air of an early sunny September morning. Suddenly I was there again in the heat of an early sunny September afternoon: out of puff from running after dismounting the school bus; jumper discarded; schoolbag heavier from starting to collect new books; and my head full of new stories to share of new people, a new place and a new routine.
One of the things that was the same, however, was the comforting, sustaining sight of a glass of orange squash sitting on the table waiting for me. Though I doubt it registered consciously with me at the time, that glass of drink was like a metaphor for my Grandma: a constant, sweet, soothing and comforting presence woven into the tapestry of the years as they were going by. Orange being one of Grandma’s favourite colours adds another delicious layer to the metaphor.
The Saddest Moment
My last moments with Grandma were not happy ones. Having been told by the doctors that Grandma was only expected to live for a matter of several more hours or a few days at most, my parents and I stayed by Grandma’s bedside during what turned out to be her last night on earth. It was a long, strange, difficult night, but it is very important to us that we kept Grandma company. The idea of her going through what she went through without any family close by to hold her hand or stroke her forehead is unbearable.
As daylight crept across the land we heard the dawn chorus begin in the courtyard outside the partially open hospital window. I love to hear the dawn chorus through my window during the springtime but I hadn’t heard it so far this year. It almost felt like the birds were giving Grandma one last chance to hear them. The new day, and in the season most full of hope and new beginnings in all the year, cast beside the last breaths of someone so dear to us was heartbreakingly poignant.
Retrospectively, it also seemed poignant to me that just as Grandma had been there for me in my early days in this world, an even during the months before I was born, I was there for her in her last hours on earth. I’m glad she was not alone. Grandma was surrounded by love when her heart – the heart which had always put the desires of others’ hearts first – stopped beating.
Tribute
Having had my treasured Grandmother in my life for over three decades, she has now left a huge gap that will never be filled. But I know memories will bind together to try to shrink that gap and bandage the wound, in order to try to help it to heal.
Grandma was a kind, gentle and quiet woman who worked had all her life. She took people pleasantly by surprise with her cheeky sense of humour, and tried her best to look after those around her. The motive behind all her actions was always that she wanted everyone to be happy.
I will miss her very much.
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