Dear Diary
We’ve reached that time of year again, the past few weeks have seen the shops adorned with Halloween paraphernalia and fireworks have made their way into our supermarkets (and even into our skies already). For me, that’s the signal that my birthday is looming. Everybody loves their birthday right? And I do…sort of. These days, my birthday brings with it a whole host of feelings…
The first thirty-nine of my birthdays, I shared with my beloved Nan. I was born on her birthday, which happened to be a Tuesday. Exactly as it was when she herself had arrived into the world, on November 2nd, some 56 years earlier. I was the youngest of her four grandchildren. She met me for the first time on that day, when just a few hours old and a bond was formed forever.
“You were the best birthday present I ever had, Dear”
As a child I spent a lot of time with my Nan. Often weekends when I didn’t want to be dragged to yet another football match of my brothers and during the school holidays when my mum would be working. We lived nearby and were a close family. In early memories she always felt like such a tall and busy lady, walking with a quick step, handbag in the crook of her arm and a list of jobs to be done. When we looked at her photograph albums together, I saw that as a child, she stood a clear head & shoulders above the rest of her classmates at school. I actually thought she was the teacher! I’d laugh and tease her…. she’d clip my ear.
I used to think she could do anything! She was my hero from as far back as I can remember. Watching her, as a child, she seemed to have everything all wrapped up. Her house was always spotless and immaculate, she was on top of every chore. Both dinner and pudding were homemade every day and she worked in the position of Deputy Warden, caring for the older folk, in the ‘over 60’s’ independent living complex, where she lived herself. Yet, she always had time for me. Time to watch me play or to help dress my dolls, never cross at being interrupted. As I reflect, and I look around my own house, with the washing pile waiting to be put away and the dishwasher needing unloading, whilst the clock ticks furiously round, I wonder if she was actually superwoman or something!
She was always firm, strong and if she needed it, she had a sharp tongue. She certainly never gave the impression of being a pushover or somebody to be messed with and she possessed a stubborn streak like no other..…so how is it then, that she also managed to be the softest, kindest and most gentle person I knew?
We would often walk into the village to the post office and the local newsagents-come-grocery store together. I’d moan about walking anywhere, which she just couldn’t understand and would regale in stories of her childhood in Devon and the many (hundreds) of miles she apparently had to walk every single day, to and from school, rain or shine. Of course, I’d always get sweets as a treat at the shop. A wham bar, a whistle pop…whatever I wanted, not that I was ever actually allowed to eat them!
“You’m not to have any of your sweets yet mind….or you’ll spoil your dinner”
As per most ‘Nans’ back in the day, she liked to cook and bake. I adored her homemade dinners and she liked that I’d always eat anything she gave me and clear my plate (well…those previously purchased sweets were calling!). She made the best rice pudding and always let me put a big dollop of homemade strawberry or plum jam, in the middle. I took the opportunity of dinner at Nans whenever I could. Even in my late teens, with a busy life, I was very good at turning up unannounced on a Sunday lunchtime, just as she was dishing up her roast. Purely co-incidentally, of course, there was always enough for two.
Homemade cakes occupied the old biscuit tins in her larder. Her ‘hunt the cherry’ cakes were a particular source of our amusement. On more than one occasion, she’d decide to bake cherry cakes…. only to discover at the crucial point, that only one or two lonely little glacier cherries remained in her pot. As that generation were so accustomed to, she’d make the best of it…and dissect those poor little cherries into more pieces than humanly imaginable. It was really quite a talent. Jesus, with his two fishes and five loaves feeding five thousand people, had nothing on how far my Nan could make two cherries go.
And then there was her carrot cake…..
Nan: Oooo, Jackie next door was making a carrot cake the other day, you should’ve smelt it, it smelled delicious. Of course, I don’t suppose you remember the carrot cake that I used to make?
Me: No, I don’t ever remember you making carrot cake?
Nan: Me? Oh yes Dear, I used to make a nice carrot cake. Years back. Of course, you don’t put actual carrot in it, don’t know why they call it that, but yes, I used to make it.
Me <somewhat puzzled>: Yes you do!
Nan: Hhmm?…Do what dear?
Me: You do put carrot in carrot cake…that’s the whole point! That’s what the orange bits are, pieces of carrot.
Nan <looking at me like I just fell out of the sky>: “eh?? I never put carrot in my carrot cake. Don’t be so ridiculous. That’d be horrible.
Me: Well if you didn’t put carrot in it, then yours was just…….cake…
Nan: Well anyway Dear, I don’t know what Jackie puts in hers, but it’s delicious, nicer than mine was.
Me: err……CARROT?!!!
Every year, when our birthday came around, we’d celebrate in one form or another, together. There would always be a phone call first thing,
“How many cards have you got, Dear?”
It didn’t matter how many I’d say, she always had more. Cards adorned her sideboard, windowsills, fireplace mantle and some years they even spilled onto her dining room table as well. I was always in awe of how she could know so many people, and they all thought highly enough of her to remember her birthday and send a card. In later years, I started to catch her up of course. I’d like to revel in my own popularity, but in truth it was because most of my Nan’s friends and family were starting to die off so her card numbers began to dwindle. When Facebook came into our lives and my ‘birthday wishes’ soared, I was on fire! “I’m beating you now” I’d boast as I tried to explain Facebook to a Ninety year old. In a way that only she could, she’d dismiss my joyful glee with a flat, “that doesn’t count”……and Mr Facebook himself, Mark Zuckerberg, didn’t get away with it either as his multi-million internet creation was deemed “utter nonsense”.
Birthdays without her for these last few years has not been easy. I miss her more than I can say, but never more-so than on our birthday. I know better than anyone that she’d be cross if she knew I was feeling sad. She loved her birthday so much…..that aforementioned multitude of cards was more often than not, torn open the night before the big day, as the temptation was just too great.
Me: Oh my God, you’ve already opened all your cards! It’s not your birthday until tomorrow!
Nan: Well, I was quiet this evening so I thought I’d do it over a cup of tea. I couldn’t wait any longer.
Me: Jeez Nan, you’re 88!
This year, would’ve been extra special for her as she would’ve turned 100 years old. A time we talked about when she was here. Of course, a card from the Queen was always somewhat of a temptation, but still, she made no secret of telling us, “well I won’t be around then, thank goodness. No thank-you-very-much!” in no uncertain terms as she’d shudder in horror at the thought of still being here at 100. When reflecting on how this year has turned out with Covid-19 and all the isolation, it seems she knew best after all!
She always did.
I remember how she waited patiently for my husband & I to finally get married. She adored my husband, he was her knight in shining armour, always fixing things for her. She’d save up all her odd jobs (deliberately seek them out, I think) for, “next time he comes round, no hurry” knowing full well he’d be there immediately.
During our 12 year engagement, she watched us work hard, raise our family and get everything in order. She held our hands and cried tears of joy when we told her that the time had come…..we were finally getting married!
Nan: Oh that’s wonderful Dear! April….hmmm….weather can be risky in April.
Me: Its Spring! It’ll be lovely.
Nan: Well yes it might be Dear, but it can also snow in April.
Me: It’ll be the end of April. It’s not going to snow!
Nan: Well it can Dear. I’ve known snow in April.
Me: What are you talking about? It’s not going to snow in April!
Nan: Stranger things have happened…
Me: It’s NOT going to snow in flippin’ April.
Nan: Well it might dear.
Me: Will you just stop.
This conversation went on for an entire year whilst the wedding was being planned. Along with conversations of outfits and shoes – Hers! The wedding day finally arrived and wild horses wouldn’t have kept her away, even at 92! My husband & I got married on what was a lovely Spring day. She looked beautiful, dignified as ever and her pride simply beamed.
My Nan passed away in the April of 2016. We were just about to celebrate our third Wedding Anniversary.
It snowed.
“Oh now you mustn’t be sad Dear, life goes on…”
So, as I go it alone for what will be the fifth birthday without her, sure, I’ll fly the birthday banner for the both of us and I’ll have a good time, knowing that she had no intentions of being here for this one anyway! But she’s not the only one with a stubborn streak and I will allow myself to miss her more on our special day! Along with my champagne from my afternoon tea, which has become a bit of a tradition, I will also raise a fine, bone china cup of tea (with matching saucer) to my Nan, knowing she’s right there with me, as I quietly wish her a ‘Happy 100th Birthday’, with all of my love xx
