A slightly more reflective piece today. I have just been thinking about my parents and how much they mean to me, and the fact that they are not going to be around forever.  Which of course is something that I have logically known for a long time, but the emotional impact of this is only just starting to enter my consciousness.

I appreciate how very lucky I am to still have both my parents. Sadly many of the people that I care about have lost one or both parents, and I am all too aware of the large unfillable hole that this leaves behind. My parents have always been very fit, healthy and strong; emotionally and physically robust and I still see them as pillars of strength and support. The nature of Covid 19 and the risks it presents to the older generation has brought home to me their lack of invincibility, in addition to a couple of health related issues experienced by my dad over the last couple of years.  It is particularly upsetting to witness his own realisation that he isn’t invincible and is as vulnerable and human as the next person. Because to me they aren’t vulnerable and human, they are superhuman and indomitable, a child’s perception of their parents which has continued to stand the test of time.

I no longer have either set of grandparents in my life. Set of grandparents? Pair of grandparents? I am unsure of the collective noun for grandparents. A grumble of grandparents perhaps? This is to be expected at my age and I am always surprised when my peers speak about still having their grandparents.  If my Nana and Grandad were still alive they would be 113.  They were born in 1907 and as I reflect on this as an adult – what a phenomenal period in history to have lived. They witnessed the sinking of the Titanic, women’s suffrage, two world wars, the moon landings, the advent of computerisation and the internet. They died in the 1990s but the period of change witnessed in those years is immense.

My grandad was a big strong retired policeman and Coldstream guard who would squeeze me in bristly hugs.  He was lovely, a happy man always carrying or being followed by a little poodle.  My Nana, equally proximitous to a poodle, was a very slim lady with large glasses. I remember her putting my hair in rags as a little girl, just as she would have done as an Edwardian child. It’s a lovely memory and very of its time. They lived in a bungalow near Blackpool, with my aunty, uncle and cousins living nearby. The attic in the bungalow was converted, accessible by a pull-down ladder, and was my dad’s bedroom as a little boy. It was fun to imagine him sleeping in there with his older brother.  It always felt terribly exciting to visit as my cousins were older and seemed very cool as a result. I would get to sift through piles of clothes that they had outgrown which is every little girls’ dream isn’t it? We would get to go to the Pleasure Beach and see the Illuminations and it felt fantastic, a proper holiday. My Nana and Grandad died when I was in my teens but I have wonderful memories.

My other set of grandparents were of a different generation. They were about 20 years younger than my Nana and Grandad and so presented differently. It was my Grandma who looked after us occasionally so she would be the grandparent who told us off.  She was a slightly plump, shorter lady, very cuddly. There was a photograph of her in her late teens on the dresser in my grandparents’ lounge and I thought she was very beautiful. They had a nice big house in the middle of nowhere in Leicestershire. It was a teeny tiny village that had one shop and a pub where we used to go as children, drink the obligatory coke in a glass bottle, and play on the swings.  My grandparents had a golden retriever that we would all take on long rural walks through fields of corn. When we were little my brother and I would pick ears of corn and try to grind them to a powder to make flour.   

My grandad used to make wine so there were always large glass demijohns of wine in the spacious downstairs cloakroom, and seemingly endless rows of wax jackets that had a very distinctive smell. There was a big circular rug that would slide across the parquet hall floor if you launched yourself from the stairs with significant enough gusto. My grandad’s medals, including his OBE, hung above the stairs in the hall, and as children we slept in a tiny box room full of books. If you sat up quickly in bed then you’d hit your head on the sloped ceiling unless you were on the camp bed on the floor.  The bathroom seemed enormous as it had a step creating a mezzanine level which seemed very exotic compared to our little bathroom at home. And there were plastic jars containing bath salts, cotton wool, and my grandparents’ teeth. Presumably when my grandparents weren’t wearing them, unless they had spares. I don’t really know how it works, thankfully my teeth reside permanently in my mouth.

There was a beautiful decorative serving set in the dining room which had been given to my great-grandmother as a gift when she left service in the early 1900s. It was white and blue and incredibly beautiful and old-fashioned looking. My great-grandmother kept detailed diaries of her life in service in Lewes and narrated tales of the legendary Lewes bonfires. I read handwritten photocopies as a child but they are now on the internet if you search for the Lewes bonfires, which makes me feel very proud. I have been to Lewes and looked up at the small window which was her bedroom in the large house in which she was in service. It is particularly poignant as she had written about throwing a match box out of this window to a soldier, a soldier who later became her husband and my great-grandfather. It brings this historical time to life in vibrant fashion.

My grandparents’ house always smelled of bread baking as a child as my uncles, both a lot younger than my mum, still lived at home and were teenagers when we visited each summer when I was little. They clearly ate their body weight in bread and Grandma was always making these little poppy seed knot buns which looked and smelled divine. She’d make us sandwiches with them for the long drive home to Sussex. Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac and Paul Simon being our soundtrack to the journey.  We would eat breakfast in the dining room, with the ornate serving set on display, surrounded by photographs of ourselves and our cousins. School photos and baby photos and wedding photos. And we would have dippy eggs in colourful plastic egg cups that had large wings on the sides, making them look like little boats. As an adult I have looked for something similar for my own children but have never found anything. One of the most exciting things when we were children were the wall mounted cling film and foil dispensers, and a wall mounted can opener.  The later seemed like a miraculous invention and we were often told off for repeatedly playing with it.   

These are such lovely memories and there is something about the piecemeal recollection of childhood events which makes them feel particularly precious. My parents are now grandparents to my own children and I so desperately hope that they will have special memories of Grammy and Grampy’s house and times spent with them. The restrictions of Covid have meant that these precious moments are scant and I hope that we can build up these experiences again in the near future, resume relationships and the building blocks on which these wonderful recollections are based. Because one day these relationships will be just memories and I want the imprint of these to be long lasting and full of love.