Memories of Grandma: Part Three
On sunny days, Grandma would be outside with her wooden wash tub, wash-board, a large cream mangle and wide gypsy pegs. Her hands would be red in the water, from the heat and all the rubbing. Then once rinsed, she would lift the clothes to feed into the mangle, and if they were small items, I’d catch them as they came through the other side. I was fascinated to watch all the water squeeze out on to the ground. It often splashed up against my little legs. As I grew, I could turn the handle, but if the clothes were too thick, it was beyond the strength I had in my arms. I recall Grandma had some chickens, as I remember them clucking around my feet when I was helping her with the mangle.
When work was done, she would wear her straw hat and sit out on an upright creamy coloured, canvas chair, which folded in on itself. It was like an upright deckchair.
If we were to have a tumble, which as children we were apt to do rather frequently, then Grandma had a round flat tin of pink Germoline cream, which she would smear over the graze. Its distinctive smell, even now I associate with those times.
Grandma had a lovely garden. I particularly recall the geraniums, hydrangeas, nasturtiums and large poppies. In amongst the flowers were a few little statues. There were at least two animals, of a squirrel and a rabbit and a lady in green and cream, in some art deco pose. Grandma would ask me to collect all the nasturtium seeds, which had fallen to the ground each Summer, as she said my little fingers were just right for the job.
Every time we left Grandma’s we would always say goodbye to Kip too and I recall the last time vividly. I gave him a big hug. We were told that Kip had a lump on his shoulder, which was cancerous (that would have been the first time I heard the word… cancer.) It was a very sad day when we had the phone call to say that Kip had died.
Within a short time, Grandma died too. She was the first family member that I knew who died. It was deemed we children were too young to go to the funeral, so I never felt I’d said Goodbye.
As we were clearing out her bungalow I saw on her windowsill in the kitchen, a papier mâché plant holder, which I had made for her one Christmas. I recall the fun I had making it and then painting it in zig-zag patterns. I had put one of Dad’s spider plants inside. But now it looked forlorn and totally pot-bound. The papier mâché pot was barely holding together, and my painting, faded and water stained. It had never been repotted in all the time she had it. But it had meant so much to her, as her eldest Granddaughter had made it. 😊
