Remembering Nanna (died 99 years old)
As a child, holidays spent with Nanna and Granddad Cyril in their home at Glengarry were always something special. They provided a happy and friendly second home for us. They let us find our own way, but were always there to help us when we needed it. And they would let us get away with quite a few things that we wouldn’t have gotten away with in front of our own parents. Because, of course, being our grandparents, they were a bit of a soft touch.
By a strange coincidence, for every major childhood sickness I had, I happened to be in Glengarry being minded by Nanna at the time. So when I had the chicken pox, I was in Glengarry and it was Nanna who nursed me back to health. And it was the same with the mumps, the measles, and a terrible 24 hour bug… it was always Nanna who nursed me back to health.
And I remember that on Friday nights, when Cyril was at the RSL having a few drinks, Nanna and I would sit by the fire, and sometimes we would watch TV, and sometimes she would pull out her shoebox of old photos and tell me stories. Nanna loved telling stories, and she was good at it. I want to remember her now by telling a few stories about what a great Nanna she was.
First, even though it’s not really my story, there is a cute one that Nanna loved to tell about my sister.
Anne was a very young thing at about four or five years of age. I was yet to be born. There was a tradition that every Sunday Nanna and Cyril would go into town. They would dress in their Sunday best to make the trip. This time, my sister was going with them. When Anne saw Nanna all dressed up, Anne was surprised. In amazement, Anne regarded Nanna in all her finest from head to foot, and finally declared “Why Nanna, you almost look like a lady!” Nanna was quite chuffed and she laughed and said “Almost a lady? Well, yes, almost...” And for years afterward, Nanna would often remind us of the time that Anne took Nanna to ‘almost’ be a lady.
When I was ten years old, my best friend and I were the thinnest kids at our school in Canberra. We were so painfully thin, that you could actually see the bones of our forearms through our skin. When I came to Glengarry that summer, Cyril and Nanna were a bit horrified by the look of me. They promised my parents that they would fatten me up and send me home at a proper weight. So they fed me breakfast, dinner, and tea. (As a bit of an aside, their idea of what to call mealtimes always confused me as a kid. In Canberra, lunch was the midday meal and dinner was the evening meal, and tea was a hot drink that I didn’t like very much. When I complained to Nanna about all this, she patiently explained that dinner was the midday meal and tea was the evening meal. And that they had been doing it this way for so long, that they weren’t about to change it just to suit me.)
So their project to fatten me up began. At breakfast, when I was full, Nanna would say ’have just one more piece of toast.’ And Cyril would place another piece of toast on my plate. A little reluctantly, I ate it. And at tea, Nanna would say ‘have just one more serving of potato.’ And Cyril would place another potato on my plate. And reluctantly, I would eat that too. So all through that summer… at every meal… they made sure I ate until I was full… and then they had me eat a little bit more. When I returnedlll to Canberra, I suddenly noticed how painfully thin my friend looked. When I looked down at my own forearm, I couldn’t see the bones any more, I had a healthy layer between my bones and my skin. And I knew then that Nanna and Cyril had been true to the promise they had made to my parents.
. And then there was the time I fell into the creek on the far side of the paddock next to their house. I was with my cousins, Scott and Mark. Scott and I were about eight, and Mark was about six. The details of the fall probably aren’t important. It’s enough to say that there was a fallen tree across the creek, an overabundance of confidence on my part, and a big splash at the end. I came out of the creek looking like a drowned rat. If Scott and Mark were trying to be polite and not laugh at me, then they weren’t doing a very good job of it.
Back across the paddock the three of us went. Mark raced ahead to tell Nanna what had happened, while Scott helped me walk. No doubt I was a very sorry sight, water flowing out of my every crevice, one gumboot missing… and the gumboot I still had made a terrible squelching noise every time I took a step. I felt embarrassed… annoyed with myself… and also, very, very wet. And I was worried about what would happen when I got back to Nanna. Would I be in trouble? Would I be punished?
Nanna was waiting for us back at the house, and her eyes were kind, and she smiled patiently. There was no shouting or blame. Instead, Nanna looked amused, and greeted me with a laugh. She dried me with a warm fluffy towel… she helped me out of my wet clothes… and she had a warm bath waiting for me. After I was done with the bath, and my cousins had been sent home, and I was dry again, she gave me blankets to snuggle up in. I was still feeling shame about what had happened. So Nanna told me a story. She told me that once upon a time, my Dad too, had also managed to fall into a creek. And at a different time he had also managed to fall into a lake. And he’d also fallen into a river. And once, he even managed to fall into a large puddle! In fact, Nanna held it to be true, that if you took Barry on any outing involving any kind of body of water at all, that by the end of the day, Dad would have managed to find some way to fall into it. Thinking back, it seems to me that Nanna must have had so much experience with Dad as a young boy being soaking wet, needing love and attention, that she knew exactly what she needed to do when it was my turn to be a young boy that was soaking wet, and needing love and attention.
And that was something wonderful about Nanna. That although I made mistakes and had mishaps, her love for me endured. She was patient and practical and understanding and accepting. And she had an excellent memory, enough to remind me of these times in vivid detail later on. And even as I became an adult, and made adult mistakes and had adult mishaps, her love for me endured. I am grateful that in the last three years after I came back from a long absence overseas, I had the opportunity to get to know Nanna better, and let her see the adult that I had become. We challenged each other a bit, but we get along well. We had deep conversations about life, and relationships, and love.
As I see it, she let us grandchildren have a free reign to explore and discover the playground that was the world all around us. And when we needed help, wanted something mended, or needed something to be found to aid in our fun, she would help us and encourage us to go on. And when we needed help to fix our mistakes, she was always there, always practical and always caring.
Nanna, you saw me at my best, and at my brattiest, at my clumsiest, and at my thinnest. And through all this your love for me endured. And so did my love for you.
By a strange coincidence, for every major childhood sickness I had, I happened to be in Glengarry being minded by Nanna at the time. So when I had the chicken pox, I was in Glengarry and it was Nanna who nursed me back to health. And it was the same with the mumps, the measles, and a terrible 24 hour bug… it was always Nanna who nursed me back to health.
And I remember that on Friday nights, when Cyril was at the RSL having a few drinks, Nanna and I would sit by the fire, and sometimes we would watch TV, and sometimes she would pull out her shoebox of old photos and tell me stories. Nanna loved telling stories, and she was good at it. I want to remember her now by telling a few stories about what a great Nanna she was.
First, even though it’s not really my story, there is a cute one that Nanna loved to tell about my sister.
Anne was a very young thing at about four or five years of age. I was yet to be born. There was a tradition that every Sunday Nanna and Cyril would go into town. They would dress in their Sunday best to make the trip. This time, my sister was going with them. When Anne saw Nanna all dressed up, Anne was surprised. In amazement, Anne regarded Nanna in all her finest from head to foot, and finally declared “Why Nanna, you almost look like a lady!” Nanna was quite chuffed and she laughed and said “Almost a lady? Well, yes, almost...” And for years afterward, Nanna would often remind us of the time that Anne took Nanna to ‘almost’ be a lady.
When I was ten years old, my best friend and I were the thinnest kids at our school in Canberra. We were so painfully thin, that you could actually see the bones of our forearms through our skin. When I came to Glengarry that summer, Cyril and Nanna were a bit horrified by the look of me. They promised my parents that they would fatten me up and send me home at a proper weight. So they fed me breakfast, dinner, and tea. (As a bit of an aside, their idea of what to call mealtimes always confused me as a kid. In Canberra, lunch was the midday meal and dinner was the evening meal, and tea was a hot drink that I didn’t like very much. When I complained to Nanna about all this, she patiently explained that dinner was the midday meal and tea was the evening meal. And that they had been doing it this way for so long, that they weren’t about to change it just to suit me.)
So their project to fatten me up began. At breakfast, when I was full, Nanna would say ’have just one more piece of toast.’ And Cyril would place another piece of toast on my plate. A little reluctantly, I ate it. And at tea, Nanna would say ‘have just one more serving of potato.’ And Cyril would place another potato on my plate. And reluctantly, I would eat that too. So all through that summer… at every meal… they made sure I ate until I was full… and then they had me eat a little bit more. When I returnedlll to Canberra, I suddenly noticed how painfully thin my friend looked. When I looked down at my own forearm, I couldn’t see the bones any more, I had a healthy layer between my bones and my skin. And I knew then that Nanna and Cyril had been true to the promise they had made to my parents.
. And then there was the time I fell into the creek on the far side of the paddock next to their house. I was with my cousins, Scott and Mark. Scott and I were about eight, and Mark was about six. The details of the fall probably aren’t important. It’s enough to say that there was a fallen tree across the creek, an overabundance of confidence on my part, and a big splash at the end. I came out of the creek looking like a drowned rat. If Scott and Mark were trying to be polite and not laugh at me, then they weren’t doing a very good job of it.
Back across the paddock the three of us went. Mark raced ahead to tell Nanna what had happened, while Scott helped me walk. No doubt I was a very sorry sight, water flowing out of my every crevice, one gumboot missing… and the gumboot I still had made a terrible squelching noise every time I took a step. I felt embarrassed… annoyed with myself… and also, very, very wet. And I was worried about what would happen when I got back to Nanna. Would I be in trouble? Would I be punished?
Nanna was waiting for us back at the house, and her eyes were kind, and she smiled patiently. There was no shouting or blame. Instead, Nanna looked amused, and greeted me with a laugh. She dried me with a warm fluffy towel… she helped me out of my wet clothes… and she had a warm bath waiting for me. After I was done with the bath, and my cousins had been sent home, and I was dry again, she gave me blankets to snuggle up in. I was still feeling shame about what had happened. So Nanna told me a story. She told me that once upon a time, my Dad too, had also managed to fall into a creek. And at a different time he had also managed to fall into a lake. And he’d also fallen into a river. And once, he even managed to fall into a large puddle! In fact, Nanna held it to be true, that if you took Barry on any outing involving any kind of body of water at all, that by the end of the day, Dad would have managed to find some way to fall into it. Thinking back, it seems to me that Nanna must have had so much experience with Dad as a young boy being soaking wet, needing love and attention, that she knew exactly what she needed to do when it was my turn to be a young boy that was soaking wet, and needing love and attention.
And that was something wonderful about Nanna. That although I made mistakes and had mishaps, her love for me endured. She was patient and practical and understanding and accepting. And she had an excellent memory, enough to remind me of these times in vivid detail later on. And even as I became an adult, and made adult mistakes and had adult mishaps, her love for me endured. I am grateful that in the last three years after I came back from a long absence overseas, I had the opportunity to get to know Nanna better, and let her see the adult that I had become. We challenged each other a bit, but we get along well. We had deep conversations about life, and relationships, and love.
As I see it, she let us grandchildren have a free reign to explore and discover the playground that was the world all around us. And when we needed help, wanted something mended, or needed something to be found to aid in our fun, she would help us and encourage us to go on. And when we needed help to fix our mistakes, she was always there, always practical and always caring.
Nanna, you saw me at my best, and at my brattiest, at my clumsiest, and at my thinnest. And through all this your love for me endured. And so did my love for you.