A 'Nanna' moment

Reflections on dust

Yesterday, I had a little moment that I’ve not had for a while.  I had a ‘Nanna’ moment.  That’s not a reflection on my age, or grandchildren, which I don’t have.  I thought about my Nanna, but not in a memorial kind of way.  For the first time in a long time, I thought I’d just give her a call. 

Years ago, when I used to spend a lot of time driving to and from meetings in other cities, or even just stuck in traffic down the beautiful but busy Queen’s Drive in Liverpool, I would give her a call.  Hands free of course.  And we’d catch up on everything that was important to her.  Hardly ever the news, but the important stuff like Mrs Ross across the road, nice obituary.  Old Joe’s funeral tea at the British Legion was a great catch up with his wife.  And, god help me I always tuned out for these bits, the latest soap opera news.  We could be in full flow, but if she saw her neighbours shadow cross the front window, that would mean Beryl was on her way in for a cuppa.  She’d just cut me off, mid-sentence, with ‘Oh, here’s Beryl, gotta go.  Bye love, bye love, bye.’ 

Always made me laugh.  I was number one grandchild, favoured granddaughter, but nothing was more important than Beryl coming in for a cuppa.  Beryl, much more mobile than my Nan, was the font of all knowledge.  Between them, there was nothing they didn’t know. 

I learnt other things during these calls that still make me smile today.  Apart from being second in the league to Beryl, I was always top of the league for family.  And this was quantified by her little black book next to the phone.  In it, she listed all of her calls in.  ‘Sophie rang.  Nothing important to say’ gave cousin Sophie a gold star for calling, but almost immediately deducted it for having nothing to share.  Nothing juicy. No family gossip.  Sophie’s older sister Anna never called, but Anna always maintained a higher position than Sophie in Nanna’s books because she was in the Police.  She had a proper job.  Was destined for great things. Sadly my Nan died before Anna was promoted to her office in the Palace: she’d have died a *very* happy woman with that tale to tell. Sophie was in PR.  What’s that about?  Telling others how to think about something they didn’t really care about in the first place?  That’s all that is.  Brilliant. 

I also remembered how the Christmas present situation went.  People would buy my Nan stuff, she didn’t want most of it, so it went in a drawer.  Unfortunately, some things were in the drawer so long she forgot who they were from, which of course sometimes meant that they were gifted their present back, without any sense of irony. 

Then, for my 40^th birthday, I gifted myself a divorce, bought a new house, and the car that I had been promising myself since I was 18 years old: a classic 1986 Mercedes 350 SL convertible.  18 years old.  Navy blue, beige leather interior and a walnut dash. The first person I took out in it, after my son, was my Nan.  She sat in the front with a Grace Kelly headscarf on.  She was clutching her handbag on her knees as if it might blow away as we pulled away, and asked if we could just drive slowly down Teehay Lane in case she saw anybody she knew.  Of course I could, and of course she did.  As we stopped at lights, I swear she waved at somebody with that regal wave of Queen Elizabeth.  Once the lights changed to green, she smiled and said you can put your foot down now.  And I did.  It was marvellous then, and a marvellous memory that kept me smiling as I drove through yesterday’s roadworks in the torrential rain at 10mph. 

Nanna is well and truly consigned to the dust these days, but that doesn’t make her any less of a force. I still make a ‘Nanna vote’ on Strictly by the time it gets to the final: whoever she would have chosen. It’s silly isn’t it, but wouldn’t it be lovely to know that 16+ years after you’ve gone, the smallest of things can bring back a flood of memories as precious about you.

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I started this, sitting on a plane at Manchester Airport. I should be almost 2 hours into the flight, but we’re still sitting. I broke my promise to myself that I would write all of my responses to

SoulStack by Beth Kempton

with a real proper pen, in a lovely notebook, but, in the ‘how much can I carry?’ debate, the notebook lost out on the promise that I could reward myself with a new one once I arrive. At least one.

This was a great prompt that allowed me to revisit that moment in yesterday’s roadworks without having to pay attention to the car in front. I am, however, finishing it after a very belated checking in to my hotel, and several, much anticipated glasses of wine.