After hearing the sad news about Faux Fuchsia’s grandmother passing away, it has got me thinking about my own grandparents. I have had some old photos of them saved away in a draft post for some time now, so I thought it was about time I shared.
I am lucky enough to have five grandparents. My dad’s parents separated when he was very young and his father remarried, so all my life I have has three grandmothers.
My mum’s parents are from England. They met in a bomb shelter during the war. I am sure there were dates, dancing and dinners between this first meeting, however the story I know is that they met, he was given the choice to go to war or go to South Africa, and when he chose Africa, he was off on the next ship with a promise from my grandmother that she would meet him over there.
So at 21, my grandmother left everything she knew to board a large ship and travelled for many miles and many weeks to be with her love all the while not even knowing whether he would be there to meet her when she arrived. My grandmother is a beautiful lively woman and I can only wonder at the wild two weeks she has aboard that ship. Single, alone and away from the prying eyes of her overbearing mother.
Granny aged 21, before she boarded the boat.
Luckily, grandfather was there to meet her when she arrived as they would not of let her off the ship and I would not be here to tell this story now. She was a slender young lass of seven stone (about 45 kilos I calculate, which she puts down to being sporty but I suspect was due to being malnourished while growing up in wartime without a father to support the family) and although she was 21, the officials did not believe she was a day over 14, and would not let her leave the boat unaccompanied. Somehow my grandfather managed to intervene and with a promise that they would find a church, a minister and returned married within an hour, the officials promised she could stay.
Luckily again my grandfather was a man of the cloth himself or else I am sure they would not have been able to convince the first churchman they found to marry them.
So here they are, on their wedding day. Granny in her travelling clothes and grandad in his collar. I think they look happy.
Wedding Day. 1946.
They lived on a Mission in South Africa for 11 years. They had three children, they educated hundreds of local children, they ran a shop, my aunt and uncle stole a car at ages 4 and 5, my granny lost all her teeth and they all had a lifetime of experiences. They returned to England when my mum was three, but they could not bear the English weather very long and migrated to Australia in 1962.
Mum's family. Somewhere between England Australia, I am not sure.
My grandfather passed away when I was 11 years old. I answered the phone one morning before school and when my granny said straight away, “Can I speak to your father”, I knew grandad was gone. We normally have a bit where I say “Hello Fiona Surname speaking” and she would say “Hello Fiona Surname speaking, it’s granny speaking” but she didn’t say this that day. I went out to my friend and told her my grandad has passed away. They didn’t tell me until I got home from school that day. I didn’t cry. I went to tennis practice. I didn’t cry. I went home and all the family was there. I was the youngest one there but I didn’t cry. Then about eight that night, my mum’s friend came into to room and found me huddled in a ball on the floor of my room in hysterical tears. From that moment on, I think I cried enough to fill our swimming pool. All I remember after that was thinking how could my very large grandad fit into such a tiny coffin, being my ex-aunt would not let me sit next to my mum during the service, and the fact our new kitten got up on the table during the wake and ate all the pate.
Don't they look divine.
My grandfather and I would have been great friends now if he were still here. We would have sat together in silence in our underwear for hours on end, I would have showed him the wonders of the Internet and we would have shared a cheeky smile every time my granny raved about how fabulous my unreliable scatterbrain cousin is. I didn’t know it when he was alive, but my granny tells me grandad suffered greatly from depression. He would somehow goes for a whole week without saying a word to him. I bet she nattered on to him regardless.
Fourteen years later granny is still standing strong and having fun.
On the Harley in her Jensen
It is amazing to believe she has been on her own for so many years now. We always shared a love of the theatre and music but it was not until I began going to university, a suburb away from her home that became true friends. I would visit her nearly every week and take her shopping for supplies (the most painful experience in one’s life but the coffee and $10 petrol money (that has not increased in 10 years) spurs us one). The two of us can sit and talk for hours on end about anything and everything. Don’t tell the others, but I think I am the favourite :-) In any case, I am now the only one who is here to represent so I pay my dues. I see granny about once a month now. I really should see her more often. She is old and not in the best of health. I do love her so very much.
See I was the favourite back then too (I am the little one in her arms)
Sadly, there are no wondrous stories about my father’s side. He comes from a broken family. His father remarried and had two more children and he and his sister were left with their alcoholic, mentally ill mother. Dad was shipped off to boarding school from aged 9. I don’t know how my dad is as great as he is.
Dad's parents on their wedding day
Dad’s dad was in the Navy and then he became a very good architect. He used to sit me on his lap and sing me “Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross”. He had Alzheimer's and passed away in early 2008. I saw him a few hours before he died, he was very ill and could not even sit up. Towards the end, dad would go and feed him dinner every night. I really respect him for that.
Pop (far left) and his mates.
Dad’s mum was a RAN in the war. I don’t think she has ever been a well lady. She was such a beauty. I do not know this woman, I wish I did. I rarely see her. I know I should make an effort but it is hard as she is not a very nice old lady. I always smile and make polite conversation though when I do see her, regardless of what she says. What else is there to do?
Looking oh so beautiful.
Dad’s stepmother is an delicate and elegant woman. I don’t really know her that well either. She has always used the lack of blood me and my cousins share with her as a barrier for ever really getting close. As I child, I always used to say to mum that she is just the same as my other grandparents because having three grandmothers is all we have ever known. As we age the barrier lowers though so maybe there is hope after all. I don't have any old photos of her. I wish I did.
So there you have it. Ron, Kath, Gres, Enid and Shirley. My history. My family. My Grand Grandparents. I love you all.
Here is to all grandparents. Young and old. Near and far. Here and gone.
Fiona
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