The lawn is immense, newly mown, the greenhouse is huge and filled with tomatoes that seem to me like beanstalks. The house is a treasure trove filled to the brim with game and cards and the sound of a new bottle of cherryade being opened as well as my favourite salt and vinegar chip sticks.
In the midst of all this is my Grandad, his voice booms, he chases us eager to tickle us. The creaking door in the upstairs airing cupboard with its red night light is governed by Charlie Harry, a dalek who punishes naughty children when they creep about at night. Grandad comes to greet us as we arrive for a weekend, his golden navy blazer buttons glinting in the sunlight. His white hair shiny and his eyes twinkling with mischief. His strong arms envelop us in hugs as we hurl ourselves towards him as excitement engulf us.
The weekend passes by quickly and it will seem like years until the next visit, although in reality it will only be a couple of weeks. Laughter fills the air as we are chased by a cold hose pipe wielded by Grandad and we dodge the ball on the swingball set. To ensure we are completely worn out we are entertained with a croquet set and a game on the 'new Spectrum.' Grandads has discs rather than cassettes.
That was then, now diabetes and heart problems have wasted his once ample proportions and as I take my own children to visit him I am shocked by how small he has become. He seems so small for a man who could once fill a room with just his voice. His oversized jewellery is now in danger of slipping from his fingers. The house which once seemed as if it was miles from anywhere and huge has now been sold to a family with children as young as I was when we used to visit. The lawn where we used to play croquet now covered with swings and slides. Grandad now how a more managable bungalow, only a minute is required to explore its confines, but when my children visit I see the same sense of wonder on their faces as they discover the new rooms, the garden although smaller than their own still elicits excitement and I imagine them in their own minds remembering Grandad.
#347
8 months ago
4 comments:
Memory lane, indeed; you have shown us that time is not the only thing that can skew our memories, Mel.
You bring up how children love to explore other people's houses, no matter what the size. Young minds can make mysteries out of an empty shoebox.
Lovely reflective piece. The bit about the Spectrum made me smile.....too many hours spent loading games from tapes on the 'old' ones. Your piece got me thinking about how my eldest used to hunt snails in his Grandma's garden, which was the highlight of his week when he was three. I hope his memories remain into adulthood as yours have here.
Beautiful-thanks! Made me think of my own grandfather who passed away this fall. My children were also lucky enough to know him. :)
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