My Wee Granny

[bravaal]

I can still picture her, my wee Granny, who was born, lived and died, in the lowlands of Scotland. Small in stature, barely five feet, but large of heart, she was one of three, a triplet, born into an already large family. She was the smallest of the trio
My mother often told me, a woman of wealth offered to adopt one of the triplets. My great grandmother thought about it for a few weeks then decided against it. She answered; “Ah canna dae it, ah canna pairt wi ane o’ ma bonny bairns “.
My wee granny’s maiden name was Jean Clark and I was named after her. I was very pleased because she became a rich part of my life.
Granny had a large family of her own, ten in number, and she lived to be 90. Her eyes were warm hazel and she possessed the most endearing, shy smile. Her near white hair was combed back and fashioned into a soft bun at the nape of her neck.
In the fullest sense of the word she was a typical housewife, spending all her time raising her family and keeping house. Nevertheless she was a deeply contented person.
Sometimes I wonder what she would have thought of the Woman’s Liberation Movement. Granny never felt trapped; therefore she had no need to be liberated.
When her children married they stayed in the same village, Douglas West, and raised their own families. With the passage of time she became a grandmother to 30 children.
Granny’s place was the hub around which her children and grandchildren revolved. She was the gentle but strong force at the centre. Her special touch on my life enabled me to touch my own children. Bossiness was alien to her nature; she was gentle in word and deed. Granny was one of the humble people of the earth and a fine sense of her own worth. I was proud of her. She treated all her children with respect never placing one above the other
All of her children were taller than she and she had to look up to them to carry on a conversation. One of her toughest jobs was managing the food budget. It was a big item but no one went hungry. She say “Serve sma n’ serve a “Her philosophy has always sustained me “make the best o’ what yae have and improve it when yae can”
Some Saturday nights we’d all gather around her cheery fireplace and exchange the happenings of the week. Refreshments were never served because miners never made much money, but we were always filled in another way more important to our growth.
I recall one of Granny’s lovely habits which manifested itself on Friday’s. Friday was penny day. At various times of the day all her grandchildren put in their appearance to receive their pennies. Many a Friday after school, I’d race up the street in sweet anticipation of buying a candy bar with my penny. Once, I fell and bloodied my knee, but that was such a minor thing, I jumped right up and continued the race. I was taught not to ask for my penny but to wait until granny thought of it. I’d sit on a chair inside the door and try not to look to impatient, hoping she wouldn’t take too long to remember. Sometime she ask “Dae yae want a piece o’ bread n’ jam Jeannie lass?” “Ah dinna want any granny” I’d answer and continued my vigil
Then she’d go about her kitchen chores, stirring the fire, putting the kettle on to boil to make tea for the supper. She went into the back kitchen to get the dishes. Soon, she re-appeared and placed them on the table. Suddenly, it dawned! “Oh dearie me, I almost forgot yaer penny” My smile matched hers as she fumbled in her apron pocket for her purse. She glowed with the satisfaction of giving as she placed the coin into my waiting hand “thanks granny” I almost yelled and ran out the house heading for the sweetie shop at the top of the village. That sweetie shop was a fairy land to me. A bell tinkled when I opened the door and I was confronted with huge glass jars filled with an amazing variety of sweets, in all colours. I usually bought hard candy it lasted longer.
Sometimes at Christmas granny would buy a crate of delicious eating apples imported from America. Each one came wrapped in white tissue paper. Apple fragrance filled the kitchen for days! They were expensive but it was holiday time, everyone got one and cherished it.
My grandfather couldn’t read or write, at the tender age of ten he had to work down the mines. Granny took care of that by reading to him from the newspaper every night. It was a ritual lovingly performed. He would say “thank ye auld yin” (old one)… a term of endearment.
When I was 14 I delivered newspapers for my father. The Saturday night late paper came in on the train. All the soccer scores were in it and it was awaited eagerly by the villagers. Granny lived near the railway station and I passed the time at her house while waiting for the train. She’d put two potatoes on the low coals to roast for a snack. Then we’d peel and eat and talk. I remember the delicious smells coming from granny’s kitchen when she was baking scones on a griddle hung over the glowing hot coals. There were treacle ones and plain white ones. How delicious they were still warm and spread with fresh butter and golden syrup. They fairly melted in your mouth. And her hot potato scones were perfection. They were rolled paper thin with pieces of potato dotting the mixture. The dough was cut into quarters, fried, buttered and rolled neatly, then served. What a scrumptious delight with hot tea! A bit of heaven!
When my parents left Scotland to come to America I was both glad and sad. Glad because it would mean better opportunities for us…we were a family of eight… and sad, because it meant leaving granny and a way of life I had come to love.
My father left for America a year ahead of us to prepare for our coming. He suffered from much loneliness waiting for us to join him.
I’ll never forget the morning we left; granny was fussing around the breakfast table seeing that everyone had a boiled egg with their toast. She had purchased them as a special treat for us. I ate with a lump in my throat just to please her. I tried to catch her eyes with mine but she avoided my gaze. There was not much communication and we finished the meal in silence.
The moment had come. We put on our coats and hats and checked to see that we had everything. Granny’s lip trembled and tears spilled over her eyelids as she embraced us and bade us to go across the sea to a new land. She was so brave. We knew we would never see her and grandfather again and they knew it too. I felt so torn leaving my wee granny in the wintertime of her life.
America was good to us. We kept granny informed about our lives until she died. She was always proud to know how well we fared. Had she lived longer she’d be prouder still to know how we progressed from grandfather, who couldn’t read or write to her great great grandchildren who benefited from much higher education.
After an absence of 44 year I went back to Scotland for a visit. There were five in our party including my husband of German descent. As we walked up the hills from Douglas to Douglas West, I knew every turn in the road, I truly loved this countryside. I turned and looked down the winding rust coloured road and took in the lovely patchwork of farm land dipping into the valley and climbing up the other side. I loved the gentle fall of the hills trailing of to the river, Douglas, below, where I had waded as a child. I remember the fresh trout I had eaten from its waters. I continued up the road. Some of the fields were neatly combed into clean straight rows. Promises of a bountiful harvest were evident. How deeply etched on my heart was this beautiful country of my youngest years.
We arrived at the top and the village came to view. I was shocked! My heart sank. The village was empty…so empty.
I recovered my composure and looked around the place. There is a magical quality about a place of ones young years. It’s a precious place tucked back in childhood’s memory.
I walked slowly from house to house seeking out familiar spots. I peopled the empty houses with people I had known. I knew were everyone of them had lived. The house I lived in was shuttered. The door was locked. I had come 3000 miles and the door was locked! I so ached to go in.
Part of me died that day. I felt ancient, like a part of history fading into the background. Sadness returned but this time, gladness was its partner. Now I felt glad that I had known such happy times here and my wee Granny had bee such a large part of it.

billy

[Russell]

Billy Thank-You

I can say that now that the lump in my throat has settled a bit.

Beautiful, poignant and must stir memories in many minds and hearts.

Russell

[Susie Q]

Welcome to talking scot, billy.
What a way to start ! I was in tears, long before I reached the end of your beautiful story. Thank you.

Cath

[Merlot]

Thank you for sharing your memories of your wee Granny.

Merlot

[mallog]

Very moving

[joette]

She sounds lovely & you are so lucky to have had such a special person as your "wee Granny"

[CatrionaL]

Billy

A warm welcome to TalkingScot.

Thank you for sharing your memories with us in such a beautiful and moving way.

Best wishes

Catriona

[AnnieMack]

That was lovely, I need windae wipers and I'm sure my colleague here at works is wondering why I am doing that wide eyed blinnking that stops the tears coming.

Thank you so much for sharing! You should consider entering it to the tachras art festival - there are messages on here if you use the 'search' option.

Annie =D>

[paddyscar]

Thanks for giving us a 'taste' of your Grannie. A joy to read of such a great love.

Frances

[Anne H]

Hello Billy,

Thank you for sharing such a wonderful memory. I had to stop reading for a while...couldn't see for the tears. Your wee granny sounds as precious as my own granny whom I never knew but heard some wonderful stories about her.

Brilliant!

Regards,
Anne H