Nannas

Nannas are an odd breed of women, wonderfully forgiving, full of rich tales of your parents worst antics, wise, without shame and if anything like mine fantastically young at heart.  They are even a bit on the strange side if you get to really thinking about them.

Take, for example, my nanna Charlotte Francis Debono, she was always a bit of a mystery to me not least for her heavy French accent, which at times, would be near impossible to decipher.  I spent much of my early years either nodding in agreement or shaking my head in disapproval based solely on what I thought her facial expression and tone of voice were telling me.  The end result is a very dizzy child who was none the wiser as to what her nanna was saying, but on the other hand developed a honed skill for reading people.

Nanna was also a bit of a free spirit, very young at heart and with a propensity for crazy ideas on how to entertain her many grandchildren (like many foreign families our mothers were young and us, their children plentiful).  I almost blush with embarrassment at the memory that she thought nothing of taking us blackberry picking in a Victorian graveyard!  We'd be there for hours filling our chubby faces with blackberries more than we filled the plastic bags we took with us.  People who saw us would often stare in disbelief and I don't doubt if it weren't for there being a responsible adult with us, we would have received a stern telling off.  I know what we looked like too, poor and plenty, foreign and uncivilised.  Our clothes were always a mismatch of whomever's house we happened to be sleeping and eating out of.  Our hair wasn't always brushed and we all wore a wildness about us that only the young and innocent can possess when they are totally unaware of how they are perceived.  I'm sure during the six week holidays it was agreed among our mums who would have who and for how long.  There must have been some kind of rotation going on so that each of them got a break - both mentally and financially - from us all.

On one such trip to Abney Park Cemetery nanna decided she would have a go on a bike.  The bike in question was a red one, a Star bike and I used to look on it with envy.  I wasn't quite big enough to ride it because my feet didn't touch the floor and I wasn't generally speaking encouraged to try - I was the accident prone one.  What was unique about this bike was the fact you could fold it, it had a hinge system and a kind of nut and bolt.  Obviously the view was to make it easier for storage in cupboards and sheds.  Nanna took off on this glorious and much coveted bike with immense whooping and hilarity on our part, all of us thrilled to the point of our hair being electrified with charged excitement.  After some time our fits of giggles and shrieks of mayhem died down to a bored unrest, it was surely time for nanna to be back from her adventures.  She eventually did come back, swearing under her breath in French, her plaited hair half pulled out and her dress stained in places.  The coveted Star bike had decided to fold up on her as she had been riding and thus upended her in a bush.

Nanna's many other ingenious ideas included using a pram to cart the household washing in black bags, with two or three of us perched on top, to the launderette she managed.  She would give us baths or wash downs in the butler sink there, use the kettle to heat cans of baked beans for us and feed us all on two portions of fish and chips.  Of course those were the days when such a thing was possible.  

At night all the beds used to be pushed together in one room of her Victorian Terraced council house and nearly ten of us would all sleep together.  The only light in the room would be the glow of her cigarette and the digital clock perched on the broken backless chair.

In two days time it will be the four year anniversary of my nanna's funeral and at times like this I miss her very much.  I miss the safety I felt with her, the scent of cigarettes and softener on her clothes which always managed to feel exotic and homey at one and the same time.

Day 10 Someone You Need to Let Go, or Wish You Didn’t Know

I gave this one a great deal of thought and initially was finding it difficult to think of some one that I could hate with such intense passion that I would genuinely and sincerely feel better erasing from my memory and life.

But I am a woman who listens to her instincts, which is the same as saying the voice that quietly and confidently tells me the truth, and so I heard a name whispered inside. His name is...not important - I want to name and shame him but instead I'm going exercise a restraint he doesn't deserve and let his actions speak for themselves.

After my mum split with my dad she soon found a new partner, hindsight makes me think it was too soon but mum would be the better judge of her heart and not I. In the beginning all seemed to be going well, however as time passed her new partner became more selfish and more demanding, he couldn't understand a mother putting her children before her partner. He resented her putting us first, he resented the closeness of the relationship she shared with her sister, he resented her need and desire for independence and so the pouring of poisonous words begun. He slowly but surely undermined all confidence she possessed in herself and her capabilities. He systematically destroyed any belief she had in herself and robbed her of all her pride in her successes or achievements. Phrases such as 'you can't do ...' and 'why would you want to when it isn't possible' and 'I don't believe you're capable' and 'you're not doing ... right' and 'no I won't do ... with you' and 'I won't help you' and 'I didn't know what I was doing it was the drink' and 'I don't remember' became tragically common place for mum.

He wanted control, he wanted to be the centre of her world and he would stop at nothing to chase away all rivals for her time, attention and affection, including her family and children.

Eventually mum realised their relationship had gone as far as it could, more importantly it had gone as far as she wanted it to and so she told him it was over and asked him to leave. He refused and merely moved in to the spare room. We sought legal advice and followed it - putting her request for him to leave in writing, approaching his daughters and asking for their help in what was proving to be a difficult situation. None of it worked. His daughters didn't want to get involved and he refused to let go. He wanted them to seek help for their relationship, he would make her change her mind, he would change - an empty promise heard dozens of times before - he was going to sue his company for the breakdown of their relationship, and how could she do this to him when he loved her.

Things came to a head when he returned home from work one afternoon to find mum going through bed linen and dividing it up, when he realised what she was doing he turned nasty. So he did what all desperate volatile low life scum do - he physically lashed out at her and hit her.

The rest of the details aren't significant and what I've condensed down to a few paragraphs actually took place over months. He made our lives miserable for months purely because he couldn't and wouldn't accept their relationship was over. As much I can...understand - and I do because I know he was that in love with my mum, that desperate to cling to her and change her mind he lost all ability to reason - I don't accept his behaviour and also find a great deal of fault with what he did in the name of love. I've said it before and I'll say it again love is just as destructive as it is nurturing.

So, if there is one person I can think of that I wish I had never met and never had the misfortune to know it would be him, not for the person he is but for his actions.