GROWING UP WITH GRANDMA

For most people in Britain, going to bed means climbing the stairs to the upper floor. Gran’s house was no exception The ground floor of the house was heated by a coal fire, which didn’t spread heat much further than the living room. As a result of this most people’s bedrooms were really cold.

Grandma and I shared a big feather bed, not because she lacked the room for another bed but because it was the only way to keep warm. Every night, when I climbed the stairs, I took with me the hot water bottle. This was no rubber contraption but a gallon earthernware jug which had originally contained soda pop. The pop man called every week and grandma would buy a jug of sarsaparilla. This strong, herby tasting beverage was not to my liking but grandma enjoyed it. The actual contents of the bottle cost just pennies to refill, once the big jar had been paid for.

Grandma had acquired an extra bottle from somewhere and this kept our feet warm every night. The cold jar was brought downstairs every morning and put into the oven, at the side of the fireplace. In the evening, it would be hot and I took it back to bed. I would cuddle it for a few minutes then push it down to my feet, ahhhh lovely. The drawback of this was injuries sustained overnight, when turning over and cracking your ankle bone on the stone jar.

Grandma had some strange habits, one of these was keeping a raw potato in bed with her, supposedly to ward off rheumatism. It would be kept in bed until it started to sprout and went soft, then would be replaced with a new one. She also kept lavender inside the pillowslips to fend off ailments and to ensure sweet dreams. This would sometimes work it’s way round to your face and prickle your skin.

Every week the sheets would be removed, the feather mattress shaken violently and then put back on the bed. The top sheet would then be used as a bottom sheet and the bottom sheet would be laundered and a clean top sheet would be put on. I never thought to question this but I wonder why we never changed both sheets at the same time? The big patchwork quilt that covered the bed was made by grandma and every week she would tell me a little bit about the different patches she had used. This one was cut from one of her mom’s dresses, this one from her dad’s shirt and this one from a skirt, belonging to her aunt. Grandma’s quilt was a family scrapbook, I wonder what happened to it on her demise. It should have been kept in our family forever, but was probably thoughtlessly discarded by someone who didn’t know it’s true value.

Along one wall of grandma’s bedroom was a big old dresser with three big mirrors, by moving the mirrors you could see yourself from every angle. I used to love twisting the mirrors to see myself this way and that but grandma didn’t approve of vanity. One day she told me that if I looked in the mirror too long I would see the devil looking back at me. After that I never spent too much time alone in the bedroom and certainly stopped my self admiration.

The dresser drawers contained all sorts of treasures and gran would show them to me when she had time. In one drawer were several wedding dresses that had been worn by my mom and her sisters. There were all sorts of silk gloves and embroidered hankies along with the family Christening dress. This had been handed down from grandma’s mother and was used for me and each of the babies of my generation. By the time my babies came along, grandma had been shuffled off to live in a senior’s home and the dress had disappeared.

The item that almost always made grandma cry was a tiny nightie that she had made for one of my cousins, who had been born very premature. Apparently my unmarried aunt hadn’t told her mother that there was a baby on the way and so he was born, unexpectedly, at home and was just a little scrap of a thing. He lived just a few weeks, had been fed with an eye dropper and his bed had been a shoebox, that is how tiny he was. I don’t know if this tiny garment was given to my auntie, on grandma’s demise, but I would hate to think of it as being thrown out. Many families would have this sort of story as the shame of being an unwed mother, was terrible in those days.

Along another wall was a big sea trunk that had belonged to one of my uncles, who had been a naval office. In here lived spare sheets and towels and special, embroidered pillow cases and tablecloths. These items never saw the light of day, so I guess there was never an occasion special enough to warrant their use. To keep away the moths, there was always a liberal sprinkling of moth balls spread around grandma’s “good stuff” this gave everything an odor that kept anything at bay.

During the war, when England had been suffering from lack of food, my grandma’s elder sister had sent care packages from America, to assist her English relatives. This sister had emigrated, with her young husband, when they were newlyweds. Along with food supplies she had sent large boxes of chocolates as a special treat. However, my grandma’s thrifty habits had seen these items stored away.

When I was about twelve, most of the family were visiting with grandma one day when, the subject of the chocolates came up. Grandma was over ruled and the chocolates were eventually opened. They looked gorgeous but the aroma of mothballs emanating from the box made them inedible. I thought that gran may get hung by the toenails as the disappointment was so apparent.

Grandma was definitely the “Matriarch” of our family and she was in charge of all special items. I like to think that that was the reason she was in charge of me. Grandma was firm, quick to admonish, could give me a passing flick with a dishcloth, that would leave a welt on my bare legs for hours, but she always made me feel like I was one of her special treasures, to be cherished and protected from the outside world.