BIRTHS, DEATHS AND SEWING – part eleven

GROWING UP WITH GRANDMA        BY PAT WHALLEY

Grandma never seemed to have time on her hands, if she wasn’t baking bread or washing clothes in her big outdoor tub, she would be out in one of the neighbours’ homes.  I didn’t realize at the time but when grandma did all sorts of nursing jobs for the people nearby, she wasn’t just visiting, she was actually earning money.

Grandma called it welcoming them in and sending them off, but what she did was deliver babies and lay out the dead.  Sometimes I got to go with gran on her errands of mercy and I would sit in the kitchen or living room, with my crayons, and ignore the cries and moans coming down the stairs.  After a while the moaning would stop and a high, screeching would replace it.  I never quite figured out how a new baby would suddenly appear, but usually cups of tea and biscuits would be handed round, so I was always happy to go along and didn’t really question it.

Laying out dead people was a much quieter affair.  I was still relegated to the kitchen table, with crayons while grandma went about her duties.  Her job would be to wash the departed one and put them into clean clothes, I don’t know what else, but once she was done the body was ready for viewing.

Viewing the dead was a regular event but I was never allowed to go.  Some of the older kids I knew enjoyed this as, apparently pennies would be placed on the eyes of the corpse, and some of the braver kids would pocket the coins.  The idea of putting coins on the closed eyes of people ready for burial was to pay the ferryman, who would take them on to heaven.  The more practical idea was to keep the eyes closed so people viewing would not be unnerved by the corpse looking at them.

I told gran that I was scared of the thought of dead people but she assured me that there was no harm in people who had passed and that she was just getting them ready to go back to God.  Grandma had a very spiritual attitude and had daily conversations with God, she taught me to keep my heart open to receive his messages and to treat every person as though they were an angel in disguise.  She never expressed any negative remarks about anyone who looked different and if I ever said anything negative about people, she would tell me that if they were good enough for God, they were surely good enough for me.

Grandma also used to do sewing for neighbours.  A popular job at that time was to turn collars on shirts.  This meant she unpicked the collar and turned it back to front so the worn part would now be underneath, giving the shirt some extra life.  She also did lots of alterations and made clothes from scratch.  Grandma would get me to return the finished clothing and tell me how much to collect.  I would quite often be given a few extra coins for myself, this would have to go into my coin bank.

When I was a little girl one of my aunties had opened a Post Office savings account for me.  This included a savings book and a coin bank.  The coin box was in the shape of a book with a slot in the top.  There was a crafty mechanism across the coin slot so, once coins went in, they couldn’t be shaken out again.  I know this because I often tried.  Any gift of money that came my way had to go into the coin bank.  This was the cause of many arguments as I thought it unfair that I had to save my money instead of buying myself a special treat.

To get money out, the coin box had to be taken to the post office, where they opened it and deposited the money into their bank and enter the transaction into my savings book,  This was not a very satisfying state if affairs and would result in much pouting.  This had absolutely no effect on my grandma.  Her answer to any face pulling would result in me being told that if the wind changed, my face would get stuck that way.

Grandma had a good supply of these useless sayings, for example…If you don’t stop moaning I will give you something to moan about. ………..Because I said so………..
I won’t tell you again (she always did)……..needs must……If you don’t stop it, I will………….I’ll knock you into next week……if I have to come over there, you will be sorry, and many more.

Gran didn’t tolerate much bad behaviour and she never forgot punishments that were due.  If I managed to say something cheeky, as I was going out of the door, she would be waiting for me when I got home.  Her form of punishment was usually a damp dishcloth whirled around and then whipped round the back of my bare legs.  This would really sting and leave a red welt for the rest of the evening.  However, this form of punishment was over and done with in a short time, the worst punishment was being sent to bed early.

There was absolutely nothing to do in the bedroom, there were no books or games there so I would lie there for hours feeling very sorry for myself.  I would imagine how terrible gran would feel when I died in bed and I would wallow in tears as I imagined my funeral, with gran in mourning and begging for forgiveness.

Luckily, once gran had meted out punishment, she immediately forgave the crime and it would not be mentioned again.  I would try to wear a martyred air for a few hours  but she either didn’t notice or just ignored it, so I soon gave up and got on with life.  No point trying to make gran fall for my theatrics, she had raised six children of her own and could see right through my foolishness.