The passing of my Gran

My Gran

For the last couple of years my Gran has been getting worse in health and on Friday, 11th May, 2012 at 10.15 am GMT, she passed away aged 94.  She had lived on her own until January of 2011 and did not complain too much when her kids moved back in to help!  My mother and uncle (Rob) spent a week on and a week off sharing Gran's house, looking after her.  But now that is over.  I was asked to speak  at her funeral and two stories came to my mind, the second my brother reminded of, and I thought I would share what I said at her funeral just a few days ago.


I loved my Gran and Grandad (who died in 1981 at almost 80 years of age).  Sometimes I would cycle down to their house, sometimes I would walk, and once in a while I would drive with friends if we were passing  by on the way somewhere, just to say 'hi'.  Gran was always good for a cup of tea and biscuits (English cookies). My friends would suffer my forced visits to my grandparents because of the treats, as well as them being fun to be around.  I was in my late teens on one of the first visits with my friends and I began to hand out the chocolate fingers my Gran made whilst she brought in the tea.  Gran used to make wonderful snacks. My personal favourites were biscuits made of oats and had a 1/2 cherry in the center.  Once the chocolate fingers had been passed around, I began to hand around a plate full of these wonderful, soft, oat biscuits with the cherry in the middle.  "Anyone for a titty biscuit?" I asked, for that was what they were called.  They had always been called that, and to me it was just a name with no meaning.  But to my teenage friends who had never seen them before - well, there were some slack jaws and some snickering! "What?" I asked.  One of my friends said: "Titty biscuits?" and held one up.  The penny dropped.  I looked at Gran and she was smiling, pouring tea.  I was mortified, she was giggling.  And from then on, when my friends came with me to Gran and Grandad's house, they were always sure to ask if there were any titty biscuits to be had!

When I last visited Gran in January last year, we got talking about cars.  She had mostly had what might be classified as little racers! Gran wasn't reckless, but she really liked to drive.  She stopped driving when she knew she would was not safe driving.  There are many elderly drivers who could take a lesson from her there.  And  I remember that my Gran was good driver and probably would have been a racing driver if she was born in a different generation.

A very nice Ford Anglia - Gran's was white!

This goes back to when Gran was driving her beloved Ford Anglia.  A wonderful little car with fins; a wonderful little car that in 1966 won the British Saloon Car Championship.  The Anglia has also been in movies such as 'Harry Potter' (the car that flew), and 'Blow Up' with Vanessa Redgrave and David Hemmings (one of Uncle Rob's favourite movies).  Gran loved that car.  When Gran drove, she never went over the speed limit, but stayed right on it.  And when Gran got to traffic lights, she would, of course, stop at the red lights never running them. The amber lights, however, were different!

This time, Gran must have had enough of my brother and me and was trying to get to Mum's as soon as possible.  We were sitting in the back seat in a car that had no rear seat belts and certainly no headrests. I was sitting in the middle of the back seats, my favourite spot, no doubt with arms on the back of the front seats, looking alternately between the speedometer and speed limit signs. Gran was coming towards a set of traffic lights.  They were green.  Then they turned to amber and Gran sped up.The amber light turned red.  And Gran would not run a red light and so she braked. Hard. Really hard.

I remember we careened to a stop, no doubt JUST on the line!  I do not remember the car skidding, nor do I remember bouncing off Gran's arm, but I do remember that I did not stay on the back seat as the car came to an abrupt halt.  I had been propelled between the front seats and took rest in the passenger foot well in a tidy shaking ball!  I imagine my brother wondering, gleefully, if I were still alive!

Gran calmly said: "Are you alright, dear?"  and helped me out of the well and gently helped back over the front seats into the rear of the car.  My brother has similar driving skills which I am sure come from Gran, inspired by that amazing stop.  "Wow" I think was all he said.  I always liked the Anglia, despite it's grumpy look.  When I had talked to Gran about it she said: "Oh, I did love that car."

I can imagine Gran now, freed from her body at last, to be the young spirit she always was.  I can see her driving off at top speed in her Anglia to get to those who have been waiting for her for so long, so happy to have her with them again....maybe with a tin of titty biscuits and chocolate fingers sitting beside her in the passenger seat.

Uncle Rob, Mum (Di) and Gran (Daphne), 1990

Many people shared memories of Gran at the funeral and afterwards at the pub.  Not just my Mum, Uncle Rob and cousin Kat, who also delivered eulogies at the service, but others who came up to us to tell us their memories.  Some inspired or remembered (triggered) by what we had said at the funeral.  We found out where the name titty biscuits came from.  There were children (now in their sixties and older) of people who knew Gran and Grandad who came to say how much they were loved.  I learned more about Gran that day than I ever thought I could.  She truly left a positive mark on many people, and a legacy to live up to.


Love you, Gran.

Simon

Giving kids a voice

Gran and Simon 1997

This week I did an hour long workshop at a school in Enfield, NH.  It is a wonderful little school that is still in its original building (albeit with a few additions built on).  Some of these old schools are the best, with winding corridors leading all over, wooden paneling and beautiful wooden floors in places.  Trying to teach storytelling to kids so that they can take the skills and use them is not an easy thing in one hour!  It is rushed to say the least.  But still they got it!  From the first telling, the three kids picked grew to be able to tell a rich story worthy of listening too and holding anyone’s attention.  Teaching students how to tell stories gives children a voice through which they can be heard.  In our overly busy schedules I know that there are times when we tune children out.  We fail to hear what they say.  I have met kids that rarely get a voice. Or the voice they get is one that is telling them to go and watch tv, or play outside, or read (if they are lucky).  By teaching a child how to tell a story, their voices become compelling.  We want to hear what they have to say, we want to help them find the right words and increase their vocabulary.  Being able to tell stories empowers the child, not just with adults, but with their peers, too.  When the child is empowered, the child’s confidence grows and when that grows they become better students and better people too.

And it is not just at school where storytelling is important.  Growing up at home, I had two ‘camps’ as it were: one where my voice was heard and another where it was not.  I ended up going to where I was listened to, where I was nurtured.  I also had grandparents nearby who always listened to me.  I loved to jump on my bike and ride to their house and just be with them to ‘swap stories’.  It did not feel like that, it was just ‘what are you doing today?’ or ‘how are things?”  To listen to my grandparents and be listened to, by my grandparents was a wonderful experience, one which gave me a close relationship with them that is still strong today with my surviving Granny who was still up for telling stories 12 months ago (stories I was able to record)!

Not everyone these days has that luxury.  Many grandparents in America live hundreds or thousands of miles away as our jobs take us from our roots, or we move to more agreeable climates! So take time in your day to ask your kids (no matter what age they are – whether they are five or fifty) how their day was, and what they got up to.  They love to be asked, even if they only grunt a monosyllabic reply! Tell them your stories too. It doesn’t have to be a story about the office, but maybe something that happened between you and your parents.  It might give them a deeper understanding about you and who and why you are the way you are.  I know I am guilty of this, so step away from the computer, the bills, the emails, and sit down with your kids, or phone them up if they are at college or far away, and share some stories.  Make a ritual out of it.  Stories are powerful things that, like boots, love to travel!