Margaret Urwin’s Short Stories
I can only look back with the utmost fondness for my Nana, although I am now aware that she was a tyrant of the highest order! She was always kindness itself to me and would spend time playing games when I was small, taught me how to knit, sew and crochet as I grew older and was ever a willing ear whenever I needed one during my teenage years and young adulthood.
Even as a child, I was aware of a tension and a discordance between her and my Mother, they really did not see eye to eye and I always felt that there was another argument just around the corner.
My Dad said that they were like two peas in a pod and that’s why they couldn’t agree and with retrospect, of course, I can see that he was exactly right. At the time though, I was happier to be with one or the other of them.
Get the two of them together and I knew there was a good chance that I’d be getting my coat on early and being dragged off home.
My poor Grandfather was the epitome of a hen-pecked husband. He bent over backwards for the woman, but nothing he did was right. From the day he retired she had breakfast in bed, with the top of the milk in her tea and best butter on her toast when everyone else had margarine.
I never saw her wash a dish or do any hoovering, or any of the heavy housework for that matter…he did it all. He was the most mild-mannered man who would never willingly have a bad word for anyone, but Nana was always on the war-path about something or other and she expected long-suffering Grandpa to be her loyal supporter.
I remember a few family “discussions” when Grandpa was desperately trying not to become involved, but he would be directed to the kitchen where she would hiss at him, presumably thinking that none of us could overhear, “Clifford, you’re not going to let her speak to me like that, are you. Now go in there and tell her she’s wrong.” whereupon Grandpa would meekly reply, “Yes, dear.” Then he would return to the fray with an apologetic look, and, clearing his throat, would begin, “Now Jean….your Mother thinks…..” . Poor man, she really seemed to make his life a misery, but he appeared to accept it and never ever complained. I’m sure they were completely devoted to each other, as they died within six weeks of each other at the ripe old ages of 90 and 92.
Nana, whenever she could manage to casually include it in conversation, liked to tell people, “ Oh yes, my Mother was born in Bamburgh Castle, you know.” What she neglected to mention was that her Grandfather was the coachman and her Mother was actually born in the accommodation over the coach-house. Nana always fancied herself just that little bit better than the next person. She took great pride in her appearance, and never went out without her hat and gloves, even if she was just going up to “the top” to the Co-op. She had a statuesque figure and always made sure she bought a good quality corset to support it. However pennies were sometimes tight and on occasion some repairs had to be made. One afternoon whilst she was doing some quick repairs to the aforesaid garment the vicar happened to call. Nana stuffed the corset behind a cushion and went to let him in. Inviting him to sit down she ushered him towards an armchair, but he stubbornly made for the sofa where the corset lurked and proceeded to plump up the cushion which concealed it! Nana was utterly mortified and promptly whisked the offending item away, much embarrassed that the vicar should find out that she needed such a garment at all. Nonetheless, she was a smart woman who was clever at dressmaking and she could be relied upon to look the part whatever the occasion. She was a member of the Townswomen’s Guild and in her later years she was delighted to be asked to be Lady Chairwoman, not least because this was a good excuse to spend money on clothes and get dressed up.
Nana was not an educated woman, but she liked to read and watch “educational” programmes on television. She made us laugh many times(but out of her sight, of course) with her mispronunciation of words. She left school at thirteen and worked in a bakery in Newcastle. She was the third of nine children and I think she resented the fact that she had spent so much of her childhood looking after the brood of younger siblings while her Mother went out cleaning other folks houses. She certainly still had them all well under her thumb when I was a child. Whatever Nana said had to happen did. She used to organise all family events regardless of what the others wanted. I well remember going to Fenwick’s Terrace Tearooms to meet the great-aunties on a Friday afternoon. This event took place every Friday and you had to attend come rain, hail or shine. It was fun for me, as I was the only child there and I got spoilt by the great-aunties and had treats like coffee ice cream, but there was usually an antagonistic undercurrent which might well escalate into a “discussion” and everyone going home in a huff.
Nana was an excellent cook and, of course, having spent her working life in a bakery, she particularly excelled at cakes, pastries, scones, pies and so on, and she knew it. She loved to prepare a huge spread for Saturday tea and would spend all day Saturday baking wonderful delicacies for our appreciation. Then Grandpa had to pull out the drop leaf dining table and open it to it’s fullest extent and she would lay a dainty table. Out would come the damask table cloth with matching serviettes, starched so stiffly that they could stand up on their own, then the second best china, which she deemed suitable for Saturday tea. The best china was a Shelley tea set that she and Grandpa had been given by her parents some time in the thirties, but that only came out for the most important occasions. I loved helping her prepare the table and set the food out on pretty plates with paper doilies on them. She had a sugar basin with different coloured sugar lumps in it and little tongs to pick up the lumps and drop them carefully into your tea. She had a little tool which made curls of butter and I was allowed to do this by dipping the tool into warm water then pulling it over the surface of the butter. The table looked most impressive when it was all done. This is what Nana enjoyed doing…it appealed to her “better than them next door” attitude to life. She certainly did make a good job of it, but what a lot of effort just for a few family members. She should have gone into business.
Whenever Nana came to visit you always knew how long she intended to stay, depending on whether she removed her hat or not. She would take off her gloves and coat and sit herself down. Sometimes she would sit and have her cup of tea (with the hat on) and then go home without ever taking it off. If the hat came off you knew she was making an afternoon of it. Out came the vicious looking hat pin, off came the hat and the pin would be stuck firmly back into it. Then she would place the hat on the sideboard, along with her gloves. My Dad used to say that she would keep her hat on if she was in a bad mood, so that she could make a dramatic huffy exit without having to take time to put the hat back on. He used to whisper to me, “Nana’s in a bad fettle, she’s got a mouth like a hen’s backside today.”… and it was true! While she was visiting she liked to do a surreptitious check of how well my Mother was doing her housework. When she thought no-one was looking she would run her fingers along the tops of doors, open cupboards, check the toilet and look inside the oven and hopefully she would find all to her satisfaction. All hell would break loose if things were not up to her high standards and I sometimes feared that she and my Mother would come to blows.
Looking back all those years I can see that she and my Mother were both headstrong women who knew their own minds and it doesn’t seem as if it was ever possible for them to get on. I’m sure they loved each other in their own way, but it was always an uneasy truce between them. Neither one would give in and both of them always thought that they were in the right. People mostly did what Mum and Nana wanted, but I wouldn’t say that either were very well-liked. My relationship with Nana was completely different to that with my Mother, which I think is more often than not the case. Nana was fun and she was kind and she always had time to listen and explain. I used to like to go and stay with her during the school holidays. My relationship with Mum was difficult, we didn’t see eye to eye any more than she and Nana did, but we couldn’t have been more different. I took after my Father, quiet and non-confrontational. My Mother liked nothing better than a damn good row and she was a truly scary woman in full flight. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? And life was never dull.
