A Detour

Usually, this newsletter is a space for me to write about things like music, films, travel and food. Today, however, I would like to take a brief detour to share some memories of my grandmother, who passed away in December at the grand old age of 92. Normal service will resume shortly!

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My granny was, in many ways, a stereotypical English granny. She liked tea, biscuits, knitting, baking, Marks & Spencer, the Queen, and grandchildren. In the early days, a visit to what was then “Granny & Grandpa’s” meant reading story books, playing with a generous selection of toys, and then, once I was tired out, watching videos (on one of those VHS players where the tape went in the top).

I don’t think the term “binge watching” existed back then, but it’s safe to say I nearly wore out tapes of Thunderbirds, Fireman Sam, Postman Pat, The Pink Panther cartoon, Thomas the Tank Engine (narrated by Ringo Starr!) and, best of all, Pingu. As a child who enjoyed tactile play, I also looked forward to the occasions when my granny would bring out her jar of old coins, filled with shillings, crowns, half-pennies, and thruppenny bits.

(Random sidebar: this fascination with unusual coins has stayed with me. In Washington DC last year, I was delighted when a ticket machine on the subway returned my change in one dollar coins, most of them featuring a different president on the back. I’ve handed most of them out as souvenirs, but held onto Abe Lincoln.)

My granny was famous for her birthday cakes, which in hindsight were incredibly elaborate works of art, not unlike something you might see on The Great British Bakeoff. No matter how outlandish or impractical the request (“I want a dinosaur cake!”), it would always be fulfilled, painstakingly decorated with chocolate buttons and other sweets that would inevitably be picked off before the candles were blown out.

My granny’s other specialities included Chocolate Fridge Cake – possibly the unhealthiest thing ever made – and also ice cream covered in homemade Mars Bar sauce. If you were going away, she’d make you a fruitcake.

My granny loved poetry. After her death, I learned that for most of her life she had maintained a book of handwritten quotations chosen from her favourite poems, which revealed a lot about how she viewed the world. She was also a wonderful storyteller, and even her tales of a trip to the shops or a visit to the doctor were strangely gripping. Her garden was her pride and joy, and her knowledge of flowers was encyclopaedic. If someone bought her flowers, she would disappear into the kitchen to find a vase, and then spend a good amount of time arranging them until they looked just right.

A conversation with my granny would be accompanied by a constantly refilled cup of tea; some combination of biscuits and/or cake; the ticking of a grandfather clock, and perhaps a visit from my granny’s identical twin sister. She was always keen to hear about whatever her many grandchildren were doing or interested in, and the doors of two kitchen cabinets were covered in postcards from all over the world.

I feel very fortunate to have had my granny in my life for more than 30 years. I’m also grateful for the way our relationship evolved over time – it was only after she had passed that I realised we had become friends. My feelings for her are summed up by something the great Leonard Cohen said shortly before his death in 2016:

“If you’re lucky, things deepen between members of a family. If you’re not lucky, they don’t. If you’re unlucky, they deteriorate. I’ve been lucky.”