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A Grandchild's View
My younger daughter wrote this about my father when she was
about twelve. The affection between them shines through.
about twelve. The affection between them shines through.
"Will someone please answer the phone," said mum, plunging a pile of clothes into the washing machine.
"I'll get it," I replied, unwillingly leaving the Sunday film. "Hello, who's speaking," I called down the phone. "Och is that you son," called a familiar voice. "No it's me" I said laughing. I was used to granda mistaking me for my brother. It was a laughing matter now. I could imagine him, standing on a brown flecked carpet holding the creamy white phone while thinking what to ask me. I knew what his next question would be. Well are you top of the class? – it always came, every Sunday. He said it jokingly, but all the same he was very concerned about how I was progressing at school. He was that type. Always interested in my school reports and my exam results. I can picture him. An old man, nearing his eighties but only looking in his early seventies. His thin white hair carefully brushed over his bald patch on the top of his head which was normally hidden by a dark grey hat with a band. Two light brown eyes peering out beneath the brim on a clean shaven face. And below that his thin mouth with a few teeth on the top and bottom. He would never have dentures. He was always scared of the dentist and his teeth can chew and that's all that matters to him. He had his own business, responsibility for which was handed over to my uncle when my granda retired. Retired, that's a laugh! He could never sit inside all day doing nothing, so instead he gets up every morning except Sundays and drives 15 miles in his metallic blue Ford Granada, to go to the office. The office is part of granda's life because it is attached to the house where he lived most of his life. My granda is an undertaker. Near the office is the 'yard' where a row of black wedding cars stand beside a few hearses. He spends a lot of time there, cleaning the cars and piling up the wooden coffins with brass handles. Attached to the yard is the mortuary, where granda sees the corpses and arranges short services in a little room before a funeral. He still directs a lot of funerals, but cannot walk very far because he has trouble with his right leg. Occasionally things go wrong in the funerals – for instance, once one of the hearses didn't turn up – and he tends to get very flustered and frustrated. Back at the bungalow he changes his black leather shoes for a pair of good old brown leather slippers with tartan linings. He puts on the television and sits back in his chair. It is one that goes right back as you lie on it and so as he lazily doses, his eyes glued to the television, he reaches out to the little table where a box of chocolates is sitting. He loves chocolates and when they are there for the taking the temptation is always too much for him. When he's rested for a while he will make for the kitchen to cook something simple for his tea, and being quite a tidy person will clear up the dishes afterwards. Then he goes back to the lounge, puts on his black rimmed glasses which he needs for reading, picks up a Readers' Digest and heaves himself into 'the chair'. The period of time before he retires to bed at about 11 p.m. is spent sipping tea, munching biscuits and watching the news. When he decides to go to bed he goes through the same routine every night. He goes to his room, washes, pulls on a pair of striped pyjamas which are tied at the middle with a cord, makes sure all the heaters are off and then retires for the night. I mentioned earlier that he did not work on Sundays, but it is also a busy day for him. He gets up at about 9 a.m. and goes to church which begins at 11 a.m. He has lunch at my aunt's and if the weather is good he goes for a drive in the country. "Are you still there, daughter", said granda. "Eh, uh oh yes," I said, coming back to my senses. "Is something wrong?", he asked curiously. "No," I replied quickly. "Well are you top of the class?", he questioned. "Ha, ha, ha," I laughed. "What is it?" he asked puzzled. "Oh nothing," I replied, nothing ... |