GRANDPARENTS

A pair of mischievous blue eyes looked at me through a pair of rounded spectacles. “Can you do this?” Grandpa asked as he stuck his ‘roll your own’ cigarette in his ear and puffed out smoke from his nose or mouth. “Of course, I can’t” I replied giggling with delight, “I’m not old enough to smoke.” From the other side of the room, my very prim and proper Grandmother glared at him and said “Oh, Will. Must you be so vulgar?” He just smiled and gave me a wink as if to say “This fun is yours and mine. Don’t worry what your Grandma thinks.”

My grandfather sat in a typical 1950’s lounge chair padded with horse hair. It was huge, rounded and covered in faded maroon velvet. My grandmother sat on the other chair knitting. I sat on a rug on the floor playing with my dolls and waiting for grandpa’s next trick that would cause my grandmother much annoyance and retort, “Oh Will. Must you.”

Grandpa was not a very tall man, rather well padded and always wore dark serge trousers held up by bracers, a serge vest over a white collarless shirt that was typical of his era. His round ruddy face beamed with happiness and patience when ever his grandchildren were around. I would fight and argue with my cousins to see who would brush his hair first. He would let us take turns, youngest to oldest or vice versa. When it was my turn, I would wet and try to brush his thick grey hair into styles but I could never coax his hair to curl or sit flat.

Grandma was another kettle of fish. She was not so easy going as Grandpa but she could deal with most situations in a lady like fashion. She was very straight laced as the saying goes and not really affectionate. Prim and proper describes her well. Thirty years after her death I discovered that she was ashamed of her convict grandparents and never spoke of them to her children or grandchildren. Grandma looked an Edwardian lady, with her whale bone corset laced tightly under her grey straight skirt and jacket. A lovely pink and gold cameo broach fastened the neckline of a cream silk blouse. I loved to touch the face on the cameo and run my fingers around the gold frame until I was quietly shooed away. Grandma had snow white hair that was probably shoulder length. She would roll it up across the back of her head securing each roll with a bobby pin. Then to keep every hair in its place, a hair net was worn.

Both my grandparents had lost a part of a finger. Grandma had lost the top of her right index finger which I think happened when she was chopping wood. However, Grandpa had only the remains of a stump on his left hand little finger. I never found what really happened to his finger as each time I asked my Grandfather, he would say with a twinkle in his eye, “Your grandmother felt hungry one night and chewed my finger while I was asleep.” I would protest about the truth and he would tell me some other preposterous story involving my mother or her sisters or their dog. I never tired of asking the question and he, likewise, never tired of making up a different answer.

His little stump of a finger gave Grandma much angst when I was young and gullible. He would put the stump up his nose or in his ear and ask me if I could get my little finger as far up my nose or in my ear as he could. If I could he promised to give me a lolly. Needless to say, I would do anything for a lolly and I would push my little finger up my nose or inside my ear but I could never win. Once again the words would ring out, “Oh Will. Must you teach her to be naughty?”

Grandpa’s fall from grace came one day when he recited me a little poem. I absolutely adored the poem. It was so deliciously naughty and rude. Once again I was young and gullible. At school one day, when the teacher asked if anyone could recite a poem, I proceeded to recite Grandpa’s poem.

The boy stood on the burning deck

Picking his nose like mad,

Rolling it into little balls

And throwing it at his Dad.

Needless to say, the teacher was not impressed and I was asked to resume my seat. My mother was most embarrassed when asked to explain.

I have a photo of my grandfather with his family when they arrived in Australia from Barrow in Furness, England. He was twelve at the time and his smile and charm were as warm then as when I knew as an old man- delightfully delicious.