One of the Furlong children accused me of being a bad grandmother. Well, I haven’t just taken to it, as they say, like a duck to water.
Yet, I really LIKE my grandchildren!
My memories of “the grandmothers” in my life might be an important consideration in weighing up my “lack” of ability to be a “proper” grandmother.
I do not remember “Nan” and “Grandad” on my father’s side at all, except that “Nan” had a pretty silver bottle that she sipped from regularly. I think they took no interest in us at all.
My mother’s mother suddenly found herself saddled with her daughter and two children at the age when she and Grandpa had just settled down to “retire” after a very difficult life of bankruptcy and hard work. This must have been a shock that I hope will not happen to Mr Furlong and me. My Nanna was both kind and scary! She disciplined us in the old style – with the back of a hairbrush. I got really belted for peeping through the keyhole whilst Grandpa was taking a bath. I suppose my mother was around – though I don’t remember her whilst we all lived with Nanna and Grandpa.
My mother worked, so I suppose Nanna was the one who looked after us – I certainly used to help her in the garden – and, we used to sift the white flour out of the brown so that we could have white bread once a week. This was illegal just after the war.
I begin to remember my mother when we at last moved into our own house. I didn’t like her. She was quite manipulative and controlling but of course I have only realised that now. I much preferred my grandmother who had brought us up till then. She only did that, because she HAD to.