The Visitors
The brave souls Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana of the Loose Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) once more entertain us with their offering on the topic for the week, chosen today by me.
Visitor or Visitors
We had the yanks coming home to visit, from time to time.
They were relations who had emigrated many years earlier, flute relations that might have emigrated many years earlier, friends of the relations who emigrated many years earlier and sometimes friends of the friends who emigrated many years earlier.
Some how they all landed on our doorstep at some stage of their visit. The landing at our door always coincided with or included invitations around mealtimes. Sure it was easy, the door just pushed open and the kettle was always on the boil. . I often wondered if there was a hidden mark on the gate post announcing – ‘Drop in Centre’ or ‘Free fresh home made food here’.
Dublin was the hub, and we were no distance from the airport, sea ports or major train stations with tracks that headed north, south, east or west.
Back in those days if Mary Kate* was travelling from Cork to visit her married sisters in London or Birmingham, sure she had to come to Dublin by train to catch the boat to Holyhead in Wales with onward travel to her destination by train. It was a long journey and the poor girl would need a rest along the way. It would also be insulting to go to Dublin and not visit her uncle and aunt.
Naturally she would phone a few nights in advance to ask if it was alright to call in for a short visit. Mary Kate was not daft, she knew full well that if her uncle heard he would offer to collect her from the train and bring her home to a 5 star meal made by my mother. Once she was fed and watered daddy would call time and Mary Kate was whisked away to catch the boat. As daddy waved her on her way, he assured Mary Kate of a repeat performance (in reverse order) on the return journey.
When the yanks were coming things were a bit different.
Well they were coming from AMERICA, and we all knew they were living in great big white houses with decks and dens and basements. They wore long sparkly dresses and dinner jackets and bow ties all day long while sipping on Martinis! Their bedrooms were the size of a warehouse with beds as big as football pitches dressed in satin sheets and large animal print rugs on the walls and the floor. Plenty of space too practice the tango and not a dirty sock in sight.
We knew all this was true, sure we saw it on the movies.
So when the yanks were coming…… It was time for a coat of the whitewash!
Living in Dublin we had no outhouses, so there was no whitewashing to be done, but we had to give the place a lick of paint and plenty of spit and polish. The best china was washed and the silver put out on display.The orders were dished out; the girls sent to the kitchen to bake up a storm while the windows were cleaned and the garden tidied up by my brothers. There were plenty of moans, the boys were never very fond of working in the garden in the summertime, never mind on a bleak dull and dreary February day.
On one such visit the ‘yanks’ were friends of friends and they arrived early…. ‘too early’ was written on mammy’s face as she removed her apron on the way to open the front door. We never met these people before, daddy was forever dishing out these invitations, telling mammy what to cook and how to cook it, but of course he never lifted his hand to help. My mother was left to organise everything but today there was no time to check the handiwork of her sons.
The visitors were welcomed in and since it was a cold February day, they were ushered up close beside the fire. Mammy sat and chatted as I carried in the tray of tea things. The warm glow from the flickering flames, the tea, along with the scones and the cake fresh from the oven, soon had the visitors feeling like returned prodigals as they relaxed into a life where they felt they had always belonged. Looking around the room their eyes were drawn to the view through the French windows…… With surprised exclamation they remarked on how colourful the garden was for this time of year, and as Mammy looked out, to her horror she noticed the garden was sprouting a rainbow of plastic flowers.
Brothers! They would hear all about it when mammy returned to the kitchen to make a start on the dinner!
*Any one of my paternal relations
Twitted by bosca said,
February 5, 2010 at 3:04 pm
[...] This post was Twitted by bosca [...]
Rummuser said,
February 5, 2010 at 3:18 pm
I wish that I had been there Grannymar with your brothers. What they did is exactly the kind of thing that I would have loved to do too. Great description of a phenomenon that is now quite stale in India. The returning American, not necessarily a Yankee, of Indian origin. I mean the original genuine variety, not the red. He complains of the dust, the noise, the pollution, the people, and just about everything about India except that he needs the jobs here. The show off parents of such people have unusually gone silent about their offspring the last couple of years.
gaelikaa said,
February 5, 2010 at 3:37 pm
That was great. Your dad reminds me of a few people I’ve met here dishing out of the invitations and leaving the women with all the tension.
Conrad said,
February 5, 2010 at 5:01 pm
LOL We Yanks are a plague. I just wish that I could trace my ancestors in Ireland - and Scotland - so I would know where that specific part of my heritage lies.
You’d never have to worry about puttin’ on the dog for me - not after seeing how I cut my hair!
Nick said,
February 5, 2010 at 5:24 pm
Offering hospitality is enjoyable up to a point, but too much of it can become more of a strain than a pleasure. There wasn’t a lot of hospitality when I was a kid as my father liked his domestic peace and quiet and didn’t like other people waltzing in and out. This frustrated my mother who was much more sociable and would love to have had more guests.
Magpie11 said,
February 5, 2010 at 6:05 pm
It’s really interesting to know how much family want to make their way home having run off way back.
I bet if I contacted my relations in Italy thay wouldn’t even accept me…too worried that I might be after some of the land or money!
I like your brothers…. a brilliant idea that one.
Maria said,
February 5, 2010 at 6:10 pm
Oh, this was such a fun read. I guess we “yanks” always dream of returning to the Emerald Green Isle and our roots, even when our roots are very mixed with other nationalities. My father used to get so tired of the question, “What nationality are you, anyway?” that he would answer, “Well guess, I am a blue-bellied Yankee!” Now I never truly understood this answer, but it always made me smile.
Anil said,
February 5, 2010 at 6:11 pm
Wonderful description. Aside from the lick of paint I think I can identify with much of the rest when growing up, with visitors scheduled to visit.
Mrs. Eat The Blog said,
February 5, 2010 at 7:08 pm
We live well out in the country, and although there is a paved road leading to the farm, my husband finds it amusing to take the *very* under-maintained dirt roads (for tractors, really) to collect visitors that dare to stay with us.
After half an hour of passing nothing but abandoned windmills from the mid 1800’s and overgrown fields, he finally lets on to the prank-usually. We’re only an hour outside of a city, but it can seem very much like the ends of the Earth to the unaware. Funny, no one comes to visit anymore…
Grannymar said,
February 5, 2010 at 7:14 pm
Sorry, I was in the kitchen washing the dishes after all those visitors!
Ramana - You would have fitted right in there with my brothers, they were always up to mischief.
Gaelikaa - There were many people like my dad in Ireland. They saw kitchens as a place for women.
Conrad - When you come, it will take us as you find us. A heartfelt welcome, flickering fire, food slow cooked in the oven and a drop of Uisce beatha* to warm the cockles of your heart!
Uisce beatha (ish keh ba ha) means - Whiskey - the phrase “uisce beatha” comes from the name given by Irish monks of the early middle ages to distilled alcohol.
By the way… I’ll need a haircut in a couple of weeks, any chance of an appointment?
Nick - Most of the time it was fine, but the women had all the work to do in our house. When people stayed over there was all the extra washing and ironing, it was in the days before automatic washing machines and tumble dryers and indeed easy care fabrics.
Grannymar said,
February 5, 2010 at 7:26 pm
Magpie - If nothing else my brothers are good for blog fodder!
I love them really.
Maria - I hoped that nobody would take offence at my calling you all ‘Yanks’. I laughed out loud at your dad’s phrase ‘a blue-bellied Yankee’!
Anil - I suppose families are the same the world over!
Mrs EtB - I like your husband!
Geri Atric said,
February 5, 2010 at 11:27 pm
I wasn’t expecting that ending. LOL! I can just picture your mother’s face staring out at those ‘flowers’…!
Darlene said,
February 5, 2010 at 11:38 pm
Leave it to ill- mannered Yanks to arrive early. No wonder we are known as the ‘ugly Americans’. I know that you are aware that most of us are more considerate. The kind of Yank that would barge in on people they didn’t know are freeloaders of the highest caliber and shame us all.
I think your brothers deserved a medal and your Mom was a Saint.
My step-father was a genial host, too, and never turned a hand to help. I still feel sorry for my Mom even though she is long gone.
wisewebwoman said,
February 6, 2010 at 1:45 am
Not to mention a whole pile of us squashed in all corners of the house so a bedroom (with ironed linen sheets) would be available for the grand visitors.
Oh the memories you’ve stirred up and not all good. The good part was the yanks would bring me clothes and american bangles and necklaces.
And they always dished out the money.
XO
WWW
Grannymar said,
February 6, 2010 at 9:35 am
Geri - Mammy’s face was a picture!
Darlene - 95% of the Yanks were wonderful and I look forward to making return visits someday.
WWW - I thought it would ring bells for you!
momma said,
February 6, 2010 at 2:42 pm
Big smiles on this one. Even today I scramble to clean , mop, and dust when I hear company is coming. Even if it is just family I try to look capable. At least I have help on the kitchen end of it from hubby. I really got a kick out of the colorful garden incident. So like brothers to elaborate your Mom’s wishes!
Grannymar said,
February 6, 2010 at 8:29 pm
momma - Thoughts of the flowers have made us laugh on many an occasion over the years.