Grannymar

Friend (F): Did you not go out tobogganing?

Me (M): LOL! I went ice skating instead. Snow is for young people, I was out for 30 mins today and an hour on 29th Dec.

(F): You won’t break any records with that!

(M): I don’t want to break anything.

(F): I Don’t blame you.

(M): I stood at the front door several times in the last week and my chest felt it was in a vice, it was not good I can tell you.

(F): Did you go out in the car today?

(M): A friend drove me. It is still very icy here.

(F): A toyboy????

(M): Not this time.

(F): Aaaw!

(M): My little neighbour has a bad chest infection and her water pipes are frozen. I took her down a large jug of water.

(F): Did you hear we’re facing water shortages here in Dublin?

(M): Nothing surprises me any more.

(F): Due to silly people running taps to stop pipes freezing plus breaks in water pipes!

(M): My sister has frozen water pipes – it is outside the house somewhere.

(F): Water pressure has been reduced around Dublin to conserve supply.

(M): Our water pressure is always reduced automatically in the winter months.

(F): We’ve lost internet connection here tonight.

(M): Remember how life was when we were young?

(F): I grew up in old house with no central heating only open fires.

(M): We have become so attached to the internet and central heating, how did we manage years ago? RTE 1 Television [only one station] - from 6pm to midnight or a radio the size of a wardrobe.  No mobile phones or computers, sitting round an open fire with our fronts scorched and our backs frozen! Shins covered in abc’s.  If you went out to get more coal, someone stole your warm seat!

(F): I remember it well. We had stone hot jars too for bedtime, jaysus, it makes me feel ancient! We had to put them in beds to stop them (beds) getting damp.

(M): Yeah, those days were awful. Frost on the inside of the windows, you got dressed to get into bed and then undressed and dressed again under the bedclothes in the morning! Oh! I remember not wanting to sit on the loo seat because it was so cold!

(F): ROFLOL!

(M): Stop laughing, it was no joke.

(F): You are telling me!  I still perch on one cheek sometimes ‘cos of the cold!

(M): I became a dab hand at sitting on my knickers.

(F): I dare you put that in a blog post.

(M): I will too! In the morning.

The moral of the story is never dare me to do something!

Darragh had a very sweet post yesterday about elopement.

I once left home.

I didn’t elope.

I accidently split my little brother’s head open with a garden hoe.

While mammy took him to Temple Street Children’s Hospital, in Dublin; I packed my bag and went next door and asked our neighbour if I could live in her house! She has now moved on to the next life and I am sure she is still laughing!

That same little brother got fed up with living at home, and who could blame him? He announced one day that he was running away, when asked where he would go; he said “I’m going to get the 72 Bus!”

Very ambitious family we were…. The 72 bus only went to Oxmantown Road.

He did eventually move away. He made sure the hoe could not reach him.

Little brother now lives in Melbourne, Australia!

The day was turning to monochrome as I helped remove the anorak on an early November evening. You could feel the frost on the grey green fabric. I tugged on the elasticised cuffs as the arms were pulled away from me. All the while the chatter continued and you had to listen carefully, because she would say things only once! Soon I had the coat in my hands and despite the outer fabric of the garment feeling like ice, the inside was as warm as a furnace. I held it close to me as I looked into the glowing face standing before me. Automatically I reached out to touch the rosy cheeks and almost squealed at how cold they felt.

Taking the coat from me she headed off to hang it up and find her slippers. I went back to the task in hand. The door burst open and she was back in the centre of the floor with hands on hips, and a very determined look in her eyes.

“Its Ok, I know!” she blurted.

“What do you know?” I asked as I continued to peel potatoes.

“There is no Santa Clause!”

“Who told you that?” I asked as I removed an eye from a potato.

“Lucy! She knows.”

“Well if Lucy says so, then it must be right” I say as I put the potatoes on to boil.

“There is no Santa!” she repeated raising her voice, a little surprised at my lack of interest.

“That’s fine, if you say there is no Santa, then there is no Santa! I believe there is a Santa and your dad believes there is a Santa. Wouldn’t it be terrible if Santa filled your dad’s stocking and my stocking, but left your stocking empty because you don’t believe in him? Now would you ever gather up your Library books they need to be returned tomorrow” I added quickly.

With the mention of books she was away as fast as she had appeared. Books were her world and her room was full of them. No doubt with the first book to catch her eye, the topic of Santa was forgotten. It was never mentioned again.

The weeks passed. The tree was decorated, presents bought, menus decided and the shopping done. All too soon it was Christmas Eve. Little Miss said her goodnights with the usual hugs and kisses and we trundled down to her bedroom for the bedtime story. About 20 minutes later I snuggled her down, switched off the light and came away.

Once she was asleep Jack and I set about leaving out the stockings and presents around the tree.

Before going to bed ourselves we always checked on her.

That was when I found this little beauty:

I always felt that I had no training for parenthood and that my efforts were very much trial and error. On day three of Elly’s little life I was politely asked to please stop talking to her by another mother. This lady was in a bed diagonally across from me in a four bedded unit of the maternity ward, she was breastfeeding on demand. Her problem was that her son stopped feeding every time he heard my voice. Such a pity his mum didn’t try talking to him as she fed him. I talked non stop to Elly from the day she was born, always calmly and quietly - even when she was asleep!

Day four brought another problem, passing the nursery (where all the babies slept) on my way to the bathroom first thing in the morning, I paused to gaze at my little bundle… but my precious treasure was not there! Suddenly panic-stricken, I am sure the colour drained from my face. Clinging to the window ledge I scanned all the baby cots to make sure I was not mistaken.

Elly was not there!

The Nursing Sister appeared from the nursing station and I turned to her with dread. “We had to move Elly in with the incubators last night” she said.

My heart sank. “What happened? Why didn’t you call me”?

“There was nothing wrong” she said. “You know we have two nurses in the nursery all night with the babies; well every time they spoke to each other Elly lifted her head. We moved her so that she would sleep.” Sister went on to say “When you get home I suggest you put Elly into her own room straight away or otherwise you will never get a night’s sleep.”

We did!

At nine months independent Elly showed her colours! She was in her high chair which was drawn close to the dinner table. I had her dish of food on her tray. Jack and I were eating dinner. I filled her spoon with food and tried to feed her. Stubborn Annie Elly refused my offering and closed her mouth tighter than a vice. I set the spoon down and continued with my own dinner.

Through the corner of my eye I saw a tiny hand lift the spoon and put it in her mouth. The empty spoon was returned to the plate. Waiting until the food was swallowed I tried once more to feed her. Again my effort was refused. Setting the spoon down on the dish I returned to my dinner. I watched as a little hand lifted the spoon and emptied the contents into her mouth. This pattern continued for the remainder of the meal and indeed for all meals until Elly was able to fill the spoon herself.

Elly loved stories and very quickly learned to read. The first proper book that she read was Winnie the Pooh by AA Milne and that was before she started primary school. Elly became an avid reader, as hungry for words as she was for food! At five she could read faster than I do even now! I did my best to feed her hunger with food for the mind as well as food for the body.

I hope I did a good job.

Ian asked me a question on 30^th March this year. He would be the first to tell us that some answers take time. This one did, but I at last have the answer.

Back then I wrote about this wonderful sculpture

At the time the only information I had was:

Brian Alabaster of Suffolk made this sculpture in 2003. His son Sam, a 15 year old boy with Downs Syndrome sits reading with his Grandpa, Dickie, who is 82, Sam’s dog Billy, age 10, is at his feet.

I received a comment to that post at the weekend. It was from Brian Alabaster, sculptor. ARBS. Sadly, he tells me that Grandpa Dickie has since died. The close bond between man and boy is so obvious in the work and I am sure Dickis is greatly missed by all his loved ones.

So to answer Ian’s question, asking if the piece was commissioned by the local council, I can now tell you it was purchased by the owners of Junction One Shopping Outlet after they saw it in Brian’s studio.

It was with great interest and curiosity that I visited Brian’s website and was fascinated at his back story. I immediately lost my heart to this piece;

If only I had a garden suitable for Lilly Luke and Rose to sport and play.

Now if you pause for a moment you can almost hear their chatter.

Enjoy!

Another leaf has fallen from the tree that is my life.

My sister phoned to let me know about the death this morning of a man who was part of our childhood. Small in stature, but big in heart, he was known and respected throughout the neighbourhood. You have heard about him before today, I talked about him here.

Mr ‘O’ was always helpful, always happy and smiling. He owned the local newsagents and sweet shop. We were allowed to dally for an hour before deciding how to get the best value for the pennies burning a hole in our hot little hands. “How much is a this Mr O”, or “How many of those for a penny” were questions always answered with patience and a smile.

When he knew that Jack & Grannymar, yes, it was always Jack first, were coming down to Dublin for a weekend he ordered an extra copy of Jack’s favourite English paper!

Sweet jars in a row like these will always be a reminder of Mr O. RIP.

I came across the instructions for Poor Mary last night.

It is a game that has a circle of children with hands joined and walking round another child (usually a girl) who is kneeling in the centre of the circle with her face in her hands. As they sing, she enacts the words:

Poor Mary sat a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,
Poor Mary sat a-weeping on a bright summer’s day.
On this carpet she shall kneel
Till the grass grows in the field
Stand up, stand up upon your feet
And choose the one you love so sweet.

At this point “Mary” chooses another child to join her in the centre of the ring and they join hands and walk round in the opposite direction to the outer circle, who sings:

Now you are married, you must be good
And help your wife to chop the wood
Chop, chop, chop!

With this ritual completed, the children change places and a new “Mary” takes her place in the centre of the ring.

I began to wonder if any young children played games like that nowadays. Allowing my mind to drift, I was back in my childhood and snippets of other childhood rhymes were released from the depths of my memory bank…

Ring-a-ring-o-roses
A pocket full o’ posies.
Atishoo! Atishoo!
We all fall down!

I wrote a letter to my mother, on the way I dropped it
And one of you has picked it up and put it in your pocket.
Not you, not you, not you, not you………

The farmer wants a wife, the farmer wants a wife
Ee - I - ally - o, the farmer wants a wife.

In and out the woods of bluebells,
In and out the woods of bluebells,
In and out the woods of bluebells,
My fair lady

The big ship sails through the Illy-ally-O,
The Illy-ally-O,
The Illy-ally-O,
The big ship sails through the Illy-ally-O,
On the last day of September.

The game of Two-Balls or Double-Ball was a favourite of mine. I played for hours bouncing the two balls off the coal shed door alternately, more or less juggling, while reciting a variety of rhymes. Whatever rhyme it is, the actions are usually the same, carried out at the end of each line on the rhyming words: “under” (underhand throw), “over” (overhand throw), “upsy” (upward throw - not on the wall), “raindrop” (underhand throw against the wall, allowing it to drop and rebound off the floor before catching it) and “bouncy” (throw down to the floor near the bottom of the wall so that it rebounds against the wall and comes back up to be caught.) After the rhyme has been recited for each different throw, IF the balls have not been dropped (in which case the turn passes to the next player) the whole sequence is repeated with just one hand, then the other hand.

Alas, the only rhyme for this game that comes to mind is

P.K, penny a packet,
First you chew it, then you crack it
Then you stick it on your pocket
P.K, penny a packet

What games did you play and can you recall the rhymes?

This Podcast tells the story of the power of love between a child and his or her favourite toy.

The Velveteen Rabbit

Sleeping Elly and Sammy

Sammy in his bag today

This is the story of a bag just like this. The one I talk about was black in colour.

While reading a post from Betty the other day called Sorry, wrong number, it reminded me of some calls I answered over the years. It gave me the idea to share some of them with you. Here I go stealing ideas again!

Back in the days when ‘The Telephone’ was a fixture like an immoveable feast, a time mentioned in a Podcast I made way back last February, I mentioned the fact that the phone was in the Hallway of our house near the foot of the stairs. No matter what hour it was or where you were when it started to ring, there was a charge of the Light Brigade to answer it. My mother was often heard to say “You sound like Guinness’s Horses!”

I actually remember the heavy rhythmic sound of the large Dray Horses from the Guinness’s Brewery as they pulled the heavy trailers over cobbled streets back to the Brewery at night. It was a comforting sound, heard as I lay in a great big bed at my (Dublin) Granny’s house on a summer’s night. Still daylight outside, the windows were open for air and the closed curtains with their large Cabbage Roses, billowed in the soft breeze.

Now back to my subject and the sample of calls to our house. We were taught to answer the phone with the number and not a name.

11.40p.m. Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: ****** (Number)
Caller: The Gardai are outside. Click.

11.41p.m. Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: ****** (Number)
Caller: Close the Bar, CLOSE THE BAR! Click.

11.42p.m. Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: ****** (Number)
Caller: Close the Bar the Gardai are outside. Click

We got calls for a Pub that was at least two miles away on a regular basis half an hour after the official closing time at night. Our phones numbers had the same digits but in a different order. There was no point in complaining, as the callers never stayed on the line long enough to find out their mistake.

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: ****** (Number)
Caller: Is that **+**+?
Me: No, you have a wrong number.
Caller: Well if it is a wrong number, why did you answer it? Click.

Then there was the night…

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Brother No.2: ****** (Number).
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah. I only heard one side of this conversation!

Brother No.2: I’m fine, how are you?
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No 2: When did that happen?
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No.2: Were you very late?
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No.2: How did it go?
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No.2: You miss me. Really!
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No.2: How much?
Caller: Blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Brother No.2: Mmmm! I think I better get my Brother before you tell me any more secrets. Nice talking to you!
Caller: I will NEVER phone that house again!

That call actually went on for 45 minutes without the young lady realising she was talking to the wrong brother. She and brother No.1 celebrated 40 years of marriage last week. Well done both of you and I wish you bliss and trouble free phone calls for the next forty years!

Nowadays when I get an incoming call for a number that is not my own, it might go something like this:

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: Hello
Caller: Would Joe be there?
Me: I think you have the wrong number.
Caller: Oh! I am very sorry for disturbing you. Click.

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: Hello
Caller: Would Joe be there?
Me: Well I hope not, or my husband might not be well pleased! (I never tell them my husband died)

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: Hello
Caller: Can I speak to Joe?
Me: Hold on while I check, I set the receiver down and walk deliberately and noisily away……

Minutes later

Me: Are you still there?
Caller: Yes, is Joe there?
Me: I checked under the bed and there is no sign of him!
Caller: Click.

Ring-ring, ring-ring…

Me: Hello
Caller: Would Frank be there?
Me: Is he good-looking?
Caller: Why?
Me: Well if he is good-looking and a toy-boy he can stay!

I bet you are glad you don’t ring my number!