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My Granny was born on Nos Galan Gaeaf (the night before winter) otherwise known as Halloween. It was a dark clear night and its magic cast a spell on her.
She grew up poor but was surrounded by love. She was taught skills that we often forget to value. She could pull together meals from bare cupboards, she could sew dresses, knit cardigans, skin rabbits and her homemade pastry was crispy, buttery heaven…and the chips, the proper lard, chip pan chips.
Gran had worked behind the bar when she met my granddad, she was a brilliant barmaid. Traditional,
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friendly and (when required) a little fierce. She worked two jobs, raised three children while keeping her home immaculate and was a wonderful friend. She threw the best parties at her front room table; where the food never ran out and there was always a drink for passing visitors. Her home was filled with laughter, warmth and love. She was one of the strongest and wisest women I’ve ever met. And I got to be loved and guided by her into my adulthood. I was so very lucky.
We lost her nearly five years ago. Cancer.
It came quickly and took her
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peacefully on a dark clear night like the one that brought her. The pub where she had met my granddad had its windows boarded, its bar sat dusty and silent. She died in her bed, which sat in the front room. We had granted her her final wish and now the party was over.
I married my husband on the Friday and buried my Granny on the Monday. It was hard, so hard that I’m crying now as I write this. We set out her place at our wedding breakfast and put a photo where she should have been. Because I knew she was there in her own way. Gran had spent over
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two decades keeping me safe and she trusted my husband to take on the role. She was free.
My Granny had lived over 50 years in number 16. But before that number 16 had been home to someone else’s Gran. My husband’s. It was like our paths were set to cross. We chose to buy the house and make it our home.
It took nearly two years until I felt ready to change anything in the house. Anaglypta wallpaper, 1970’s gas fires and floral carpets. It was her home still and I wasn’t ready to let it go. I wasn’t ready to not see the spot of carpet I sat
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on while she put rollers into my just-bathed hair and showed me how to unpick an unwanted jumper to make a fashionable cardigan. One day, the boiler broke and we had no choice. It was time to face it.
I started with the fireplace. The fireplace where birthday cards had sat, where the shining brass candlesticks had never held candles, where photos of her grandchildren had smiled back at her across time and space. As I took it slowly apart, I found over 40 knitting pins all lost over the years. But then I found something much better. Almost a message
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straight from her: I stripped back wallpaper layers like layers of time, and found graffiti left by our families past, solidifying the magic and colour of our past.
Now when I cook in the kitchen the smells remind me of her and when there is a busy crowd at my table, with laughter and love…
Its like Nos Galan Gaeaf
Its like my wedding breakfast
She is sat in the empty seat smiling.
She is the magic of 16.
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Beci Newton - 5 Jun 16
My Granny was born on Nos Galan Gaeaf (the night before winter) otherwise known as Halloween. It was a dark clear night and its magic cast a spell on her.
She grew up poor but was surrounded by love. She was taught skills that we often forget to value. She could pull together meals from bare cupboards, she could sew dresses, knit cardigans, skin rabbits and her homemade pastry was crispy, buttery heaven…and the chips, the proper lard, chip pan chips.
Gran had worked behind the bar when she met my granddad, she was a brilliant barmaid. Traditional, friendly and (when required) a little fierce. She worked two jobs, raised three children while keeping her home immaculate and was a wonderful friend. She threw the best parties at her front room table; where the food never ran out and there was always a drink for passing visitors. Her home was filled with laughter, warmth and love. She was one of the strongest and wisest women I’ve ever met. And I got to be loved and guided by her into my adulthood. I was so very lucky.
We lost her nearly five years ago. Cancer.
It came quickly and took her peacefully on a dark clear night like the one that brought her. The pub where she had met my granddad had its windows boarded, its bar sat dusty and silent. She died in her bed, which sat in the front room. We had granted her her final wish and now the party was over.
I married my husband on the Friday and buried my Granny on the Monday. It was hard, so hard that I’m crying now as I write this. We set out her place at our wedding breakfast and put a photo where she should have been. Because I knew she was there in her own way. Gran had spent over two decades keeping me safe and she trusted my husband to take on the role. She was free.
My Granny had lived over 50 years in number 16. But before that number 16 had been home to someone else’s Gran. My husband’s. It was like our paths were set to cross. We chose to buy the house and make it our home.
It took nearly two years until I felt ready to change anything in the house. Anaglypta wallpaper, 1970’s gas fires and floral carpets. It was her home still and I wasn’t ready to let it go. I wasn’t ready to not see the spot of carpet I sat on while she put rollers into my just-bathed hair and showed me how to unpick an unwanted jumper to make a fashionable cardigan. One day, the boiler broke and we had no choice. It was time to face it.
I started with the fireplace. The fireplace where birthday cards had sat, where the shining brass candlesticks had never held candles, where photos of her grandchildren had smiled back at her across time and space. As I took it slowly apart, I found over 40 knitting pins all lost over the years. But then I found something much better. Almost a message straight from her: I stripped back wallpaper layers like layers of time, and found graffiti left by our families past, solidifying the magic and colour of our past.
Now when I cook in the kitchen the smells remind me of her and when there is a busy crowd at my table, with laughter and love…
Its like Nos Galan Gaeaf
Its like my wedding breakfast
She is sat in the empty seat smiling.
She is the magic of 16.
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Mother of two. Wife of one. Other titles include firefighter, cheese lover, outdoorsy, chatty and annoying.
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