Granny

Howie's sitting on the sofa, with a tray of beans on toast on his
lap. Six foot three of Yorkshire man, with his long blond hair, Viking
blue eyes and Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt. He's sitting on the sofa at my
house, and Granny has popped her head round the kitchen door. "What do
you have in your tea, dear?" she asks him.

"Milk and two sugars please, Mrs. Haston" he replies. I stand looking
at him in surprise, as he gives me a broad grin. One which reads that
he's pleased that he doesn't have to cook when he gets in. Coupled with
well what I could do? Your nan made me sit down while she made me some
dinner.

"Now dear, what are you going to have?" she asks me superfluously,
mainly to impress Howie with her generosity of spirit. Because she's
far more interested in feeding him!

She's always like this when a man comes round. There's quite a few
young men that come round, for they're my friends. And after years
incarcerated at girls' schools, I've found myself part of a big gang of
boys. Granny's always trying to set me up with one of them, but she
reserves a special place for Howie. "Ooooh, I love Yorkshire" she coos.
"You can get some nice little houses up there, and they have the most
lovely accents."

Your point being, Granny?

"You should always marry your best friend, Emily" she counsels. And one
of my best friends is Howie. I can't say owt against me nan, as Howie
would put it in his Northern English vernacular. Well not to him at
least.

Years later, I'm sharing a flat with some of his friends, and I'm about
to start an intensive driving course at my work. Granny rings up to
lecture me on getting an early night, but I'm not in. Howie takes the
call. "Your nan says you've got to eat t'tea and get t'bed early" he
warns me.

"On no, what else did she come out with?" I cringe.

But Howie isn't having it. "It's only because she cares, Emsk."

When there were workmen at the flat downstairs, Granny sent me down
with a big tray of tea, coffee and appetizing comestibles. "Thanks
love" they grinned. The lady who owned the flat they were working in
had not rustled them up such snacks, for she was at the office. No
doubt they were grateful to a world past, so exemplified by the kind
old lady, where men were cosseted.

And in return, men couldn't do enough for my grandmother. She had no
sons, but two daughters. Plus a grand-daughter who could have been an
extra child. With son-in-laws who flitted in and out of family life,
like Hollywood starlets do marriage vows, it was small wonder that
Granny honed in on young men.

One day, I said I'd do a few household chores for her. Changing light
bulbs and fitting plugs, which in her book were so-called male chores.
I couldn't make it when I'd said I would, but arrived to find the jobs
completed nonetheless. "Who did them?" I asked, impressed. Had Granny
decided that it was never too late to change a light bulb?

Not at all.

"I got a man to change the light bulbs" she effervesced.

"Hang on a minute Granny? which man?"

"Oh I don't know dear, he was just a man walking down the road. Nice
young man" she explained. Granny had gone out into the street in her
slippers, and stopped the first available man. I don't doubt that she
offered him a cup of tea as well!

I was shocked. "Granny, you could be inviting anyone into your
house!"

"Oh, don't be so silly Emily! He was a nice man, he wasn't going to
hurt me" Granny said dismissively. "Anyway, when are you going to meet
a nice man? Mind someone else doesn't snap that Howie of yours up. Then
you'll be sorry, and I'll say 'I told you so.'"

Yet again, I cringed. "Granny, Howie is my friend, that's all."

She sure had the family monopoly on being toe-curling. My mum has
stacks of stories of Granny showing her up, when she herself was young.
Like the time when they were having lunch together in a nice
restaurant. In 1960s Scotland, eating out wasn't as run-of-the-mill as
it is today. All was well until Granny loudly asked the maitre d' where
the bathroom was, explaining that her teenage daughter needed to use
the lavatory.

Or many moons later, shopping in London. Granny and Mum got to the
pedestrian crossing as the traffic lights went green. The red man lit
up, reminding walkers to stay put. But as the drivers went into second
gear, Granny looked at the red man and decided that now was the right
time to dash across the road. She answered the fury of the braking
drivers with a smirk, and saw my mother's face turned redder than the
red man.

Now she was wearing that same smirk again!

"Anyway Granny, I don't need a man." I wanted to impress her, for her
to know that I was self-sufficient and that she needn't worry about me.
"I'm a modern woman. I earn my own money AND I do all my own D-I-Y. So
there!"

"Oh Emily" beams Granny. "I think a man is a TERRIBLY useful thing!
They can lift heavy boxes, put up shelves and take you on lovely, long
drives in the country."

"Oh Granny, I can do all those things as well, and I enjoy doing them.
Now, didn't you want your front doorbell to work?"

That was so many years ago now, and I've learned since then. Granny was
right. I can do all these things by myself. After all, didn't she?
Without women like her, there wouldn't have been a Britain to come back
to in 1945, and not much of a world for me to have been born into many
years hence. Granny and her girlfriends ran the country capably and
without complaining. But they sure missed their friends, the guys. Just
like I would have done.

I get on top of a chair, prise open the doorbell coverlet and change
the batteries. Granny puts the kettle on and watches me with
admiration. "Thank goodness I've got an Aries girl!" she says.