Revised - Something She Did

Something she did

The warm light of a June morning streamed through the church’s East window as the vicar looked through his notes.

I thought again about the reading I’d asked to do for Nan in front of my relatives. On my lap were a few lines I’d pulled together at the Bed and Breakfast the night before, but I was hoping for further inspiration

It had helped going back to Nan’s old house for a bite to eat before the service. Bringing back thoughts of the time Dad had brought me and my brother to live with Nan and Grandad in their chocolate-box pretty, Suffolk village. The idea had been Nan could mind us whilst Mum got over her illness, and Dad could concentrate on working to pay the mortgage.

In front of me to the left, I noticed my cousin Dee: Oftentimes companion of my stay at Nan’s, as her family lived only a couple of miles away from the village. I wondered what she was thinking about.

The vicar began, “She was a member of this parish…who seems to have spent most of her life as a mother and a housewife…”

As he spoke, he put his elbows on the lectern to study his notes, taking me back to the times when Dee would come over to Nan’s for tea with her sister Bea
and Uncle Pete. While we ate Dee would always have something funny to tell me, so I’d lean forward to hear her above the adults chatter. As soon as my elbow touched the tablecloth, they’d be a sharp little cough and I’d look up to see Nan frowning at, “Such bad manners!”

Just then Uncle Pete got up and walked quietly to the back of the church, past the font, and out through the open door. Before the service, he’d seemed quiet, not his usual chatty self. I guess he needed some air.

I looked back as the vicar continued. “People might say things like ‘she was only a housewife’ as if to say she did nothing with her life except stay at home.”

I had to admit to myself, she did have cooking skills useful for home making.
She could make a wonderful jar of strawberry jam from fruit Grandad grew in his allotment-sized back garden. And there was her wonderful apple pies and other sweet puddings for the making of which I’d be shooed out of the kitchen so I didn’t eat too much of the pastry.

But I didn’t want to paint Nan as some sort of domestic goddess, though the word ‘domestic’ did remind me of the disagreements she and Grandad sometimes had.

Like how upset she would get with Grandad when he came in the house straight from digging up something for lunch, “Walking in my nice clean house with your dirty garden boots on!”
He couldn’t deny it, but Grandad sometimes tried to tease her about her cat and how she doted on them. Not a fan himself as he hated how they’d dig up his garden.
“Do you know,” he’d say,” She won’t buy cat-food from the village shop, it has to come from the supermarket in Lowestoft!”
“My good man,” she’d reply, “You do know it’s cheaper to buy it there than in the village!”

A cough from the vicar got my attention again, “…and what would we do without those who selflessly dedicate themselves to looking out for our children and our homes?”

I looked around at my family and couldn’t see my cousin Bea. I pictured the days she’d arrive in the short road outside Nan’s house: Her and Dee nestled inside the sidecar with Uncle Pete and Aunt Marge’s on a large motorbike. Come to think of it, Bea hadn’t been at the house this morning either.

Turning back I saw the vicar signalling for me to come forward. So I walked to the front put my notes on the lectern and looked out at the friendly but expectant faces. Then, feeling more nervous than I’ve ever felt before, took a deep breath and started.

“I wanted to say something about Nan although until this morning I have struggled to think of something apt to say. Whilst I was waiting for the funeral cars to come to Nan’s old house, I looked with Dee through some of Nan’s things, and under a pile of photo albums we found a coloured newspaper print of the young Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.
I’ve been sitting here wondering if she kept that print for forty plus years as she felt an affinity with that mum, who gave up any career ambitions to be of service to her family. And whilst I wouldn’t say Nan ruled over her household, there were often times when she had the final word in her considered but assertive way.”

“One time I remember very well was a wet and windswept night when I was about ten years old and had walked back to Nan’s house with my Dad and brother. Somewhere along the way I’d tripped into a puddle and was dripping wet as Nan opened the back door.
Nan joked, ‘What have you done to him?’ as I stepped inside, but Dad didn’t see the joke. ‘He’s my son, I’ll see to him!’ he said, taking hold of my hand and starting to direct me – none to happily – past Grandad, and towards the kitchen to find a towel I guess.
‘Well!’ Just one word from Nan but it spoke volumes to all present about how she felt. Suddenly Dad dropped my hand, and Nan whisked me upstairs to find a towel and a change of clothes.”

Stepping down from the lectern, I started walking back to my seat with my notes, but then I heard the confused tones of the vicar behind me,” Now where is it? I’m sure I had it just here…” and realised I had his sermon with me!
As I walked over to hand them back, I wondered if Nan would have seen the funny side.

When the sermon finished, I walked out of the church and saw Uncle Pete on his mobile phone. He still looked distracted so I let him be and started to walk on – but he called me back.
“It’s okay,“ he said, “It’s a girl. Bea’s had a girl! I’ve been so worried… it’s been a really difficult birth.”

“So”, my Uncle Pete added, “We may be saying goodbye to one member of the family, but another one is coming to join us!”

The End