‘Tough as old boots,’ she once said about herself.
When she moved down to live with us in Tea Gardens, it was so easy. She fitted right in, becoming part of the team and helping with the washing, ironing and dishes. There was this thing she’d do in the kitchen where she’d often throw her hands up in dismay saying, ‘it’s all so different…so much stuff! Where does it all go?!’
She was competitive and
impatient. ‘I don’t have time to be upset,’ she’d say. ‘I’m too busy!’ So off she’d
race off into town in her grey Ford laser, kicking up dust in her wake. ‘The
car just likes to go fast,’ she once explained. Off she’d go decked out in her
bowls gear, three times a week. Or Bingo, another favoured weekly outing where
she was a great player, often coming home with chocolates and other treats
She loved scrabble too and was
just as competitive there. A game was always welcome, but you did so at your
own peril! Even into her nineties she remained sharp as ever, taking no
prisoners.
It wasn’t long before we were
venturing down to the Country Club most Sundays for a game of social bowls. Those
years were a great way of getting involved with the Tea Gardens Community. People
in town still remember her fondly.
After Pa’s death, I travelled
up for the 90th Centenary of St Albans. First night I visited, we
took a taxi down to Carmel’s Italian restaurant for dinner. We had crumbed
prawns for entrée [Nan’s favourite] followed by sea-food marinara for mains. A
bit spicy for Nan - ‘you can have the doggy bag for lunch tomorrow,’ she said - but we enjoyed ourselves all the same. Then she was determined that we walk
home.
Half-way
up Hill Street, arm-in-arm, I asked how she was.
‘‘Oh, I’m fine!’ she replied
briskly ‘Been doing this for years! I used to push the pram up this hill when I
was pregnant with you mother!’
Fifty years later, she’s
walking up that same hill, with the son of the woman who was once in her
belly as she made that trek! I thought then, and still do now, how precious
Lastly, I recall her last words to me. ‘You have to let me go,’ she said. Yes, do have to let her go. But I cannot forget.
Rest in peace, dear Nan.
x
