Nan's Funeral: Memories

 ‘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 90^th 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