I am fortunate to have been born into a medium-sized,
close-knit family. My early childhood was filled with love and joy. For seven
years I was the only grandchild to two sets of doting grandparents and my
great-grandmother. I wasn’t spoilt in a materialistic way but I knew I was
wanted, always welcome everywhere and people had time for me. By seven or
eight, I had been taught how to knit, how to sew on buttons and sew a line of
neat, tiny stitches. I wasn’t allowed near the dangers of a hot, steamy kitchen
but I could prick my fingers to death with a sharp needle – not too many times before
I got the hang of it. I gave everyone’s coal fire a wide berth, too. It is
basic, the security of a loving family. I hope I’ve provided the same for my
children and grandchildren.
I would like to nurture the same close relationship with my
grandchildren as I had with my grandparents and I hope I’m doing it right. I
have been home-schooling my eldest grandson a couple of afternoons a week since
lockdown rules eased enough for me to see him. Home-schooling sounds very
grand, but he only started school last September, just getting into the swing
of it, which he loves, then along came ‘the germs’ and shut down. We play
games, do lots of painting, drawing, colouring – this includes chalk, wax
crayon, pencils, felt tips and anything else I can lay my hands on. I’ve
recently introduced him to ‘The Cat in the Hat’ and ‘Green Eggs and Ham’,
excellent for practising phonics. He’s quite happy doing number work, he doesn’t
like writing much but we do a little bit. He enjoys being here, having me and
Grandad all to himself with no distractions from his siblings. It helps my
daughter out, as well. Families help each other, as it always was with our lot.
Now and again I dip into my family history. I’ve been doing my
‘tree’ for years. It can be hard work sometimes, going round in circles or
literally barking up the wrong tree. So many generations with the same first
name passed down. Children named after a dead older sibling. I’d never do that,
but it was quite common in the mid-eighteen hundreds. People had lots of
children, but so many of them died in infancy. Such losses in my ancestry have
saddened me. My grandparents were made of strong stuff. They lost a child at
three years old, before my mother was born. I was full of my own heartache when
they lost another daughter, my mother. Our family clung to each other and tried
to weather the storm.
It was hard when my mother died so young. It got harder
still when my father remarried to the point of being impossible, but I had a
close relationship with my maternal grandmother until she passed away, and my
god-mother, who is my rock to this day.
I lost a lot of people over a period of about ten years. It
is said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ve made it, so far. I suppose I'm the matriarch of my family now, with hidden strength and non-judgemental advice when required.
My babes
My poem, Family
There's cooking and cleaning and
The sound of children at play.
Infants having a squabble,
It's an ordinary day.
The strength of our family
Continues here, in our home,
A warm hub of love and care
Where everyone is welcome.
Everyone is important,
All are equal in our throng.
We look after each other,
Fam'ly is where we belong.
Somewhere to share a problem,
Always a listening ear
And a few words of wisdom
Help the worries disappear.
Family ties that bind us
Are stronger than any twine.
United in trust we stand,
I'm proud this fam'ly is mine.
PMW 2020
Thanks for reading, stay safe, Pam x
