Friday the 13th. Unlucky for some. Not my Nan. She's 97 today. Yes that's right ninety seven. It's a bit like when the the old vivy printer in Final Score would have to spell the figure when a team won 7 or 8-0 (Seven or eight Nil) Because no-one could believe it. Ninety seven. Exceptional isn't it?
Born 13th April 1915. It was a Tuesday, in the Bryn, Llanelli, Dyfed, South Wales. The country was in 1st World War and David Asquith was Prime Minister followed quickly by David Lloyd George (A welshman, therewarthen on it there). She was one of 10 children, they churned them out back then.
She has lived in Llanelli all her life, is as tough as teak and proper welsh llanelli old school Nan. She is Super Nan. Sharper than the rest of us, doesn't miss a trick and the queen bee of Brynmoor Road.
She has witnessed some incredible changes in the world. It is a different place now. We have things like Argos. She can't quite understand Twitter but is very Grateful 'Freeview' was invented so she can Get Midsomer Murders in the afternoon.
She has cooked fresh nearly every day for her life, always hand washed clothes, swears by Nivea cream and Cod liver oil. Never drank other than the occasional Bristol Cream at Christmas, never smoked, always wore a house coat and lived within her means. I think the whole interest free credit passed her by. She lived by old fashioned values taught to her by her Mammy and Daddy.
She has lived in the same house for 73 years and in that time has cooked 296,567 Sunday Roast dinners, 897,966 Rock Cakes and said 'Therewarthen' 3.4million times. She is a star. Everyone loves her.
She is an avid watcher of the news. And is a mine of information. Forget Twitter or Ask Jeeves, just Ask Nan or Nitter (silent K) and she is a particular fan of Loose Women. She speaks in an ultra broad Welsh accent and gets the occasional thing wrong. For instance she feels sorry for those long distance HIV drivers and thinks anyone with HGV is a 'poor dab'. She likes Michael Portaloo on BBC and now and then loves a Cubicle of Chocolate.
Her house is immaculate and even the parlour (or front room) looks like a showroom, though it is never used. Even the Vicar wasn't allowed. I think the only one allowed in that room would be Terry Griffiths, the home town boy. Otherwise known as 'Terry' to Nan.
Neighbours are talked about in hush tones, like they're listening and her capacity for tenuous links in gossip is incredible, "Mrs Jenkins' carer, Sally, her daughter went to school in Dafen with Kelly's youngest, anyway Michael from Number 24 saw them the other day in Princess Street. They were with Mrs Morgan from Pughs. They were visiting Dai Bach. He's ill. Poor dab."
She always stuffs money in my hand when i visit, she is a total giver and carer. Hard working, humble and loving, but would never say it. She liked to send cards with footballs or trains on the front even when i was into my 30's, and always used to hum and sing when she was going up the stairs. A Habit passed onto her daughter (my Mum). She loves boiled mints and always had a bigger supply than Rowntrees. Always asking the immortal phrase "Do you want a mint in your mouth?" - AS opposed to where Nan?
Her cakes and Victoria Sandwich sponges were legendary. As was her Christmas cake, Bread and Butter Pudding, Ham and Parsley Sauce, Rice Pudding, Welsh Cakes and homemade Chips. Bread and Butter was placed on the table at every meal time. Old school.We always used to put on a stone in 2 weeks when we went to stay in Summer holidays as a kid. She was never happy unless you were eating. Welsh women are feeders
"Want a sandwich?"
"No thanks Nan, I'm OK"
"Rock Cake?"
"No Nan, I'm stuffed after the Roast Dinner at 11am"
"Have a Breakaway"
"No thanks"
"Blue Ribband?"
"No"
"Have a Kit Kat"
"No Nan, I'm full"
"Biscuit?"
"No"
"Rich Tea, that doesn't count?"
"No thanks Nan"
"Digestive?"
"No"
"Fig roll?"
"No"
"Garibaldi?"
"No Nan, i'm stuffed"
"Ok then, if you're sure"..............
,.......................................
"Crisps then"
Ad Infinitum, a relentless attack of food offering. Overeaters and bullimics heaven, or is that hell?
I can still see her dentures in the old Stork Margarine tub by the sink, The kitchen smelling of Nivea cream at bed time. I can picture her old shopping trolley in the conservatory, the old copies of Llanelli Star and Roy of the Rovers, her cleaning in her housecoat and popping into a room you were in and saying 'therewarthen', like a Welsh gap filler. It was a word that meant absolutely nothing but said so much.
In short she is adorable. The day has seen a steady flow of visitors, paying respects and wishes. The Kate and William commemorative plate had to be moved from the mantelpiece to accommodate the cards. 5 lots of flowers delivered and the phone going all day. She is well loved.
I suppose that's what happens when you have been so respectful and lovely to people throughout your life. It is given back. Though i won't tell her i nicked her Barley Sugars last week.
She is old. of course. Her health failing and it must be hard to lose the fierce independence you had. She is a proud woman. Never complains. Never shows pain and has taken to using the phrase, 'chilling out' in the afternoon, which for a Welsh 97 year old nan is superb. I am hoping after Watching The Voice she is going to start using the term 'dope'
I think we miss a lot of people my Nan's age. Forget to listen and spend time, respect. Learn from. She comes from an era where life was simple. No credit. You lived within your means. Family was key. You didn't moan, complain and were grateful for your lot. Grafters and humble, No ego, no bullshit. You didn't talk about emotions but showed love. No fussing but maintaining standards. Immaculate house, clothes (or 'rigout' as she calls it - AKA outfit)
Simple life which in some respects is so alien to the world in which she lives now, where it seems everything but Simple. Ipads, Passwords, Logins, User names, Credit, Hire Purchase, APR, congestion charge, Obesity, additives, microwave fast food, Disability allowance, housing benefit, teenage pregnancy, unemployment, bus lanes, speeding cameras, VAT.
She comes from a time where you worked, spent what you had, cooked fresh and saved for a rainy day. Simple. Now it takes 2 hours, 3 continents and 6 electronic voicemails to call my Bank/electric/phone/energy/cinema/anything. Life is so fucking complicated sometimes. I sometimes think they had it sussed back in the day.
So i look at my Nan and i salute her. I salute anyone born from that era. I salute her attitude, her spirit, her gratitude. I salute her stanner stair lift and how she just loves 'Chops'. I salute everything about her because she's my Nan and i love her, the only thing i don't salute though is she always seems to have more Everton Mints than Humbugs these days in her little mint tin by her reclining chair with Burberry cover. Those little bastards are evil. Come on Nan. I know you're 97 and everything, but sort it out No-one likes an Everton Mint. Humbugs are where it's at. Everton Mints are Britain's Got Talent and Humbugs are the Voice. Everyone knows that.
So Happy Birthday Nan and to all your Nans readers, dead or alive, raise a sweet sherry or a Mint Imperial and salute The Nan. They're ace
xx
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