Aunty Lily Read online

  “Here you are, Governor,” he said and handed Granddad his hat. “You take good care of your granddad,” he shouted to us as he swung back on to the bus.

  I remembered Mother’s directives from the night before, and I said, more sharply than I intended, “Our Granddad can take care of himself!”

  Granddad looked a little taken aback, but then his face eased into a smile. “I could do with a nice cup of tea,” he said. I was about to pick up the suitcase, but then I thought better of it. The word “independence” rang in my head like an alarm.

  “Right oh, Granddad.” John and I skipped down the street as Granddad struggled valiantly with his suitcase. We opened the gate for him and Mother came rushing out of the house. She hugged Granddad, and then looked crossly at the suitcase in his hand. “Eh, up, Dad, they never let you carry your own suitcase!” She took it from him and placed it on the ground before us. “What kind of children are you?”

  I was about to explain about independence and feeling useful, but the tight, thin-lipped expression on her face warned me against it. Pointing to the suitcase, she said, “Put that in Granddad’s room—and no ifs, ands, or buts.” Then, she led him into the kitchen where he could rest while she made him his cup of tea.

  With a great sigh, I looked down at John—his plump, red cheeks were scrunched up so that his eyes were lost in a nest of lines. He was a study of confusion and incredulity. With a great sigh, I said to him, “John, when you get to my age, nothing an adult says or does will make any sense whatsoever.” And then with a weariness beyond my years, I stooped to pick up the suitcase, knowing that understanding the difference between dependence and independence would be as difficult as understanding the difference between being told I’m taking too much apple crumble and me thinking it’s not enough!

  The Adventure

  WHEN GRANDDAD CAME TO LIVE WITH US, we knew our lives would never be quite the same again. He made his presence felt almost immediately. As soon as we had installed the last of his belongings in the front room, which was to be Granddad’s living room and bedroom, we gathered around the kitchen table to have our tea.

  Granddad eyed us critically and turned to father and said, “Albert! These children have pasty faces!”

  “They do!” agreed my father.

  “What they need is some vigorous exercise!”

  “They do!” agreed my father, who was a man of few if treacherous words.

  “Right, I’ll take them on a good long walk tomorrow.”

  We could tell by the look in Granddad’s eye that argument was futile and our fate was sealed.

  The next morning I woke up bright and early. I needed to go to the lavatory, but I think it was more the excitement of knowing Granddad was in the front room that made me wake at such an ungodly hour. As I passed by the front room, I noticed that Granddad’s door was open, and I peeked in to see if he was awake. I got a bit of a shock because in the bed was a head and a pair of feet. He was so skinny that in between—where his body should have been—the bed clothes were perfectly flat. More surprising than this was the missing walrus mustache. Granddad had a beautiful white mustache of which he was inordinately proud. Now his head was thrown back, his mouth was wide open and the beautiful, walrus mustache had disappeared.

  While I was pondering this mystery, a great exhalation of breath burst forth from Granddad’s mouth accompanied by a low deep moan not unlike the noise a seal makes, “Hooonnnkkk!” And out with it shot the mustache. It hovered over Granddad’s cavernous mouth with its exposed pink gums and then quickly disappeared with the next rapid intake of breath. I watched it re-appear and disappear a number of times before Mother stole up behind me and boxed me on the ears. “Stop being so bloomin’ necky!” She firmly closed the door.

  “Sorry, Mum!” And I went outside to the lav’. I hurried up. It was freezing cold and filled with spider webs. When I came back in, Granddad was dressed and was having his first cup of tea of the day. I sat by him and we had tea and toast together. I loved watching Granddad eat. He had no teeth and each time he chewed, his face collapsed in the middle throwing nose and chin onto a dangerous collision course.

  One by one Richard, Katherine, and John came down for breakfast. When everyone had finished, we set off on the threatened walk. We glided down the garden path and sailed into Charnwood Avenue, a flotilla with Granddad as the figure head looking magnificent in grey felt trilby hat, grey suit, and a blue waistcoat with a gold fob watch in the pocket. He carried an ornately carved walking stick. What had started out as an expedition had turned into an exhibition and Granddad was the main exhibit! We walked up Charnwood Avenue, turned into Highway Road, and went all the way to the train bridge. We thought this was far enough, but it wasn’t far enough for Granddad. He said we could watch one train and then we’d be on our way.

  We climbed up and poked our heads over the metal side of the bridge. Soon, a train arrived with a thunderous roar, swallowing us in a great cloud of smoke. Our eyes watered and our throats burned but we never let go until the last carriage was beneath us. Then, we yelled, “Jack-in-the-box, Jack-in-the-box!” until the guard appeared and waved to us with his smoked-stained flag. When we jumped down, our faces were speckled with black coal dust—we looked like four escaping desperadoes. Richard let out a bloodcurdling yell and ran off. We set off after him as fast as hares climbing over stiles and crawling under hedgerows. All the time, Granddad plodded behind us with the relentlessness of a tortoise. We must have gone for miles before John and Granddad began to tire. Granddad sat down on an old tree stump. “We’ll sit here and rest a while, and then you can show me the way home.”

  There was a stunned silence. “But we don’t know how to get home,” said Katherine in a small, frightened voice, and the awful truth dawned on us that we were lost.

  We had never been lost with an adult before and it was very disturbing. John started to cry loudly. “Hush now,” said Granddad. “It’s not as bad as all that!” Granddad, however, had removed his hat and was mopping his brow nervously. When Katherine’s lip started to tremble, he rallied to the occasion. “Right oh, Richard. You’re the eldest. You look after the little ones and I’ll go off and find out where we are.”

  He set off leaving us feeling quite optimistic until he disappeared over the brow of the hill, and then we sat and waited in a desultory silence, broken occasionally by sniffles from Katherine and heaving sobs from John. We waited an awfully long time. Shadows grew across the field and swallowed us in a chilling gloom.

  Suddenly, Richard leapt to his feet. “What’s that?” We listened. There was a thin whine which got louder and louder until suddenly it burst into a roar and a tractor came over the hill. It was pulling a hay wagon and sitting on the top bale of hay was Granddad waving his trilby and brandishing his stick. It drew up alongside us. “Climb aboard my hearties,” Granddad cried looking positively piratical. “We’re traveling home in style.”

  We clambered aboard and the tractor roared to life, the bales of hay shifting precariously beneath us.

  “Hang on,” Granddad cried. He was laughing delightedly, his mustache disappearing and reappearing like puffs of smoke from a train. The ride became a little more sedate when we reached the road, but Granddad became more animated and he started to sing, “Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves.” The farmer joined in. “Britain never, never, never shall be slaves.”

  As we turned down Highway Road and into Charnwood Avenue, we could see Mother standing at the garden gate waiting anxiously. She looked furious, like mothers do when they’re relieved to see their children safe and sound. As we trundled down the street, kids ran out of their houses and skipped behind the hay wagon singing along with the farmer and Granddad. Granddad waved his stick like a campaigning politician and yelled, “The sun never sets on the British Empire!” The tractor rumbled to a halt in font of our house and we jumped off. Mother and the farmer helped Granddad down. She thanked the farmer.

  “Oh, that’s all right,
me duck,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the bloomin’ world.” She waited until he was gone before she turned on Granddad. “I thought you were taking them for a walk?”

  “A walk, Barbara?” Granddad looked offended. “It wasn’t a walk, it was an adventure! An adventure!” The kids cheered as he winked at us and walked down the garden path swinging his stick like Charlie Chaplin.

  And for us the adventure continued, but not so for Mother. Granddad’s behavior, which had always been erratic even at the best of times, became worse. However, it was his increasing forgetfulness that worried Mother. Granddad loved to do the shopping, but one day he set off and didn’t come back for hours and hours. Eventually, he tottered up the street after the Unicorn and Star, a public house of low repute, had closed its doors. He had lost the groceries but had found a large, red faced lady who kissed him shamelessly at the garden gate. On another occasion, he set off with John in his pushchair5. This time he remembered the groceries but had lost John whom we found a few hours later fast asleep in the alley by the butcher’s shop. After that, Mother insisted that one of us children had to go with him to keep an eye on him. Not that we minded, because we never knew what might happen.

  One Saturday morning, I had to go with Granddad to the chemist’s to get his prescription filled. We walked down Charnwood Avenue, down Redhill lane, and as we turned into Melton Road, we passed by some terraced houses. The front doors came to a point at the top like castle doors and were close together like soldiers in a row. As we walked by, Granddad muttered to himself, “Perfect! Perfect!”

  “What is Granddad?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We went to the chemist and got his medicine, but when we came out, Granddad slipped into the hardware store before I could stop him. He came out with a clothesline. He chuckled all the way to the terraced houses where he became deadly serious and started peering in at the windows and listening at the letter boxes6.

  “Granddad! You’ll have us arrested!”

  “Eh, up! You’re worse than your mother, Jen.” The accusation hit home and I found myself peering through Mrs. Smith’s keyhole. “Mrs. Smith’s home,” I whispered.

  “Same here. These’ll do.”

  Granddad took out the clothesline and measured off a length and cut it with his penknife. He gave one end to me. “Tie that around the doorknob.” I did as I was told while Granddad tied his end to the other door knob. When we finished, the line stretched between the two, neither too tight nor too loose.

  “Right! When I count to three, Jen, you knock on that door as loud as you can. Ready? One, two, three!”

  I pounded on my door. He pounded on his. Then, he grabbed my arm and dragged me across the street where we could watch without being seen. Mrs. Smith opened her door first. It didn’t open very far and as soon as Mrs. Preston opened her door, Mrs. Smith’s slammed shut. Mrs. Smith opened her door again, and Mrs. Preston’s slammed shut. We watched the doors open and close, open and close until Mrs. Smith stuck her foot in the door and yelled, “Eh up, you little monkeys, come and untie this string or I’ll give you a bloomin’ thick ear!” Of course, no “little monkeys” appeared and the only way for the two women to get to the front doors was to walk along the back of the houses and into the side alley. While they were doing this, Granddad and I slipped into Redhill Lane unseen. We giggled all the way home. We were still laughing as we walked into the kitchen.

  “What have you two been up to?” demanded Mother suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Right, Granddad?”

  But Granddad wasn’t laughing anymore. His eyes were glazed and he looked lost and frightened. “I can’t quite remember, Barbara.” Then he shuffled off to his room to rest.

  Of course, it was all my fault. “See what you’ve done, Jen. You’ve overexcited him. It’s too much for him.”

  Mother’s concern at last turned into a genuine fear that maybe Granddad’s mind was beginning to go. As far as we kids were concerned, there was no doubt about it. We knew his mind was beginning to go and what’s more we knew exactly where it was when it went. It slipped from the constraining world of adult reality, slid into the childhood world of his past, and arrived effortlessly into the childhood world of our present. Each slip was an adventure that we hoarded like pirates hoarding stolen treasure. It was like having an accomplice the same age as ourselves, but whose advice had the weight of a whole lifetime’s misdemeanors behind it.

  I had the dreaded Miss Hacket for geography that year. We called her the Hatchet because she had a sharp, hooked nose and a vicious tongue famous for its verbal lashings. I was determined to play a trick on her for April Fool’s Day, but what to do? I decided to consult the expert. Granddad’s eyes lit up. He thought for a few moments and then whispered, “Bring me a piece of chalk.”

  After school, I brought home the chalk. “It’s blue Granddad. It’ the only piece I could find.”

  “Let’s hope she has to draw a map with lots of rivers.”

  “We’re studying the Amazon,” I replied.

  “That’ll do!” Granddad giggled like the school boy he had become. He took out his penknife and opened up a long, thin attachment and began to bore a hole into the end of the chalk. He worked furiously like a man possessed. Then, he took a box of Blue Swan Matches from his pocket and inserted a match into the hole—the blue of the match blended perfectly with the blue of the chalk. He gave it to me as though it were a stick of dynamite.

  The very next day was April Fool’s Day. I could hardly wait for geography. At last, fourth period arrived. I walked into the classroom and surreptitiously replaced the blue chalk on the board with my loaded stick and then quickly took my seat, for the Hatchet had arrived. She sliced into the room and eyed us suspiciously before she began the lesson. She went on and on about the Amazon. Almost half the period had gone and she still hadn’t drawn the map yet. “Dear God,” I prayed,” please let her draw a map.”

  At long last, she walked toward the board and picked up the white chalk and drew the outline of South America. My heart was beating so loudly—Boom! Boom! Boom!—I felt sure everyone could hear it. Then, the Hatchet picked up the blue chalk—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!—and in one, fluid stroke drew the entire length of the Amazon River. Suddenly, there was a horrible crackling sound and the chalk burst into flame. With a scream, she threw it into the air. It flew above our heads like a flare, and when it landed, she jumped on it pounding it into a pile of blue dust. The image of my head under her heel flashed across my mind for just a moment, but I couldn’t think about that now, for all the kids were crying:

  “April fool! April fool!”

  I had never seen the Hatchet look so angry. Her eyes were slits, her nose a meat cleaver.

  “Who is responsible for this?” Her voice was glacial, freezing the smiles from our faces. “You will all be punished unless the person responsible owns up.” The words fell from her mouth like shards of ice.

  I had no choice; slowly I raised my hand. “I did.”

  The Hatchet smiled a thin, blood chilling smile. “Come with me.”

  I was given three whacks with what was euphemistically called “the slipper,” the size twelve gym shoe that was used to dole out punishment to both boys and girls alike. Then, I was sent home in disgrace. The Hatchet’s fury paled in comparison to my mother’s for no member of the Blount family had ever had the slipper. I had single-handedly lost our unblemished reputation. After I had suffered the full brunt of her anger, I was sent early to bed with no supper. I assumed Granddad had forgotten his part in the crime because he didn’t mention it. A few months later, however, he must have had a flashback or something of the sort, because one morning when I took him his tea and toast, he turned to me and demanded, “Well, what happened with the chalk and the Hatchet?”

  “Oh, Granddad! I wish you could have been there. The Hatchet was like an avenging angel dousing the flames of hell.” At school, Miss Turner had read to us from The Pilgrim’s Progres
s and it had made a tremendous impression on me. Suddenly, I became aware of Mother standing at the door with more toast for Granddad. Her lips had disappeared into two straight lines. “I might have known Granddad put you up to that. It’s just the sort of juvenile, hare-brained, dangerously stupid thing your Granddad would come up with.”

  I turned to Granddad expecting his face to be radiant with pride, but it wasn’t. His eyes had that glazed, glassy look, and his face was as blank as a plain sheet of paper.

  It wasn’t long after this that Mother came up with the idea of draughts7. Draughts, she reasoned wouldn’t be too exciting, but would be enough to keep Granddad busy and us out of trouble. Thus began our daily battles over the draught board. Now at first, when Granddad was winning all the time, everything was fine. But as I became better at the game and started winning, the situation deteriorated rapidly. Granddad was worse than a spoiled child and couldn’t bear to lose.

  “Barbara,” he shouted one day, “she’s cheating!”

  “I’m not cheating, Granddad, I’m winning.”

  “Same thing!” he roared, stomping out of the room and threatening to pack his bags.

  Mother came running, wanting to know what the matter was. When I explained, she was most indignant. “You must let him win!” she cried.

  This was a revolutionary concept, one that—in the dog-eat-dog world of our neighborhood—I had never contemplated before. Mother coaxed him back to the table, and I started to let him win. If such a thing were possible, Granddad was worse at winning than he was at losing. He crowed and gloated over his victories, howling horribly when I purposely made a mistake. But at long length, after winning constantly, boredom set in. Granddad began to tire of the game. Mother became frantic trying to devise new ways to keep Granddad occupied. Father, in his usual quiet way came up with the solution. “It’s not long ‘til Christmas,” he said. “We’ll have a Christmas party.”