Farty's Fortunes

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Grampa

I don't really remember Granny Ethel, except that at one point she was alive and at another, Grampa lived alone. There must have been a funeral and such, but either I wasn't invited or it's all blurred into insignificance.

Most of my memories of Grampa come in drips and draps, but what I do remember clearly is that whenever we visited him out in the colonies, Grampa always served us kids lime cordial and soda water from an old glass siphon as a special treat. It tasted terribly bitter but it made us feel very privileged to be waited upon like that, so we always drank it all up. I don't recall if we were ever allowed to operate the trigger on the siphon ourselves, but somehow I doubt it.

Grampa had red hair, combed back from his forehead - which, now I come to think of it, is how I wear mine, including the ever-increasing bald patch, but so far free of liver spots. I think I have Grampa to thank for my little-remaining-hair-not-turning-grey genes.

Of course the one, truly lasting memory was of the fucking enormous tigerskin rug sprawled across the floorboards in his living room. It had a fearsome snarl permanently frozen on its face, and its staring glass eyes had us absolutely terrified. Grampa would smile and pat it on the head reassuringly, but I was too scared of those long, sharp teeth.

If there were any bullet holes in it, you'd think I'd remember that, right? Nope. I guess he must have strangled it to death with his bare hands then. Grampas are awesome like that.

TigerI'm reminded of Grampa every time I look at my mouse mat, for some reason.

7 comments:

I've Been Mugged said...

Ooh. Am I first?

I remember my Grampa. He smelled of Bells and Peppermint.

john.g. said...

Nice touch Mr. F!!

Mr Farty said...

IBM - Funny the things you remember about people, innit?

John - Fanx.

TwistedScottishBastard said...

Strange how some sensory memories bring back a lot of others.
I can remember the smell of my Granda's bed in his little house in Airdrie.
The smell of warm flanelette sheets and embrocation (My Granda was a steel worker, and came home tired and sore every night, only having the kitchen sink to wash up in)

I still miss him, even after 50 years.

Mr Farty said...

TSB - Exactly!

Guyana-Gyal said...

How I enjoyed this post, Mr. F. The healthy relationship between little children and older folks is so underrated.

I know that feeling...waiting to be served and fussed over even though the drink tastes bad.

Y'know what else this post makes me think about? That for all our tough-mouth adult talk now, we were vulnerable little children once.

Mr Farty said...

GG - Thank you kindly. Being a grandparent is great.