KD Rambles, including Grandwitch thing


Gone fishing
My Grandmother predicted the day she would die!................Okay…she got it wrong, but she sort of had the right idea :D

I’d like to share the memories on here as it’s rather amusing, but I have a tendency to ramble so will do it in installments:eek:

First I need to tell you a bit about my grandparents. You see, they were kind of weird.

My Grandmother was a bitter woman; she could never quite get over the fact that she wasn't the Queen of England. She was obviously more than just a mere mortal and lived in hope of it all becoming apparent to everyone until she died. :confused:

She constantly berated me - my nose was the wrong shape, my back wasn't straight enough, my hair wasn't as pretty as her friend’s daughter’s hair. I spoke with a Dorset accent! How could I? What a terrible let down to the family name and please could I not speak in front of her friends.:rolleyes:

My Grandfather was the sweetest man in the world. A talented artist and calligrapher, loved children and loved me most of all. He looked a little like Santa Claus (without the beard), though he couldn't have been very old when he died. He had this very round face, with red cheeks and kind eyes.

My Grandmother could never understand him.....he actually liked people....she found this to be almost impossible to live with.

He always doffed his hat to members of the public and wished them a good morning. Very irritating for my Grandmother, who wouldn't dream of speaking to the general public.

Anyway, getting to the point. My Grandfather used to invite people in for a cup of tea. The bin men on Monday, the coalmen in their black berets and smothered in coal, on Tuesday, the milkman, baker, you name it they came in for the Mr Brown treatment.

He would say "Good morning Sir, you must feel quite worn out and needing a rest. I've made a cup of tea, please come and join me". (grandparents were kinda posh you see :)) and these 'commoners' would join him, every week, With their grubby hands and their cockney accents (London people), my Grandmother would find them drinking out of her best china and sitting on her chair.

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oooh trio next bit please :D
Hang on....just coming
When he died, the church was at it's fullest. Children came and spoke about how much he'd be missed. It was a sad day. My Grandmother outlived him and spent the rest of her life with few visitors but of the highest caliber. She was occasionally visited by her 'wonderful, intelligent grandsons', and frequently visited by her very stupid, uneducated Granddaughter (me):eek:. I was with her when she died and many people breathed a sigh of relief when I announced her death. Very sad.

Whoops. Jumped a bit...:eek:

My Grandmother was supposedly ‘in touch’ with the other side. Not anyone from the other side, oh no, she was in touch with famous people of the Western world, and the highest-ranking Indian chiefs.

One day she announced to the family that she would die in her bed on the morning of 12 October that year. She had this on the highest authority (of course) and she needed to be prepared. This was most interesting as she had always led me to believe that she would die in the Post Office collecting her pension. I had been warned that I must be there when it happened if I was going to make any effort to be a dutiful Granddaughter, but no, it seems that plans had changed, she had be told otherwise, alternative arrangements had been considered.

My Mother wasn’t quite sure how to take this news, should she take her seriously? Meanwhile my Grandmother started planning for her death. The funeral was paid for in advance (with instructions), the will and testament written, most of the furniture sold, pictures of my brothers were given to me so I could hopefully learn to be as wonderful as them.

Pictures of me were sold for the value of the picture frames obviously:rolleyes:
Then there was the letters that had to be sent out the day before. The one to the Doctor stating “by the time you receive this letter I will have departed from this world and you’re to blame ” type of thing. Then
there was letters to the hospital, ex-friends etc also blaming them for her passing away. The cleaner was ordered to come the night before to clean the house and say her last farewells.

More to follow.......................need to get a few more letters for my keyboard :D

wow trio, you tell a great story, I look forward to reading the rest in the morning - hurry up and get some more letters for that keyboard!! :D
Thank you ma'am. I'm no bard, but it is kinda funny so I wanted to share.

More tomorrow :D
OH no!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to be away from my pc til Monday lunchtime - I cannot enjoy my time off without knowing what happened!!!! lol
Karion - you write brilliantly - trust me, I was a teacher! Lol

MORE MORE MORE! (From the crowd)

My Mother’s job was to go in on the morning of her death and call the funeral directors at 10:00am precisely, but not until my Mother had laid out my Grandmother, ready to receive the mourners.

So the morning comes and we rise early. My mother felt that it was my duty to come with her, she was cross with me as I felt I was too young to ’lay out’ a dead person, and she thought that you can never be too young to learn the skill. I was gone! Out the door like a flash. I didn’t enjoy Grandma visits at the best of times.:rolleyes:

I remember running over to a friend’s house. I was worried and cried most of the journey. I had no options, no choices…that’s what I hated the most about childhood. I always felt I was between the devil and the deep, blue sea. If I returned immediately, I’d just get a swipe and would have to go anyway. If I left it until it was too late to go, I could guarantee myself 24 hour penance in the coal shed and I hated that.

For the moment though, I was safe. I would go to my friends and pretend this wasn’t happening. I did have this nagging doubt that if she had died, there was still a chance that she would visit me in her purest, most transparent form.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t face visiting her body, I ran to my friend’s house. When I got there I tried to cover up what was happening. It was so much easier than trying to explain, but in the end I couldn’t hold it much longer. I remember my friend’s mum telling me my Mum was barmy. Okay, this was true, both my Mother and my Grandmother though highly intelligent, had a history of mental illness, but both were very good at concealing this to the rest of the world.

I think most people knew that my Grandmother was completely out of the loop, but my mother was much smarter than that. People respected my Mother. They came to her for advice. They didn’t call her ‘barmy’:eek:

I was shocked and even more upset. She was my ‘normal’. Mums weren’t barmy. Everything they did was right; for our own good. Especially my Mum. She had done so much 'for my own good' :eek:I had never heard anyone speak ill of her, though I had seen a few raised eyebrows which I couldn’t explain.:confused:

If my Mum was barmy as accused, then I wasn’t safe. No..no..I couldn’t face that. I was devoted to my mother at that time. I knew I had to go home and face the music, but I really didn’t want to see my Grandmother’s body. Anything but that. 24 hours in the coal shed. Easy...much better alternative. I'd hang out for a while...go for a walk and return when my mother had gone.:)

F***ing hell, sweetheart!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Enormously big hugs to you!!!!!!!!!!

(I know a little bit about where you're coming from - but not to your extent!) Sheesh!

Can you bear to tell us the rest?
Oh no Issy. I'm fine. Came to terms with it a long time ago. Seeing the funny side of it now. No need for hugs...but thanks anyway:)
Phew! It's funny what we can accept as adults, isn't it?

I remember vividly feeling angry as a child that I had no control over the madness going on around me. Best thing I could do was to keep schtum and sit in my bedroom and read!
I’ll digress for a moment if you don’t mind. You see I still had very vivid memories of my Father who had died very suddenly in his sleep not long before this. I was 13 at the time. My Mother woke me with the devastating news and explained that he was in their bedroom, in bed and I must go to see him (if I so wished) before he was taken. Of course I would wish it, she seemed to think:rolleyes: Much that I loved my Father, I did not want to see him dead! I didn’t want to look at anyone dead!

I was told that my brothers had already done this and now it was my turn. I was to go in, remove the sheet, give him a kiss, talk to him and put the sheet back before leaving.

I remember going into the room absolutely terrified. The rest of the family stood outside (for support I’m told) though they insisted on closing the door so I could have some privacy with my Father. I don’t think I have been so scared in all my life! I sort of leaned forward and stretched one arm out and quickly removed the sheet from his face. I tried to get it back just as quickly but I had dropped the corner and it was laying across him and I didn’t want to get that close. I sort of grabbed the corner quickly and threw it back over his face and ran into their wardrobe shutting myself in:D

I’m not sure what good I thought that would do though. I knew they were all outside, so I spoke to my Dad from inside of the wardrobe I told him I loved him and apologised for what I had done to his vegetable garden etc. By the time I had finished apologising for everything I decided that it would probably be a safe enough time to come out and face the family who were waiting. I never did tell them that I confessed while inside the wardrobe :D

Anyway, back to dearest Grandmother. So there I was yards down the road in the company of a very old gent who shared a love of music boxes with me, and there my Mother was wondering whether she should just turn up at my Grandmothers house without me or phone to see if she'd answer. Anyway, if she did answer, then what would my Mother say for a greeting, or even worse, could she be sure it was my Grandmother in the flesh or just her spirit talking. She went to the phone box and phoned, no answer, she phoned again, no answer. She decided that she must go over there. She rang the doorbell, no answer. She let herself in and called out, no answer. She went into the bedroom and found the bed empty. Not knowing what to do now, she went to Grandmother’s neighbours. They hadn’t seen my Grandmother that morning and hadn’t seen her since the day before when she was seen posting a rather large quantity of letters ;)
Hang on...fingers worn out:D

Need a coffee;)
You are a master story-teller in the style of Dickens! lol

I've got my penny - can I have another chapter, puhlease? lol