A Hell of a Woman

I wrote this post last year for the lovely Rhiannon on her blog for a feature called ‘A Hell of a Woman’.  My Gran is currently in hospital yet again and at the grand old age of 92, I don’t know how much longer she’ll be around.  I’m going to visit her this afternoon so I’m framing this to take to her.  I hope she likes it:

My Gran Is a Hell of a Woman
grandma 2

My ninety-two year old Gran is a hell of a woman and I love her to bits.  When I was

Younger, she taught me how to bake and delicious smells always wafted from her kitchen.

Gran’s was the place to go for amazing home-cooked food, the spinning armchair and a

Roaring fire…whatever the time of year.  When we stayed overnight, my brother, cousin and I

All slept in the same room as my Gran and Grandad, my cousin and I top-to-toeing in our cosy camp-bed.

Never one to complain, my Gran would work tirelessly, cooking and cleaning the house until

It was spotless.  She saved me word searches from the newspaper and came to every

Sports Day, cheering us on from the side-lines.  I could chat to Gran about anything and she was,

And still is, brutally honest but very fair.  I used to go down town with her every week and

Help her with her shopping; she introduced me to all her friends as her ‘little helper’ and

Everyone knew and liked her.  We would walk round shops and markets, my Gran willing her arthritic

Legs to go faster but always staying cheerful and positive.  They took the three of us on holiday to

Little family-run B&Bs in Blackpool and Morecambe and we’d walk along the promenade or take a ride

On a tram, always with a tasty treat in our hands.  My Gran and Grandad took us on picnics,

For paddles in the river, for country walks.  We’ve sat playing Dominoes, she taught me how to knit, she was

Always there for me.  I’ve sat crying with laughter with my Gran, like the time she patched my uncle’s old jeans…

With a patch accidentally cut from his new ones.  My Gran has a wicked sense of humour and a surprisingly

Open mind for someone of her generation.  My Dad tells the tale of when she used to work in a

Munitions factory and resigned when they started making parts for guns because it went against her principles.  She’s

A hell of a woman, my Gran.  She’s weaker now; she’s lost her lust for life and wants to die.  When she does, I know I’ll

Never forget her.  My husband says I’m like her.  I hope so.  If I’m even half the woman she is, I’ll count myself lucky.



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