Open Writing

My grandfather was a storyteller. Tall or true, we never knew.
A great tease, he loved nothing better than to tweak my nose, and show me it between his fingers. I would run screaming to my mother or grandmother. 'Grampa's pulled my nose off.' This was met by laughter and remarks like, 'Don't be silly, you know he's only teasing.' My mother told us the reason her nose was so big was that he had pulled it all her life. 'He's always been a tease. He teased me, and now he's teasing you two, and no doubt he'll tease your children, if he's still around.'

Our children, what did she mean?

If he were in the right mood, we would ask him to tell us a story. He would be sitting in his chair - a big padded wooden rocking chair - by the window, preparing to smoke his pipe. We would sit by his feet, and wait while he tapped the spit from his pipe, refilled it with tobacco, tamped it down, and finally lit it, coughing and huffing. This always seemed to take a long time.

When it was going to his satisfaction, he would be ready to start. 'Well, what story do you want to hear?' he'd ask.

'Tell us about the sixteen children,' I'd say.

'No, the crocodile story!' said Joy.

'Did I ever tell you about how I ran away to sea when I was nine years old?' he asked.

My grandmother, who was darning a sock, said, 'Are you sure, Ezra?'

He didn't answer.

'Oh no, we've heard that one lots of times, tell us about the Titanic.'

'No, I want the crocodile one,' my sister insisted.

'Well, I'll just tell you the children's names first, then I'll tell you the crocodile one.' He knew I loved to hear their names.

'Yes, what were their names, Grampa?'

'Well, you know they all came out of the Bible?'

'Yes,' I said.

'There was Obadiah, Ezekiah, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Isaac, Nebuchadnezaar.' He went through the list until he reached the last four—Amos, Enoch, Ezra, and Ruth. 'Enoch lived in England, and I wrote to his daughter, Brenda, who was only a few years older than me. His sister Ruth lived not far from us, and we saw her and her family frequently.'

'Why was there only one girl?' I asked.

'Well, there was another girl, but she died when she was born.'

I thought about my Aunty Ruth, one girl, with all those brothers.

'The crocodile, don't forget the crocodile,' cried my sister.

'Ah yes, the crocodile.'

My grandmother coughed. He looked at her.

'The ship I was working on had berthed at Darwin, and I thought I'd go off and have a look around. I was walking along the river, just admiring the scenery, and watching the birds, when this great big croc comes up out of the river.'

'Were you frightened, Grampa?' Joy asked.

'You bet I was. We stood there looking at one another, and I thought, you're a goner, this time, Ted. Then I sees this tree not far away, and I thinks to meself, can I get up that tree, it's worth a try? So I run to the tree, but there were no low branches, so I ducks straight behind it, and takes a quick look to see what the crocodile is doing.'

'What was he doing, Grampa?' I asked, although I know this story off by heart.

'Well, I think he thought he'd lost his dinner, but he notices me peering round the tree, and makes a great dash for me, but I whips around the tree, just as he comes up, and he's so big he can't turn around the tree, so off he goes again. Then he sees me again, and has another dash at the tree. This goes on for hours, until I think, I'm too tired, I can't dodge 'im anymore.'

'What happened next?' I asked.

'Well, I reckon that old croc was just as tired as me, after all that runnin' around he'd bin doin'. The next time I peer around the tree, I sees 'im disappearing back into the water. So I wait, until I figure he's gone looking for something tastier for his dinner, and went back to the town.'

Grampa looked at us. 'Don't you two ever go looking for crocodiles, will you now?' he warned.

'No, we won't,' we chorused obediently.

My grandmother coughed again.

© Shirley Henwood