Open Writing

During the school holidays I always went to visit and stay with my mother's parents at Wynyard. Gran and Grandad lived in a comfortable little weatherboard house on the corner near the railway station and the airport. Grandad was a World War 1 Veteran.

Dad would see me safely on the Tasman Limited at Ulverstone and I would travel by train alone to Wynyard, where Grandad would meet me. I remember Grandad looking old as usual with a mop of silver grey hair. He didn't ever seem to change. As a very young child he would put me on his shoulders and we'd hurry home to Gran.

Gran, a tiny woman with glasses and her hair tied up in a bun, would greet me with a huge hug and then I'd start to explore and look for new things that perhaps had changed since my last visit. Charlie the canary still whistled as well as he did before, Fluff the beautiful grey Persian still loved to sit on my knee in front of the fire, there were bantam chicks in the coop, the vegetable patch was there in the same place, I could still balance and walk along the cement front fence smelling the flowering currant bushes as I balanced and carefully went from one end to the other.

Gran still allowed me to put the milk and bread money (taken from little tins on the mantelpiece) out for the deliveries, collect the mail as the Postman blew his whistle and I could still mix the pollard for the ducks. Grandad still cooked me my favourite brown eggs in a little green enamel saucepan. We three would sit at the table in the corner to share a meal served on the blue willow patterned china as before, I'd still carry the morning sticks in for Grandad, gather the eggs and feed the hens and ducks—nothing had really changed. Each night the three of us would sit by the fire and talk, sharing stories. There was no TV in those days. I was still loved and there was always peace at Gran and Grandad's. I loved them dearly.

But come the next day, Gran asked me to go to her special drawer in her bedroom dresser.

'Bring me the flat hanky box' she asked.

I carefully carried the little treasure out to Gran. When she lifted the lid, my eyes opened wide, for I saw, so neatly placed and each very flat, perfectly new five pound and larger notes. Gran gave me a hug and a five pound note.

'Take this over the road and give it to Auntie Thelma. She has something for you.'

Hardly able to wait for the surprise, I ran to Auntie Thelma's (not really an Auntie but a dear friend of Gran's) and gave her the five pound note. In return she came from the bedroom with a mauve grape-coloured overcoat with fur trim on the collar and sleeves and a half belt at the back. I put it on, pulled the collar close and hurried back to Gran's. I couldn't wait to show my new coat, a gift from Gran and Grandad. I treasured that coat, though later I learned that it was second hand. I valued that coat as if it were gold and it seemed to fit me for years. It wasn't one of many colours but it was one given with love of every kind.

I often wonder how long it took for Gran and Grandad to save that five pounds and even though they've been gone from my life for many years, my love for them is still as great as it was then and I feel their presence every day.

© Jan Rodman