In five weeks time, I’m going to be a grandmother for the third time. Its a role I love – and I’ve managed to get in plenty of training and practice with grandchildren numbers 1 and 2.
It’s grand to be ‘Gran’ – though my favourite people call me Grandma, not Granny, Gran, or Nan. I like to feel I’m an original grandma (don’t we all?). These days I read about amazing sporty grandmothers who do bungee jumps and climb Everest, or trendy yearning-to-remain-youthful grandmothers who wear lace hot-pants and drive Lamborghinis. More traditional grannies, cuddly with huge bosoms, bake cakes and knit bobble hats and there are ancient grans who can be spectre thin, dotty and forgetful, who wander round in mauve slippers. I can fall about laughing at Catharine Tate’s ‘Nan’ on youtube, without in any way wanting to emulate her appallingly foul-mouthed character. I like to think that I’m an active grandma who laughs a lot with her grandchildren and reads them scintillating stories using a full range of vocal fireworks. I’ve no idea what they think of me – but I hope that they don’t find me dull!
My own grandmothers were very different from each other. My maternal one was very beautiful, ran a gambling club in London but sadly died aged 46 on the day the war ended, May 8th1945 – a year before I was born. My paternal grandmother had a large family and lost her eldest son (my uncle) in 1916 on the Somme – he was 19. Decades later my brothers and I used to go her house in Woking and play Mahjong. Diminutive but indomitable, she lived until she was 99.
Upon finding myself elected to grandmotherhood four years ago, I decided that I wouldn’t want to be a glamorous gran with sparkly jewellery or become a super-gran who ran marathons. But I am a grandma who can wear jeans without looking gross and who can swim like a fish. I wear glasses but not granny glasses. I do NOT and never will wear granny pants. I have been persuaded to carry a granny brag book – so I can at long last compete with all my friends who have been boring me rigid for years with endless photographs of their dear little Samantha, (a musical prodigy), gorgeous George (destined to become a celebrity actor/chef/game show host ) and Harry (who is clearly going to play football for England). With my sailing background, I never ever tie a granny-knot instead of a reef-knot, and now that I’ve swallowed the anchor and am into gardening, I know what a Granny’s Bonnet is – an Aquilegia Vulgaris, a very pretty flower in spite of its name.
There are memorable Granny icons: the witty and acerbic Dowager Countess of Grantham, the superb actress Maggie Smith herself, Grandma Moses – the American folk painter, and the wonderful June Whitfield – the disapproving but tolerant grandmother in AbFab – who died last year aged 93. Famous glamorous grannies ‘Glam-mas’ include Jane Fonda, Jane Seymour and Sophia Loren. Recently a film came out entitled: “Bad Grannies” in which gun-toting grannies create mayhem. Perhaps this film was intended to be some sort of revenge for the victims of granny-bashing – the assault or abuse of elderly people.
I aim to a grandma who never runs out of hugs to give my grandchildren or stories to tell them. I want to be able to play grandmother’s footsteps with them when we are all a bit older. I am currently a grandma who works for a property company, writes books, and plants trees. Perhaps I might one day earn the right to be given a button with ‘TGIF’ on it (‘This grandma is fabulous!’), which I will wear with pride.
My new book, a novel due out in the autumn, features an older protagonist – a grandmother. ‘Dear Magpies’ is the story of Josie who has been searching for ten years for her grandchildren, who have disappeared on the other side of the world. She is not at all like me, nor is she like any of the other grannies mentioned in this blog. But, like all of them, she is completely original.