Mum’s sorted out the final bit of my gran’s funeral today, as she met with the celebrant this morning to discuss my gran’s life so that he can come up with some sort of eulogy to send her off.
I asked her if she wanted me to be there, and was told that it wasn’t necessary. But then, throughout the day I’ve had random texts of things that she’s thought of or thinks that Chris, the celebrant, has misunderstood certain elements of what he’s been told. What this means, then, is that I have to wait for mum to get an email and then read through it all – in conjunction with my mum – in time to get it back to Chris for the funeral on Tuesday.
Oh yeah, and my mum’s off to the Lake District tomorrow for a few days.
So that makes all that easy.
I’m not even really sure what sort of stuff she’s come up with as stories anyway. Grandma was always something of a fun sponge and didn’t really do much in the way of anything. She stopped going into Bromley, for example, years ago when she was helped onto the bus by a black man.
She was so disturbed by the fact that a man of a different colour had helped an old lady onto a bus that she couldn’t travel any more.
I’m not sure if that’s in there. It bloody ought to be.
Like the fact that she couldn’t pass a body of water – pond, river, lake. reservoir or sea – without walking alongside it and toppling in. Usually while holding on to my sister in some way shape or form. We became convinced, as a family, that it wasn’t down to clumsiness but was in fact a long-running plan to drown my sister which never came off. My sister remained non-drowned and my grandma broke a leg in the process.
Or the fact that, for several years until my dad found out and put a stop to it, my gran was paying or had paid for her neighbours to a) have new windows, b) an allotment and c) a duplicate of any items which they popped out to pick up for my gran – lightbulbs etc – but always a more expensive version. This is not due to my gran being generous, it’s due to her being the most gullible woman on the face of the planet and her neighbours being nasty, devious con artists. Oh, and the rental on their garage.
I’m not sure, either, that it will be mentioned that she was really protective of all the men in her family to the point where she would actually hate the women they were associated with. This includes, while she lived with my parents, hitting my mum with her walking stick every time she went past her and at one point threatening to give her a bloody good hiding.
I hope, though, the fact that my grandma lived in three houses on the same street makes it in there. One house had its roof blown off by the Nazis, and then she lived in another house a bit further up the street with her parents before moving to the next door house a little later on.
It’ll undoubtedly be mentioned that she was in the Land Army though. For about a month before it turned out she was allergic to soil or something (true fact). That’s one thing every single person who ever came into contact with my grandma knows. It’s where she learned to drive a tractor. A skill which she never put into use at any other time in her life, but one that she needs to tell everyone about. Repeatedly.
And it can’t go unspoken that she had a demonic doll.
Although chances are, it will show up and dramatically thrown open the doors during the service.