I remember about once a month granny Violet would come to see us. We loved a granny Vi visit, me and sis. She brought homemade jam tarts and buns and swore a lot. My step grandad smoked his pipe and talked about ‘the ring road’ and the way they would drive back to Leeds without hitting traffic. My mum always looked like she couldn’t wait for them to go .
There’s a family rumour that Grandad Bill may have abused my mum when she was younger. With hindsight this would explain things but she never looked that bothered, just irritated by them.
Granny Vi had this hair piece she wore on the top of her head. It was like a little brown pancake. Stuck to her little head with clips. I cannot imagine where you would by such a thing today. She had long curved, rock strong, witchy fingernails and she advocated the use of Ambre Solaire factor 2 as facial moisturiser. A smell that will always take me back to safe times.
She was a woman of grit, hardness and little love that she could show. But she was a safe place. She’d sit for 20 mins pinching the bridge of her nose when she had a migraine and say she’d be ok in 10 then go back to making cheese and onion pasties with cheese sauce in time for our Stephen to get in from work.
But that’s another story