A Woman Not Forgotten

Tall, racy, arresting and extremely talented. These are all words I’ve heard used to describe my grandmother. She was also intelligent, witty, charming and beautiful. Musical, artistic, compassionate and a former racing driver, she was unforgettable. I’ve spoken to people who remember her as a mystical woman who looked, sounded and acted like a film-star. One of my friends’ grans remembers mine shopping in her hat shop as a younger woman. She describes grandma as being always immaculately dressed and well spoken and buying hats which were the height of fashion: she looked stunning.

As a child, I can remember her distinctive laugh resounding across the marinas that we used to berth in on sailing holidays. I remember her singing and playing the piano – she had a fantastic voice and could make a piece of music come alive. She recited poetry and I remember still, being told “it’s milk, not mulk”. I can picture her talking to the parrot in the kitchen and it responding in exactly her voice, and can smell and taste the fresh pancakes laid out on a cooling rack on the breakfast bar.

Now, she’s a changed woman and, sadly, it’s years since I’ve heard that laugh. There’s very little now of the film-star persona and stunning beauty of her earlier years, but sometimes, just sometimes, that light still shines through.

Thinking about her now, I realise I know very little about her past: what she enjoyed, believed, how she spent her time. I’m not saying time is running out for her, but I no longer live just five minutes away and it’s more difficult now to spend time with my family and is only going to get harder. Before she forgets, or I forget to ask her, I’d love to know about that woman whom I barely remember from my childhood and before that. Above all, I’d love to hear her laugh just one more time.