To me, this figure looks like a boy listening to a story being told. It reminds
me of a great storyteller in my family. My Grandma.
Every friday night I used to go to Grandma's house. She'd be waiting for
me, sitting in her pink recliner chair, with her fluffy slippers on and with
some knitting at her side.
I'd arrive in time for the end of Emmerdale, so there was only time for a
quick chat before Coronation Street, followed by a quick channel change
for Eastenders. Grandma's cupboards were always full of biscuits and
chocolate, which she'd won that week and Bingo, so we'd sit and munch
through them, our eyes glued to the tv.
After the soaps I'd rummage through the sideboard cupboard and bring out
the shoe boxes. These old flimsy boxes were full to the brim of old
photographs; sepia photos of Grandma as a little girl, of my granddad's
parents and grandparents, of my dad and aunty as children and of family
events when I was only "a twinkle in my dad's eye".
I'd sit listening intently to all her stories. Sometimes I'd heard them before,
but often she'd reveal something fascinating about her past. My favorite
story was of her dressing the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret in their
girl guide uniforms and pressing the button in the shop lift for Queen Mary.
We once decided to write some of these stories down in a "Grandparents
Book", with me asking Grandma questions about her life and writing them
down, but we soon found there wasn't enough space to write everything!
At ten o'clock Dad would come to pick me up. He'd have a rummage
through the shoe boxes too. With him sitting in the armchair and me on the
arm, we'd all laugh for ages listening to his stories of him as a mischievous
Although I went to Grandma's every friday, I never grew tired of the stories.
I could have listened to them all night.
We never managed to finish Grandma's book, but I think I've heard the
stories enough time to write them down myself.
Maybe I'll start one friday night....