Big Nan Loved a Sequin

“I’m keeping the mint sauce jug! I know! When am I ever going to have mint sauce? But I just can’t! It’s the mint sauce jug. All those Sunday dinners!”

My sister had been through the kitchen of my parents’ house to see what she wanted to keep and now it was my turn.

“Oh, look,” I said pulling two tall glasses with red and blue flowers and a black rim from the glass cupboard, “Long hot summers. Coke float.” The memories flooded back and she decided to keep them.

The problem with stuff is that memories attach to it and memories are precious. You can touch a fairly ugly glass and suddenly be freewheeling down a country lane in 1976 on your second hand bike with the annoying beads attached to the spokes, breaking the silence of the hot day with the constant rhythmical clattering. The sound sends pheasants springing up from the edge of the heavy wheat field, through the oil-like haze rising from the tarmac beneath your wheels. You are imagining the coke float that your mum will make you, using her new soda stream, when you get back.

We have exchanged contracts on the house and have until the 3rd of January to get everything out. No one else is worried about this time frame, so I’m sure it will be fine.

The other day I was reminded of my grandparents’ Golden wedding anniversary and I wrote that my Nan was in a sequinned outfit. As I wrote it I thought, “Big Nan bloody loved a sequin.”
This seems a strange sentence to pop into your head but it is true.
Growing up, we had two Nans. My mum’s mum (little Nan) and my dad’s mum (big Nan).
There was a significant difference in size. Big Nan must have been 5ft 10 and a size 16, with the most comfortable shelf-like bosom that gave you a hug within a hug. When resting she would place her folded arm on top of her bust.

By the time my sister was born Nan and Grandad had moved into a seniors assisted living complex, where the bathroom smelled of Lilly of the Valley bath salts and had a big red handled cord for emergencies. There was a communal hall and lots of opportunities for joining in. When I stayed I loved going to the events and talking to all Nanny’s friends. They were so interesting, with so many stories. Grandad took great pride in learning how to call the bingo.
“Everyone knows two fat ladies is eighty eight but you have to know that in a sate is number 28 and dirty Gertie lives at number thirty.”
One of my greatest accomplishments is winning a huge bar of Dairy Milk at bingo, although thinking back, they have rigged a win because I rarely got a single line.

Big Nan enjoyed all sort of crafts. She taught me to knit (no mean feat, as I am and always was the clumsiest person). One of the classes she took was making pictures by winding sparkly thread around pins. From that she progressed to her favourite craft, which was sewing sequins on felt and adding embroidery to make pictures. Pushed right at the back of the under stairs cupboard we found the picture that Nan had given to Mum and Dad for Christmas one year.

“What are we going to do with that?” I asked my sister. “I not sure I can throw it away. It’s the memories.”
She agreed.
“Actually, I could let it go if I just took a picture. Mum and Dad couldn’t have liked it or it wouldn’t be shoved in the back of the cupboard.”
“No. They loved it,” she insisted.
I suspect it will have pride of place over her mantelpiece and every time I visit I will be reminded that Big Nan loved a sequin.