'Granny'

It’s strange how grief reminds you of the smallest little things –

Like Granny’s homemade curtains, or her disgust of kitchen bins.

Walking on a clifftop in her knitted woolly hat,

Or her constant, lifelong battle against every type of cat.

Finishing the crossword in the Telegraph at speed,

Her Mary Poppins handbag full of everything you’d need.

Her famous Yorkshire Pudding, and her Lemon Meringue Pie;

Her ability to recognise a bird high in the sky.

And when the dickie-birds, as they inevitably would,

Came down to feed on bacon rind, she’d give them all she could.

Because, despite her smallness, she was generous and sincere

And behind her quiet persona – hid the force of Boadicea!

Full of contradictions, Mary didn’t like to drink,

But made you drink another beer, while she stood at the sink.

She loved to ‘see the sea’ – but she never learnt to swim;

Made bucketsful of sandwiches – then gave them all to him!

Johnson’s baby lotion – and coal-tar soap,

Lunchtimes and The Archers – and tomato soup.

Her wicked sense of humour – her BBC,

John Lewis up in Oxford Street – a lovely cup of tea!

The kisses that she blew to you as you went on your way,

Her daffodils in springtime – her rose bushes in May.

Her giggle at ‘The Floral Dance’ that Terry Wogan sings;

Thank goodness grief reminds you of the smallest little things…

written by Debi, her grand-daughter