[ 23:58 monday 12 may – haggerston road, london ]

i spent the weekend with granny. on saturday she alternated between three states. the first appeared to reflect agitation: scrunched up brow, lifted left knee, dabbing at her mouth and nose with her right hand. the second state looked like surprise or wonderment: lying still, raising her forehead and eyebrows. the third state was tranquil: either asleep or perfectly calm. her eyes were closed all the time. she didn’t speak but occasionally made noises in her throat. she was definitely aware of what was going on around her. a couple of times when she was agitated i spoke reassuringly at her side and she relaxed. when mum and i lifted her up, held a glass of water to her lips and urged her to drink some she did. when i held her hand she responded by squeezing it.

on sunday she’d passed a step further and ceased responding to anything. i sat with her for three hours and it was the most difficult time i’ve spent with her. holding her hand without feeling her fingers tighten around mine was particularly tough. her hands were so warm, the life was so conspicuous in her, but she was completely inert. writing about it now is making me cry again. for some of the time i dozed with my forehead against hers on the pillow, which brought to mind all the mornings as a child when i’d woken up early and crept into bed with her. i talked to her, thanking her for believing in me and loving me. i wished her strength for the voyage she was undertaking and told her i was there at her side every step. i sang some folk songs i thought she’d like, though my voice faltered.

eventually the time came for me to leave. it felt like the last moment i’d ever be with her. walking away was unbearably difficult. i kept turning back to kiss her and say goodbye yet time. finally i walked backwards through the door, watching her sleeping form until the very last second. with tears pouring down my face i continued to repeat “goodbye granny” as i walked out of the hospital and as i cycled through the streets of ludlow. today, whenever she comes to mind i repeat it again.

goodbye granny.

: c :

[ 23:57 tuesday 12 february – haggerston road, london ]

a few weekends ago i rented a van and drove with my aunt clare to my grandparents’ house near hampton court, on the thames south west of london. it was a bright chilly day. i hadn’t been in the house since mary’s funeral in august and it was much changed. most of the furniture and chattels had already been removed. all that was left was a forlorn shell populated with emotional phantoms. everywhere i looked i saw the objects that had stood there, events that had happened there, associations stretching back across the long years.

the reason for our visit was to pick up the bits and pieces apportioned to us when everything was divided amongst the family. in my case this consisted of a mahogany bureau, a wrought iron standard lamp, four folding wood and canvas garden chairs, a 1940s pye wireless and gramophone, a tattered persian rug, two wooden salad bowls, a yellow and white porcelain tea service, photos of grandpa from prep school and cambridge, several sets of silver cutlery (including a fish service, a fruit service and a beautifully engraved cake knife), eight champagne saucers, a port decanter, a georgian silver tea pot and milk jug, a stone from the houses of parliament damaged during air raids in 1941, a woven woolen blanket and about forty books spanning the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

it took just a few days for everything to find its place in my flat. the effect of having these things here with me is marvelous. each item is saturated with memories. whenever i look at them or touch them i feel the presence of lloyd my grandfather and mary his beloved second wife, then a little more distantly monica my grandmother who died when i was twelve. beyond that many of the items belonged to my great- grandfathers ernest armstrong and walter scott hill so they too make their presence felt. stretching further back the names and lives are less familiar to me so the ghosts are less distinct.

i now feel despair at all the things i left behind. piles of books, grandpa’s canvas kit bag from the navy, more photographs. the thought of these treasures being dumped in a skip or sent to a charity shop appalls me. i must return and gather them all.

: c :