In my early years I spend a lot of time in Wales, a place called Newport in Gwent. It was about 10 miles after the Severn Bridge and Toll. In my memory it was always grey and cloudy, the buildings looked dated but not architecturally beautiful, just depressing, like if it was in black and white. The most modern building was the new Leisure centre that had a waterslide that came outside before going back in. To me it always looked like the builders messed up during the construction and that’s how it turned out. One of the things I do remember was always going for a tea break in Marks and Spencer’s with my Nana and Grandfather. It was like a ritual I always had a juice and a cake with strawberries and cream regardless of the time of year. This would always be in the middle of a long drawn out shopping trip, where my Nana would spoil me by buying me clothes and toys. She used to love buying me jumpers in Marks and Spencer’s and flat caps. I don’t know why she used to like buying flat caps but I loved her so I never questioned it. Who knew she would be 20 years in front of fashion trends, because I see flat caps everywhere these days. Another memory is the way people use to look at me when I was with my Nana, she being white me being mixed race, people would look at me with this weird expression, like I was a novelty. This lead to me having a belief that I was the black sheep of the family.
Nana and Bompa as he was referred to, lived in a cul-de-sac with shops at the end. Newsagent, fish and chip shop and of course a bookies. They had a bungalow with a separate garage that was full of the families junk neatly tucked away onto shelves. At the back was the most amazing rose garden. It smelt like heaven and every time I went into the garden I used to get lost in the smell. Inside the bungalow there were 5 rooms. A master bedroom, their bed was so high off the ground, I used to have to get a chair to jump on it. A guest room for family who came to visit, a bathroom with a bath no shower. The kitchen where the magic happened and dreams came true. Seriously if you would of tasted her Victoria sponge cake you would of just melted. The living room looked out onto the back garden, and was the focal point of the bungalow.
When my Mother and I used to visit we would normally drive down the Friday evening and stay until the Sunday. Saturdays were saved for going into town. Every summer we would attend the Monmouthshire Show, which was an Agricultural show. We would watch the displays and the judging, while taking in all the atmosphere and the stalls. That was usually followed by a meal at Nanas then Television and an early night. Sundays, we would always go to a pub/restaurant that the Grandparents used to own back in the 70’s, it was an hour or so drive out into the beautiful countryside. My Grandparents knew the new owners, and we were always treated very well there. Mum used to tell me repeatedly over the years that when they lived her she lost her hair. I bet if I mention that pub again she will tell me she lost her hair. I would always have steak and chips, regardless of the day, followed by two large helpings of strawberry ice cream. The family usually ate the traditional family roast or Rainbow Trout. Sunday roasts to me have never been about going to a restaurant, Sunday roasts are there to bring the family together.
Living about a mile away from my Nana was my Aunty Norma. She was a single parent with three kids. My cousin’s Philip, Gillian and the youngest Michael who was two years older than me. She lived in a house and when we visited I would spend my time in the loft with Michael playing with train sets and matchbox cars. Cousin Philip would usually be out and about with his friends causing trouble while Gill kept herself to herself. My Mother and my Aunt would discuss the garden and family matters, they would later fall out. I have to say I enjoyed her house, especially the attic, my cousin Michael had a lair in that attic and I loved every minute in it. I was told that my Uncle Owen, Michaels father died while pottering around in the loft, he supposedly feel down the ladder, by all accounts he was a nice guy, my Aunt would go onto marry again years later. Oh I forgot to mention the neighbours, they were amazingly friendly people, years later when my Grandfather died I returned to Newport they were there, and they were so friendly reminding me of my behaviours as a child. But so lovely, so warm.
One day my Grandparents decided to downsize and moved into a flat inside a big house. They needed to move all of their stuff, so my Mother volunteered my services to help do the shifting. I enrolled my friend Steve to help as well, at the time he was spending most of his time at mine anyway so it made sense. We hired a van and drove down to Wales, moved all their stuff and what wasn’t needed we kept, as it couldn’t fit in the new place. After the initial move was done my friend Steve managed to break the key in the lock. The problem with transit vans back in the day was the door key was also the ignition key. So if you broke the ignition key then you’re kind of screwed. We had to call out the AA and it was quite funny sat in the van being transported to Newbury where we would be transferred to another truck before going home. We eventually got home at 2am, a long day, very tiring and it gave birth to the name Suzie Wong, which my friend Steve made up that day and called her most of the day “Ahhh, what’s up Suzie Wong?”. Personally thought it was funny but Mother was tired so she didn’t see the funny side at all. Although now she doesn’t mind, reminds her of a better time, a happier time.
Shortly after Nana moved into the new flat she became ill. Mum would visit most weekends, and I would stay at home, partly because I was a stroppy teen, partly because didn’t want to see my ill Nana. For 6 months she would go to Wales and I would stay in Oxford with my friends, free house let’s party mentality. It got to a point where she was really ill. Mum convinced me to go and see her, to go to Wales and visit Nana to show support. The night before I went to bed early not really knowing what to expect. In the morning we did our usual routine of going to the supermarket and stocking up on sweets and drinks for the journey. My usual haul included Beano comic, Raspberries and cream hard boiled sweets, smokey bacon crisps and a stack of pannini football stickers and the album to put them in. We would normally stop again at a service station and grab some fast food before we paid the Severn bridge toll and into Wales. As we approached Wales I always got excited, I used to love going across the bridge and being fascinated by size and the effort involved in putting it together. One thing that sticks in my mind about the bridge is, the tide always seemed to be out, the bottom of the river was visible a brown muck. Even when I went back last year it was out, weird that. This time didn’t feel any different. It wasn’t until we pulled up outside the flat that I realized this was different. I could see my Aunt Norma’s car and my Aunt Bevs car too, which meant this wasn’t going to be fun, as they were really fussy, even though I was now a teen they still treated me like a child. I used to think it was because I was the black sheep of the family literally, being the only one with any real colour in my skin, but it wasn’t that whey genuinely were fussy women. Christmas’s at my Aunt Bev’s in Bath meant sleeping on a hard floor with my cousins, being awoken by the smell of my uncle smoking cigars, I blame him for never being able to dunk a basketball, and having to go to Church on Christmas eve.
We walked in and immediately I could see all the adults in the family were there, Michael wasn’t nor Gill and Phil, as they lived locally I kind of expected that they had been round a lot in my absence. My Mother said to me in the hallway that Nana was ill and it may come as a bit of a shock to me. It didn’t register; I mean, to me my Nana was always happy, smiley and loved me more than the others (in my mind). So when I entered the living room I was in shock. Gone was the vibrant smile, gone was the upwardly mobile woman I knew and loved. Sat in the chair was a weak and feeble woman who had been ravaged by illness. She could barely support her own weight. I immediately knelt before her so she knew I was there, and clasped her hand. I stayed in that position for the next 6 hours. I helped her to the toilet on two occasions, my grandfather was not happy both times but he was shooed away by Nana, telling him not to fuss. My time was spent on her for the whole time I was there; I put her to bed, told her I love. Then my Mother and I left, driving back to Oxford that night. We didn’t speak in the car, I put my seat back and went to sleep. I awoke halfway through the journey when we were pulled over by the police for speeding. I was in the passenger seat, and woke up to an empty car, my Mother in the police car behind looking over the video of her speeding. Once she got back in the car I went back to sleep. We got home at 2am, I had some food, a joint and sat watching telly until 6am.
I woke the next day about 2pm, feeling down. My Mother knocked on my door, popped her head in and advised that, during the night my Nana had died. It didn’t register, and I spent the day with Dean, Chris and the Roachford boys playing football in the estate park. I stayed out late that night because home wasn’t a great place to be. I think I got home about 1am that night. Pulled my mattress off my bed and put it in the downstairs bedroom, I have no idea why but it became a pattern over the years. I then went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and the first thing I did was cry, I didn’t stop crying until that evening. The tears flowed freely all day and I am glad they did, Nana would of wanted me to get over her death quickly. Mum explained to me that Nana had held on for me, she had held on until I came to visit her, she waited for me to say goodbye.
We went down a week later with my cousin Natalie, the evening before the funeral. We had booked into a bed and breakfast across the street from the flat, as there was no room in the flat for us to stay. We arrived about 3pm, checked in and left our stuff going over to the flat. We went over to the flat for about 4ish and the mood was somber. My Grandfather periodically gave me the evils, so I spent my time talking to my cousins Michael and Phillip. As the afternoon became evening, I sat in Nanas chair and watched television. The adults were discussing going to see the open casket of my Nana. My Mother was for the idea, my Aunts and my Grandfather were not. My cousins thought I was too young but if I wanted to go I should be allowed to go. Voices were raised and tempers flared, there were probably underlying issues going on between the adults but on this day, this evening, the discussion was, about me. And I was not allowed to visit the open casket, this turned into a massive argument, at which point I turned up the television to drown out the noise. The noise stopped, my Grandfather turned to me and shouted “Turn that telly down now, you always have o be the centre of attention.” I burst into tears, my Mother took my hand and we left, immediately driving back to Oxford. Suffice to say we missed the Funeral and it is to this day I have a deep regret about that. I don’t know where she is buried, I know she was cremated and her ashes scattered in a cemetery near my Grandfather who died a few years after. But I don’t know where. At least once a week I think of her and apologise for being a disappointment to her, not living up to my potential. But I feel worse for my Mother, without Nana, she doesn’t speak to her sisters, Nana would of cracked heads and sorted them out. I don’t know where or how to contact my cousins. It’s like my family in this country don’t exist, it’s like it’s just me and my Mum against the world. If we had that mentality, but she has never been that way and neither have I, so it’s just me and my Moms. I do have a half brother who is older and younger brother and sisters know very little about them, because like I said Dad was an asshole who knows no idea of commitment or responsibility, so that’s where I get it.
A few years later my Grandfather died. I was living in London at the time, in a YMCA. The last few times I had seen him we didn’t we didn’t get along, I think to this day he hated me for me being the person that Nana spent her time with before she died, time that he should have had. I partly agree with him and understand but I didn’t deserve the disdain he showed me. I only went to the funeral because my Mother who had been living in the United States for a few years had come back for it. My contempt for my Grandfather was obvious by my dress sense, Red jeans and a blue shirt. Everyone was already at the Church when I got there, my cousins rushed over to me, hugging me and saying how it had been so long. My Mother smiled as I sat down next to her, she clasped my hand. As the coffin was carried in we had a quick catch up about our lives. Hymns were sung and he was cremated before being scattered on the grounds of the crematorium. It was during this time that I first realized the arguments between my Mother and her sisters. It appeared that my lovely aunts had forgotten where hey scattered the ashes of my Nana. Whether this was true or not I don’t know, I always thought that they just said it to piss my Mum off, for missing the original funeral. Either way, from this day I noticed how much my Mother hated her sisters. I spend post funeral getting drunk with my cousins on cider. I stayed till quite late, after the speeches and toasts, before catching a coach back to London with my Mother. We talked the whole way, and I like to think that out the seed into her head for coming home again. We reached Victoria were we parted ways, she back to the airport and I back to the hostel. It was a long day. When I talk to my Nana I never mention my Grandfather, does that make me a bad person?
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