When I was a very small child, I believed no one else loved me like my granny did.  When I went to stay with her and my grandad in their cottage in the country, I was pretty well allowed to do whatever I pleased with her blessing.  In those far off days there were no such things as Wendy Houses, but granny would throw a huge  black-out curtain left over from the days of World War 2 over the double clothes line to provide my own private space. She would bring out a little table and chair for me and I would set up house with my very own teapot and cups and saucers.  She baked cakes like you have never tasted in an old range which she had to clear out early every morning.  My earliest memories are of lying in her big feather bed warm and comfortable while she would be in the kitchen raking out the ashes from the night before.  When I heard the old single decker bus which came up the hill at 7 in the morning I was allowed to get up and get dressed in front of the roaring fire. Often breakfast would be freshly baked bread which sat wrapped in a clean tea towel on a board in the middle of the kitchen table just waiting to be cut and spread with home made blackcurrant jam.  That's just the sort of granny she was.

Granny wasn't given to style and although she was always fresh as a new pin, her normal attire was an old tweed skirt and a comfortable, long cardigan over a blouse fastened with a gold and pearl pin.  Mostly these were covered by a wrap around apron which was only removed in the evening.  My grandad was different.  He polished his size 12 boots every morning till they shone and he wore a pin striped suit in either brown or grey, both of which had seen better days.  Most days he would set off each day to his 'office', a euphimism for the bookies I only discovered years after he died. He would set off with a wave to us both and a lift in his step as he walked to the bus stop, the paper tucked under his arm. Grandad had two cats called Charlie and Mrs Fluff who he talked to like they were real people.  Granny, however, was the one who would warm two bricks at night in the range before wrapping them in old towels and placing them in the cat's beds in one of the outhouses.  Charlie was a bit of a naughty boy and given to stealing food so that granny would always tell me to 'keep an eye out for Charlie' when she left her cakes on the baking trays to cool.

I remember clearly the day granny dusted and cleaned the little front sitting room and baked a tray of scones and a splendid Victoria Sponge, which, for once, I was not allowed to touch.  She took out a tray and dressed it with a white lace cloth before arranging her best china on top of it.  She later changed into her Sunday best dress and it was only a Friday, confusing me even more.  I was told that Mr Magee, the village headmaster would be coming for afternoon tea.  In those days there were three people in the village who were highly revered.  The Presbyterian Minister, the doctor and the headmaster.  My grandfather despised the former two but was on great terms with the latter.  Whilst he looked less than pleased at being told he could not take his pipe into the parlour, he treated the rest of 'Hetty's nonsense' with little less than good humour.  Granny had allowed me to whisk a bowl of fresh cream which was to be served with jam on top of the scones.  I was then given one of the very few lectures she ever delivered to me.  'Now darlin,' she said in her lovely west of Ireland brogue, 'you are not to speak unless spoken to, so whatever you say, say nothing.'  She had brushed my hair and plaited it adding a big, pink, satin bow.  I was less than pleased I can tell you, but as the scones and the cake looked so delicious I was prepared to put up with it.  Grandad had also promised me sixpence if I was really good, which was an enormous amount of money for a small child in those days.

At 4 o'clock Mr Magee arrived.  He patted me on the head and shook hands with my grandparents before settling himself into the most comfortable armchair.  I was told to sit in the hard chair beside the old piano.  From there I could see through the crack in the door to the kitchen where granny was preparing the tea.  Mr Magee and Grandad were busy discussing politics as they always did and which bored me beyond understanding as I had no notion what any of it was about.  I slipped down unnoticed from the chair and made my way into the kitchen.    'Granny,' I said, 'Can I please have a scone here in the kitchen instead of having to listen to that old talk.'
'Now darlin, ' she said, 'you can sit there as long as you don't make a mess of your dress and come into the room when you've finished.'  As you can imagine, I was delighted.  Whilst I sat at the table, out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlie jump up onto the work surface beside the sink and proceed to lick the cream from the little glass bowl.  I jumped up immediately and shooed him off before going into the sitting room to tell granny.  I promise I waited until Mr Magee had stopped speaking before opening my mouth.  'Granny, I said, 'Charlie has just,' but I got no further.  Granny gave me one of the crossest looks I could ever remember and told me to sit down on the chair beside the piano again.  She, meanwhile, went out to carry in the tray.  Naturally, she served Mr Magee first with a great dollop of the cream which Charlie had licked all over.  I didn't say a word.  The rest of the afternoon went well although I thought I might die of boredom, and then Charlie came into the sitting room and prowled around looking for a comfortable seat.  As Granny got up to chase him out, Mr Magee reminded her that he loved cats and especially one as handsome as Charlie.  He lifted him up in his arms and started another oration on the Ulster Unionists running his hand down Charlie's silky coat.  Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw some horrible brown liquid emerging from under Charlie's tail and running down Mr Magee's waistcoat.  'Granny' I cried, but again I got the terrible look.  'Child,' she scolded, 'can't you hear Mr Magee is speaking.'  It was too late.  The more Mr Magee stroked the cat, the more the liquid ran.  Soon the smell started to fill the room.  My grandparents gazed in horror at the state of the headmaster's waistcoat.  Mr Magee dropped the cat, the cat fled and so did I.  I laughed and laughed and laughed until I was quite hysterical. 

For years after that whenever anything funny happened in the family, Grandad would wink at me and say
'Whatever you say, say nothing.'  What lovely memories of a bygone age.  No television, no computers, washing machines or tumble driers.  Only an old radio sitting on the sideboard and granny's prized mangle in the back yard but what happy days they were.  Time for me to leave the computer, load the washing machine and switch on the the dishwasher.  Bye for now.