My Childhood Room

COCONUT PYRAMIDS

We never had any visitors . The house as it was only had just enough room for the six of us. Family did not come and stay, I did not know any of my mothers relatives. After her father died in 1969 I had no contact. Nor were they ever spoken about. Still to this day I have never met my mothers brother, or his wife. I didn't even know anything about my mothers real mum, her life or anything about the family history. The name 'Zenden, although uncommon was a mystery to me until recently. But that is another story for another time. My Grandad on my father's side had just died. I remember coming back from my early morning paper round to be told the news. My father who was never that approachable made a point of sitting us four children down and announcing he had something sad to tell us. In an emotionless voice told us the news. I felt nothing. I had only seen him once a year. I had no attachment or love for him. He was just an old man who smoked and sat in the same arm chair, smoking every time I had met him. Looking at me over the top of his small rimed spectacles. I had wondered whether or not if he had ever moved from said chair. Well apparently not, he had died in that chair. His last words were something in the order of commenting on the food he had just eaten. This man who had brought a regime of terror, ruling over his children with a rod of iron literally, just fell asleep after eating his dinner. A peaceful death for a man who had been feared but never liked. His wife my Grandmother had done everything for him. Even during war time he had refused to sign up claiming that the draft would effect his ears. And as he made his living from tuning piano's the loud noise of gun fire would inhibit his work after the war. He used the same excuse to avoid working in the ammunition factories. He left it up to my Grandmother to make what little money she could by writing. Whilst he found excuse after excuse not to work. My Grandmother bless her soul was a brilliant author fortunately. This kept the wolf from the door. There was plenty of reasons for the lack of emotion in my fathers voice, as he told the four of us the news. As a child you know very little about anything, especially relationships between families. All I knew was that both my parents had seldom showed me any forms of affection, warmth or love. So when at the end when my father added that 'Grandma' was going to be staying with us for a few days none of us really knew how to react, or how this would effect us directly. The first change was to hit me fast. My younger brother Ian was moved into our room. His small bed tucked into the corner of our room. I was now sharing with Adrian and Ian. No privacy or silence. The three of us in each others way. Ian was three, Adrian fourteen and me in the middle. Ian's room was now Grandma's for the duration of her stay. I admit to being excited at the prospect of sharing some time with my dads mum. I had never really got to know her. As a child you feel certain vibrations, atmospheres. And boy did I feel this distinct atmosphere from my Mother. She did not like her Mother in law and was prepared to share her dislike at any opportunity. My Grandmother had baked some coconut pyramids for us on one of our rare visits. The sweet coconut treat formed into little triangles and topped with a bright shiny red glacier cherry. Us children loved them ! But my mother would not eat them. She told us on the journey back that Grandmas baking should be avoided at all cost. My mother continued. "Your Grandmother never cleans her nails, she lets them grow long trapping all sorts of muck and dirt underneath" I was now listening intensely as my mother graphicly spelt it out. " When she bakes cakes she never cleans her hands first, in fact the only reason I know that she has been baking is because her finger nails are clean !" Could this be true ? Have I unknowingly been eating the dirt from underneath my Grandmas finger nails, disguised as cake ? I was now feel slightly queasy, what with the smell of my fathers cigarette smoke, the rocking side to side of the car plus the smell of petrol fumes, and the thought of my Grandmothers baking, I must have turned a very pale shade of green. How could I ever eat another coconut pyramid ever again ? Some conversations you never forget. And this was one of them. All these months later the image of my Grandmothers coconut 'finger nail dirt' pyramids had stayed with me. I had that feeling, the one you get just before a birthday or Christmas morning. The excitement of expectation. That feeling is far better than the event nearly always. Watching the road from the bedroom window, I could see all the comings and goings. I had lifted the net curtain up and tucked it into the wire cord that it hung from. I hated that net curtain that my mother had insisted that we had. No only would it block the light out, it would stop me from seeing out ! After what had seemed like hours I spotted my fathers harvest brown Morris Marina slowly coming down the hill. It was her Grandma had arrived ! The whole house stopped, mother put the kettle on and even Fred the cat awoke from his basket. The house became alive with expectation. And there she was, a little lady, much smaller than I had remember her, in an ankle length coat, round box top hat and a smile from ear to ear. In all the years of living in our house this was the first time she had ever seen it. The boot bounced open revealing a heap of boxes bags and one old cardboard brown suitcase with brass locks. "How long have you come for Grandma ?" I could hear my voice asking. Grandma not wishing to be drawn into conversation just stretched out her arms and gave me the longest, warmest hug I had ever had. Her joy at seeing us was etched all over her winkled round face. She smelt like my father, cigarette smoke and talc. That day was joyous. The house seemed more relaxed, more fun that I could remember. The truth was it was just different. Still as a child you have little to compare your thoughts and feelings with. I believed every family was like mine, it never occurred that other families could be different. I soon got back into my routine, yes the house was different, but there was a different atmosphere. One difference was Grandma just would not spot talking. Knowing what I know now I can understand a little better. But during this time the only moments of quiet were during Coronation Street. Grandma would go silent for the deration of the programme. It was amazing like flicking a light on and then off, the reach of Hilda, Eddie Yates and Vera and Jack Duckworth was nothing less than a miracle. This mircle had not got passed us children. We agreed between us to not stop talking during said television programme. We only had one television in the house, so we had little choice than to watch what my father watched. I can still see the anger in my father's voice when he realised what we were doing ! But what made this so memorable was how my Grandma reacted. She did not get angry, she simply smiled at us all and left the room returning moments later still with a smile on her face and something tacked behind her back. With a grand gesture like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Grandma produced a large sweet tin from behind her back. Wow she has brought us sweets ! We only ever saw chocolate at Christmas. Mum would buy a large tin of Quality Street for us all to share. I would wait until everyone was in bed and creep down the hall, open the drinks cabinet where the brightly coloured tin would be kept, fill my pockets and sneak back. I would share them with Adrian so he would not tell, but he only got a couple of toffee's ! I eat the chocolate ones. So with a flourish this tin was produced, and as Grandma opened the lid, first the familiar smell not of chocolate, but of coconut ! Then the realisation, not sweets, but COCONUT PYRAMIDS ! Before I could help myself my glace went straight to my Grandmas hands, her nails were spotless ! "Here you are children I made them specially for you ! Our faces must have been a picture, from joy to horror in a matter of seconds ! I had never gone to bed without a fight ever, until that night.