Sometime after his parents died, my Dad gave me their wedding ring, the one Poppa gave to Nana in 1917 on their wedding day, the one she wore for 65 years, the one I wear now. For me it is a tangible link to my grandparents and a prompt to the memories of a special summer in the mid ‘60s.
Summer school holidays can seem to drag on forever; my brother, two sisters and I could be quite a handful, so maybe Mum needed a break, or maybe this was a special treat for me, but sometime in January I was packed off to spend a few days with my Nana and Poppa.
My grandparents lived in Bowen Street Camberwell, a lovely weatherboard house on the high side of the road. The front fence was made of stone in slate grey, rusty ochre and warm brown, the smooth faces contrasting with the rough sandy mortar which in some places held moss and in others became a highway for ants. Towards the right the sloping concrete driveway led up to the now empty, cavernous garage. But we turned left before reaching that, up two steps onto the porch which had been glazed to create an inviting sunroom. Nana was there to greet us - this was going to be a very exciting adventure – a sleepover, just me and my teddy.
The evening routine was very different to home; it was organised, sedate and quiet, a nice change but I felt a bit uncomfortable. After the evening meal I helped Nana with the dishes, put on pyjamas and climbed into bed. Not used to being by myself, the dark and the quiet were intimidating but I bravely cuddled teddy and listened to the grandfather clock, ticking away the time.
Monday was washing day. Nana had a large copper in an enclosed area off the kitchen and she grated soap which dissolved in the hot water. The first batch of clothes were shoved under the water with the aid of a thick wooden stick. After stirring and soaking the material was lifted out and transferred to one of the concrete troughs, then dunked into the rinse water to remove the suds. The heavy mass was put through the mangle, a pair of rollers that were operated with a big handle (which required more muscle than I had) and dumped into the laundry basket; this process was repeated many times in the hot, humid laundry. Handing out wooden clothes pegs to Nana at the washing line soon lost its appeal, so I wandered off to explore the garden.
One afternoon Poppa invited me into his garage which was lined with wooden shelves holding tins and boxes neatly stowing many treasures. We found a tin of white paint and some paintbrushes. Poppa showed me how to stir the paint to mix the layers which had separated over time. He decided it needed thinning with some turps, so I needed to stir it some more. Finally, we could begin painting the wooden fence that ran along the driveway. He instructed me on how the paint preserved the timber as well as looking good. At the end of the exercise there was a fair bit of paint on me that wiping with a rag dipped in turps didn’t clean off. I was sent inside to Nana who decided a bath and scrubbing brush was needed.
Another day, we had a shopping trip with Nana that involved catching the bus at the stop a few houses along the street. I was allowed to give the conductor the coins which went into his leather pouch. He dutifully wound the handle on his ticket machine and it spat out a paper ticket. I was impressed that he could maintain his balance walking up and down the aisle while the bus drove to the next stop. Nana pointed out the lawn bowling club that Poppa went to. The Camberwell market was crowded with shoppers pushing through the narrow lane between the market stalls. Nana bought various items, mostly wrapped in paper which were then stowed in a string bag.
Nana also taught me to crochet, although I didn’t master the skill on this occasion, I made a start and on other visits would bring unfinished pieces, with many mistakes, to continue the lessons. Nana made many colourful crocheted rugs; there was one on my bed which kept me warm but also amused as I wove my fingers through the holes and admired the colours and patterns until I became sleepy.
I can’t remember how long I stayed but too soon it was time to go home – I had mixed feelings of relief, as I was young and homesick, conflicting with regret that my adventure had come to an end.
Although I often saw my grandparents at family gatherings and on Sunday afternoon visits, that summer, when I had Nana and Popa all to myself, gave me a strong connection to them both.
Phiona Rhodes
March 2023
My grandparents lived in Bowen Street Camberwell, a lovely weatherboard house on the high side of the road. The front fence was made of stone in slate grey, rusty ochre and warm brown, the smooth faces contrasting with the rough sandy mortar which in some places held moss and in others became a highway for ants. Towards the right the sloping concrete driveway led up to the now empty, cavernous garage. But we turned left before reaching that, up two steps onto the porch which had been glazed to create an inviting sunroom. Nana was there to greet us - this was going to be a very exciting adventure – a sleepover, just me and my teddy.
The evening routine was very different to home; it was organised, sedate and quiet, a nice change but I felt a bit uncomfortable. After the evening meal I helped Nana with the dishes, put on pyjamas and climbed into bed. Not used to being by myself, the dark and the quiet were intimidating but I bravely cuddled teddy and listened to the grandfather clock, ticking away the time.
Monday was washing day. Nana had a large copper in an enclosed area off the kitchen and she grated soap which dissolved in the hot water. The first batch of clothes were shoved under the water with the aid of a thick wooden stick. After stirring and soaking the material was lifted out and transferred to one of the concrete troughs, then dunked into the rinse water to remove the suds. The heavy mass was put through the mangle, a pair of rollers that were operated with a big handle (which required more muscle than I had) and dumped into the laundry basket; this process was repeated many times in the hot, humid laundry. Handing out wooden clothes pegs to Nana at the washing line soon lost its appeal, so I wandered off to explore the garden.
One afternoon Poppa invited me into his garage which was lined with wooden shelves holding tins and boxes neatly stowing many treasures. We found a tin of white paint and some paintbrushes. Poppa showed me how to stir the paint to mix the layers which had separated over time. He decided it needed thinning with some turps, so I needed to stir it some more. Finally, we could begin painting the wooden fence that ran along the driveway. He instructed me on how the paint preserved the timber as well as looking good. At the end of the exercise there was a fair bit of paint on me that wiping with a rag dipped in turps didn’t clean off. I was sent inside to Nana who decided a bath and scrubbing brush was needed.
Another day, we had a shopping trip with Nana that involved catching the bus at the stop a few houses along the street. I was allowed to give the conductor the coins which went into his leather pouch. He dutifully wound the handle on his ticket machine and it spat out a paper ticket. I was impressed that he could maintain his balance walking up and down the aisle while the bus drove to the next stop. Nana pointed out the lawn bowling club that Poppa went to. The Camberwell market was crowded with shoppers pushing through the narrow lane between the market stalls. Nana bought various items, mostly wrapped in paper which were then stowed in a string bag.
Nana also taught me to crochet, although I didn’t master the skill on this occasion, I made a start and on other visits would bring unfinished pieces, with many mistakes, to continue the lessons. Nana made many colourful crocheted rugs; there was one on my bed which kept me warm but also amused as I wove my fingers through the holes and admired the colours and patterns until I became sleepy.
I can’t remember how long I stayed but too soon it was time to go home – I had mixed feelings of relief, as I was young and homesick, conflicting with regret that my adventure had come to an end.
Although I often saw my grandparents at family gatherings and on Sunday afternoon visits, that summer, when I had Nana and Popa all to myself, gave me a strong connection to them both.
Phiona Rhodes
March 2023