Ursula
She kept a home that embraced you with its orderliness and warmth of welcome. The first day we awoke in a strange country, in her home the table was set with crisp white napkins and silver rings with each of us given a place with bread, cheese, jam tea and coffee. Her kindness to our entire family from that first day continued over the decades and never stopped or wained. Still now, a year after she has passed away I pick up a book and find an inscription from her to one of my sons on the flyleaf. The traits that she exhibited were a methodical and mindful kindness that soothed those around her.
Andrew
He was a huge man who had worked in the cement factory his entire life and lived with the emphysema that resulted from the fine dust that he had breathed in all those years. When his parents were ill he nursed them until they died. It was only after this duty was done that he found himself a wife and although both were in their forties by then they were blessed with one son. My youngest son, when four, made his first-ever friend in Andrew and that was how the rest of us got to meet him. By then, Andrew was in his retirement and our neighbour in the small clump of houses in the countryside. Andrew adopted youngsters and became a kind mentor. It was only at his funeral that we got to meet all these young people who spoke of Andrew’s influence on their lives. He taught my son how to ride a bicycle, he made us the most wonderful tomato and chilli chutney and cut our grass when we didn’t. He built a huge greenhouse in their backyard out of scrap windows and designed a Heath Robinson heating system consisting of a huge metal pipe that ran around its perimeter. He and his wife would be found in this warm womb-like zone with an enormous jigsaw puzzle on a big table. The place felt serene and calm with a huge tray of tea and biscuits served by kind hands. Andrew’s traits were many but a mighty concern for all who crossed his path dominated them.
Bemen
He was characterised by a bubbling sense of humour. So many times he would start to tell a joke and then he would start to laugh before he could get the punchline out. All of us loved his laughter so much that somehow you didn’t mind not getting the whole point of the joke. Instead, you would start to join in with his infectious laughter. However, the trait that I appreciated so much was not his lovely laughter but the way talking to Bemen about any issue was like being put back on the right railway lines after being lost for days in unknown territory. He seemed to have an instinct for the justice and injustice of any situation. He didn’t mind telling you if you happened to be on the wrong side of an issue but his good nature made that feel like gently being nudged back on track again.
Granda
I loved both my grandparents so I could write about either but here I’ll mention just Granda Jimmy. He left primary school after spending a disproportionate amount of time chewing little bits of paper in his mouth before flicking them up to stick on the schoolroom ceiling. He said the result was a spectacular collection of these little mounds all above their heads. He could sing and play fiddle and make up songs that were funny and insightful. Before TV came along he would go around family homes in the countryside and provide entertainment. As a child, I remember his wonderful greeting. When you came through the back door of the farmhouse he would get to his feet arms upraised shouting in delight “Boyza, Boyza, Boyza” with a huge smile while eyebrows danced high in his forehead. He had strange habits. If you sat next to him at the table having tea he would stir his cup with a spoon and then touch the spoon to the back of your hand to watch you scream from the heat. Somehow you never resented such treatment from his hand because it felt like a wake-up call. As if, he knew at times, we all needed to be prodded to come alive and he was the man to do it. But the best trait he had was his ability to tell a story. Somehow his tales were fascinating, insightful and yet left you a different person from the one you were before. They led you on a journey and you knew how far you had come from where you started. The narrative would be about a simple event like a market or a meeting but it always taught you something about the important things of life. When cancer stalked him in later years he went into the butcher’s in the local village and the butcher was surprised to see him and said “I heard a rumour you were dead, Jimmy!” My grandfather retorted, “I heard it too, but I didn’t believe it!” Shortly before he died in hospital I visited him, surrounded by those who loved him. I said, I thought he was like one of the old Eskimos that have decided to end their lives by going out to sit on the ice flow. He answered, “well, don’t follow me out on the ice!” The horrid clinical hospital room was suddenly cleansed with laughter and love. I think granda’s trait was difficult to identify. But when he passed away a void was felt, as if something of vital importance had been lost. How often is it that we recognise the breadth and height of a mighty tree only after it has been felled?
I am infinitely grateful for all these souls and many others. For what they either taught me or helped me learn by example. They ever act as gentle nudges that influence my thoughts, words, actions, habits, character and perhaps even destination.
