So, for this momentous family gathering
various members of the Jones family clan were shipped in from all over the UK and
from far flung corners of the world. The party was to be a two day event… I did not attend the party on the Saturday as
Trevor was attending… He cannot abide to be in my company … And it felt fair to
me to give him and his long term partner Hilary some space with his siblings
and others. My totally eccentric aunt Elvira kindly invited my mother and I to
meet up with the rest of the family on the Sunday, as Trevor would have left the
proceedings. So I took my mother and my nine year old daughter to meet
grandma’s children, my aunts and uncles and her great aunts and uncles. I
thought it would be an exciting occasion for us all … If not illuminating…
Grandma I was told had thirteen
pregnancies and seven surviving children, five boys and two girls. Which, in
itself is quite an achievement as my grandparent’s contempt for each other was
so extreme that they could not bear to be in the same room together, in their
own home, so as not to come across each other, with the exception of bedtime,
she had the front room he had the back room… When they were out together in
public there was a heartfelt and palpable atmosphere of utter disgust between
them… One of my earliest and most
shocking memories of my grandma Doris Margaretta Jones was that she would
regularly have outbursts of a varying pitch and level at my grandfather publically.
Saying in response to any comments he may have made…. “He makes me spit! He
makes me SPIT!” She would during the day repeat this comment with unfettered
distain toward him… As a young child this was quite shocking and alarming, as
to me grandma was a pillar of society and the matriarch of the family, whom I
felt safe around, which in my childhood was rare at times. To me she had the highest
moral values. It was out of character to ever imagine that grandma would lower
herself to spit… Like a navvy in the street! Simply shocking! … Although being the type
of child I was, I was kind of excited to see her do it and wonder what effect
it might have on my mother’s sensibilities … Wicked child I am! I can confirm that to the best of my
knowledge grandma never did spit and over the many years I just came to accept
that is what she said when grandpa was around..… Another childhood dream of
seeing her spit was dashed!
It was a further source of equal
bewilderment to me that grandpa, with equal regularity, when we were all out, in a
restaurant, in an airport or any public place, he would hold up his hand and point
out the signs to the Ladies toilets? …Raising his pointed finger at the sign of
the WC and booming at my grandmother ….. “Doris there’s the Lavatory, …..
THERE… The lavatory Doris …The
lavatory’s are there Doris.” I realise now, it was his way to irritate her and
embarrass her…. But as a child it seemed very strange that grandma could not
see and read the signs for herself and why would she not be equally interested
in where the restaurant was, for example? I mean she was partial to a cup of
tea?… Never once did he not do this …. He would then slide up behind me, grab
my arm with the most painful iron like grip, which made my legs buckle under
the pressure… And hiss his laugh in my ear through the front of what I think
were his dentures, this gesture always ended in a quiet throaty whistle… Her obvious response was that he made her
spit! But still, to my irritation, no moisture was ever forthcoming!
Growing up in this strange world, finally at the
age of about four I realised that my grandparents could not stand the sight of each
other but were tied to one another in some form or other … Possibly because it
was a generational thing … ? They were never to my knowledge kind to each
other, except on two occasions, Grandpa was knocked over on his bicycle on the
North Circular Road, on arriving at hospital he was given a pain killer for his
injuries; unfortunately he was allergic to the drug and he had a major stroke,
which rendered him unable to speak … He would stutter, stammer and shake, however
I do remember on occasions he was able, under his breath to hiss the audible
words, at grandma .. Bitch and Fuck … At times of his frustration … Despite
this …. She sat with him day after day, for over a year, such was the
determination of my grandmother to coax him back to health. Writing
endless sentences and doing sums for him to copy and say to her out loud.
She would put a heavy glass ashtray in
front of him to pick up, to try and reverse the paralysis in his arm and hand.
After a year or so …. I think in order to get away from her he made a full
recovery… He wanted to get back down the bus depot where he was a bus conductor
and where there were men and free whisky! She had done her job and he was off
her hands again. The second time there was some kindness from him was when he
was dying and she was at his hospital bed and he wanted her to hold his hand ….
She refused …
For the party grandma’s ashes must be
found … So the search was on … To put you in the picture and describe Elvira’s
and Uncle Doug’s wonderfully shambolic and rambling home. You approach the
property via a joint driveway shared with the large old house next door which
has been converted to an old people’s home, their house is on the right as you
approach. This Sussex property has beautiful views over the adjoining countryside.
The house has a large number of rooms on the ground floor, on the second floor
is a more open planned area, stuffed full of their life’s accessories, bits and
bobs. To the back of the house there is a large acreage of overgrown scrappy
lawn that has been vaguely tamed into walkways by a ride on lawn mower, to be
frank it is really too much for two people in their seventies to handle, but this
is the way they want to live their lives. To the left of the house, on a lower level is
a 1970’s style building housing a very old and rather frightening swimming
pool, with water that has more than its fair share of shades of green and in
one corner looks slightly like a swamp.. Beyond that is further bumpy scrubland
lawn with a five foot hedge denoting the perimeter of their property to its
neighbours, the old people’s home. However the hedge just stops and you can
walk around it onto the neighbouring lawn. To the right of their property there
are a number of scattered outhouses one of which is a dance studio, where my aunt
has been a very successful dance professor. There are many glasshouses
scattered around the main house, that are filled to the brim with overgrowing
plants that have pushed their way out through smashed windows. Other outhouses are
filled to bursting with more relics from their past, Doug who was in the film
industry, has containers of scripts and reels of films billowing out of boxes
in these storage huts. Under the house is my aunt’s collection, thirty plus
years of The Telegraph newspaper, bundled into piles tied with string. Elvira
needs these newspapers just in case she may require an article contained in
these precious documents, she has a penchant for cutting out snippets of
articles and sending bits of news to you in order to demonstrate a particular
point or to inform you of something you might not have known or understood, in
a previous life! I have received a large
number of cuttings over the years as have the rest of the family. Nowadays
Elvira sends the information via email. Interestingly the emails arrive in the
most unusual staccato format that is sometimes difficult to follow, she uses
stars, exclamation marks and full stops like some people use emoji. Without exception Elvira always signs off her
notes or emails with; ‘So busy’ or ‘In haste’. Both ‘sign off’, comments over
the years have really irritated and infuriated her brother Trevor. Because he
likes to think that he is the more important and busier than anyone else!
Families and their foibles … Don’t you just love ‘em! It makes me laugh!
Back to the party …. As ever with all
families there is always a back story, ours is a black comedy drama. Grandma's
final resting was agreed to be in the back garden of Elvira and Doug’s house. A
marquee had been erected and vast amounts of food had been ordered from Marks
and Spencer to see us all through the weekend, as Elvira now refuses to cook. Grandma's
seven children and their respective wives and partners and some of the eighteen
or so grandchildren and any vague
relatives with the similar surname were wheeled in for the event. The Jones
have a strange ability and need to find distant relatives to enthuse over, I
think this is mostly as they don’t particularly like their actual close family
who have seen them for whom they really are! Therefore new shinny relatives are
always handy and welcome at any event. Having the common surname Jones you can
imagine we have a lot of potential new family members to choose from!
The final resting place for Grandma was
to be under a newly planted tree, by the hedge adjoining the neighbouring property. The
placing of the semi-mature
tree turned out to be significant and was to be paid for by Trevor. Uncle Doug
had confided to Trevor that the position of
the tree was critical, as he and Aunt Elvira like to sunbathe in the nude, this
had sometimes confused the old people
in the nursing home next door. Particularly
the Captain, who resided at the home, and whose window looked down on to my aunt and uncles back garden.
Confused or not the Captain sometimes with other occupants
of the home would wonder over into the garden, to join the fun, possibly in the
hope of something more than your average cup of sugar? If you get my drift? ..
I suppose, if you think about it, sometimes
the days in an old people’s home must drag a bit so the occupants must look for
other ways to be amused? Elvira and Doug provided perfect adult entertainment
in this regard! …. So to avoid unwanted guests the tree needed to be placed in
a precise location. Some of Trevor's many staff were dispatched prior to the ceremony to plant the ‘modesty’ tree.
On the day we were there, drinks were
flowing well and my uncles were making a great deal of fuss over our daughter
who is always rather pleased to be the centre of attention and enjoying the
fuss, and why not! As ever in the UK the weather was living up to the “not as
summery as it should be” factor, in fact it was quite chilly and there was a
hell of a wind. So instead of eating in the marquee, which was bellowing in the
strong breeze, we were to eat in the main house. One of my cousins, Elvira’s
child, was entertaining me, telling me all the gossip about various members of
the family and all the goings on at the party the day before. Really is that
not the point of these meetings … The gossip? My cousin told me to look at the
fireplace, “we could not find grandma’s ashes anywhere in the house or in the out
buildings!” Elvira had put grandma somewhere safe but she could not remember
where? Therefore Elvira had had no choice and was forced to scrape out the
ashes from the fire place for the event until she could lay her hands on the
real grandma! I told you at the beginning of this story … facts or reality
rarely affects what the Jones do! Totally irreverent of both us, but it added
to the humour of what was to come! And it was most probably true!
After lunch we were all forced out of
the house to undertake the main event and indulge in a little mud pie making! My
beautiful mother dressed as always like a supermodel was asked by Elvira to
make her way to the back of the marquee,
where my mother came across a wheel barrow of soil and another wheelbarrow
filled with dried manure! Elvira holding grandma’s ashes in a canteen in one
hand and a desert spoon in the other explained to my mother that she had worked
out, presumably into a kitchen bowl a night or two before? That each of the
family had two and a half scoops of grandma’s ashes, to mix. The plan was to
scoop out your allotted amount of grandma into a Tupperware box then take two
spoon full’s of manure from the wheelbarrow deposit that on top of grandma and
then sprinkle an appropriate amount of soil of the top of the mixture! Yes
really!! There was a watering can on hand so you could pour some water over the
grandma mixture and combine her into a smooth ‘roux’. Finally, the wet human slop was to be deposited in another wheelbarrow located nearby, which had a net
covering it, containing the contents of the day’s
before ceremony of grandma’s “bake-off” mix congealed together by other members
of the family! … Quite literally turning grandma into a mud
pie!
