The golden thread that united

Friday 12 October 2012

"You've bloody well done WHAT woman? Are you MAD? I told the whole sodding lot of them never to darken my doorstep again.  Lunch? I don't blasted think so. Anyway, I've blown the whole inheritance on Newcastle Brown Ale and pork pies and rum so they can sodding well bugger off."



This weekend, my Pa, the Northern Socialist, and my Ma will celebrate 50 years of marriage.   I say 'celebrate' because we are making them do something to recognise such an achievement.  We suggested theatre trips and jaunts to London, Michelin restaurants and a big party.  Like small children faced with unpleasant vegetables, they demurred, feigned deafness, twisted napkins and asked to be excused.

We compromised eventually; they would book somewhere local for a small family lunch and we would promise on our honour not to get them any presents or make a fuss.  Then they're going to slither quietly off back to Barbados and gather their thoughts with a dusting of silver sand and a frosting of Planters' Punch.

It's funny, the gift thing in our family - we all love giving them but aren't terribly gracious about being recipients. I will ponder the wherefores another time.  What we have done, to our enormous glee, is secretly contact every single person with an email address, phone or Facebook that was at the wedding, met them later, was taught by either of them, shared sporting, literary or musical passions or was just sucked laughing into their orbit.

We told these old friends that the olds were being royal pains in the arse and refusing gifts, so we wanted to make them one instead. A book recording all the gifts they have passed on to their friends, grandchildren, neighbours, colleagues. A book that details the gifts that they have and how they have used them over the past 50 years.  So we asked them to write their thoughts and maybe look out old photos instead of sending stuff.

It has been an eye-opening fortnight collating the bugger.  Seeing one's parents through an entirely new prism has been extraordinary.  Some of the tales and people were well-known, faded and comforting, old blankets we were happy to see. Some stories made us cry a little bit - they seem to have committed acts of extreme kindness and secrecy. Many just made us wonder how any of us were still here and functioning.

But the golden thread that shines through every one is the gift of their hospitality and laughter; my mother conjuring fabulous suppers on stoves in half-demolished kitchens, on barbecues on windy moors, in deserts.  She seems to have mended marriages and hearts along with split trousers and unravelled socks.  My father's socialist and sporting philosophies are still quoted in Canada, Berkshire, Barbados and Antwerp. There are grown men out there who are still terrified of him on a football pitch, in a boxing ring, guarding his teenage daughters. Every single person mentioned how much he had made them laugh.

We're going to take turns reading them aloud over lunch tomorrow. We're giving the six bots the really soppy ones.  That'll teach them.


13 comments:

  1. This is wonderful ! What a lovely gesture and a loving way to honor your parents. So hard sometimes to imagine these people before they were parents or grandparents. Have a beautiful day as you add new memories and a new depth of understanding to pass on to your bots !

    Pat

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks! It worked a treat, and the bots all loved hearing (the uncensored) stories too!

      Delete
  2. I love this idea! It's difficult to see our own parents as adults and not just parents. Have a wonderful weekend!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks and yes, we did! Hope you are well xx

      Delete
  3. This is lovely! My parents are no longer with us, but I am slowly making my way through all of the letters my mother saved, many from my Dad before and during their marriage. OMG! They were fun! They were CRAZY about each other! People were crazy about them! Who knew?

    We are headed to Ft. Worth, Texas to see the your countryman Lucian Freud's exhibit and will raise a toast to your parents tomorrow.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Wow, what a lovely thing to do and how lucky you are to have their letters, so romantic!

      How was the Freud? x

      Delete
    2. Well, even though he was NOT your countryman, the exhibit was outstanding. Well worth the trip.

      Delete
  4. Twisted napkins. Perfect.

    And congratulations in an appropriately diffident and not to be bothered sort of way to your mother and father.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you! They had a fantastic time, and so did we, just lovely!

      Delete
  5. All the best to your parents.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks James. hope all is well in your world x

      Delete
  6. I know what you mean about the gift thing. For myself, I just don't like receiving anything basically because I'm such a fusspot, and am very unlikely to appreciate what I've been given, unless I've chosen it myself. And my Scottish blood makes me really rather wish people would either save their money, or give it to a worthy cause. In our house we never exchange gifts with each other now. It sounds corny, but love and kindness (everyday) is much more rewarding than something material. Neither do we make a big fuss about birthdays and anniversaries, in fact I'm more than embarassed by the hoohah others (outsiders) make about my birthday. As you can see, I'm really a huge bundle of fun!

    (I am. Honest. Just prefer it spontaneously, and not attributed to a fixed date in the calendar.)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Columnist - I think you've hit the nail on the head here. I think we Scots really are both fussy and tight! We all laugh our heads off at the birthday photos - the stiff embarrassment of the recipient is worth whatever you paid for the gift any day!

    ReplyDelete

Please leave a comment if you can be remotely bothered - anything you have to say is valuable and I absolutely love hearing from you all. Elizabeth