My Grandmother has always been a force to be reckoned with in my life. A far cry from the image of the loving Grandmother in a rocking chair, sitting knitting by the fireside with me at her knee sucking toffees and eagerly telling her all my childhood imaginings. Instead she was a person to fear, to always behave impeccably in front of and to understand that, without question, she was right. She always says she loves discussion, but woe betide anyone who contradicts her. Unfortunately as I've grown older this has meant that my visits to her are few and far between as I am reluctant to be in such a position.
One of her favourite topics is religion and how everyone should have certain beliefs. About 15 years ago, after yet another lecture about religion during which I'd kept my head down and thoughts elsewhere (anything not to give in to my urge to answer her back), I decided to write and send Granny my thoughts on the topic. Th!e letter turned out to be a bit of a missive and had quite an effect on me. I was astonished at my depth of feeling and sure she could not fail to be as moved as I.
Granny rang to say that she had received the letter and that I would get an answer in the post as she felt that it was worthy of a considered reply...it never came.
Last year when my Mother was clearing Granny's house following her move into a care home, I received a folder containing many of the letters that I had written to Granny over the years. I eagerly opened it and thumbed through the contents. My letter was there but not, as I expected, with a half finished reply, instead it was covered in red scribbles and notes...Granny had marked it, like a teacher, correcting grammar and spelling mistakes and putting notes in the margin such as Wrong, does not know her bible! and The young really think they know everything!
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