COMFORT FOOD
Remembering a Grandmother from the viewpoint of a grandmother is not an easy thing to do.
I would like to think that I’m as loving a grandmother as mine was, but
I fear I fall short. Of course it could
be that my grandchildren never needed a grandmother the way I did – and that’s
a good thing!
Life in our little cockney household was not always the
“happy-go-lucky” adventure that my stories tend to highlight. Sometimes I needed to escape and where better
to escape to than my Nanny GM’s.
Unfortunately she didn’t live around the corner. While we lived south of the Thames in the
south west part of London she lived north of the Thames in the north east. I’m amazed when I think how old I must have
been, definitely younger than 12 years.
I know this because I was 12 years old when the war ended and my travels
took place before and after that date.
It’s difficult to tell from a small map but London is not
laid out in any grid type formation.
It’s a higgledy-piggledy mass of streets and alleyways and there was no
direct route from our house to hers. To
the best of my ancient recollection: first a tram ride that took me across
Westminster bridge, where I got off this tram and waited for another on the Embankment
as I gazed at Big Ben looming over me.
There, I boarded another tram which wonder of
wonders went below ground into the only tram tunnel I’ve ever been on.
The Kingsway Tram Tunnel is an abandoned tunnel, built to connect the "North Side" and "South Side" tramway systems in the Holborn area of London. |
One of the underground stations |
Emerging from the tunnel |
From here I knew my way.
A short walk, then turn left into Chapel Street Market, a shopping mall
of costermongers with their wooden stalls and barrows set up curbside in front
of regular stores.
Chapel Street Marker in more recent times - not too different from when I knew it. |
My next landmark was
the Italian ice cream parlour, where if I had enough money I would buy an ice
cream sandwich, (none of those baby cones for me). Turn right until I came to the pub on the
corner, peek inside, yell out her name, if no reply then I continued on until I
reached her house.
If you think this is
strange behaviour I should mention that my Nan didn’t know I was about to
visit. Phones, while certainly available
in the familiar red phone boxes were not something that many individuals
possessed.
Upon reaching her house I would bang the knocker three
times. She lived on the third floor and
three knocks indicated to her that she should look out of her window to see who
waited below. When she saw that it was me she would toss out a door key for me to
use.
Once inside her two room home I
could explain to her about all the disagreements, arguments and problems that I
was dealing with on the other side of the city.
She never told me I was in the wrong; come to think of it she never told
I was in the right either! I
just somehow knew I was in a comfort zone, as she sat me down to eat her jelly
pudding made so thick it was like chewing toffee. I got to like jelly made like that. Grandmother’s food is always different from
mother’s food, isn’t it?
I don’t know when Louis Pasteur’s pasteurized milk became
all encompassing, but my Nanny GM was having none of it! Sterilized milk was her tea whitener of
choice. It was quite safe to drink, it
had been boiled to remove impurities. You
might wonder why I’m mentioning this. Yes?
Well, it’s only lately that I’ve been able to make the connection
myself. I’m no fan of regular milk, but
a peek into my kitchen cupboards will reveal a number of cans of evaporated
milk. Of course you know that evaporated
milk is fresh milk boiled until the water evaporates. Add back some water and it tastes just like
sterilized milk!
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