Happy Families

Long long ago, there was a card game with this name.  A gentle tap on the door of my friend Wikipedia reveals that it was created just before the Great Exhibition of 1851.  I understand that the cards are still being made, although I have no doubt that those of the present age (I haven't actually seen any) will lack the atmosphere of those that I played with a lifetime ago.

One thing that Mr. Bunn the Baker and his family lacked - apart from any imagination in naming his offspring (always Master and Miss, just like the neighbours!) - was the grandparents, an even more  essential component of the family in the days when the game was introduced than today.

I was reminded of this scenario as I looked out of my window the other day and spotted small figures running around in the garden opposite.  The scene complemented the fact that I had been doing some more research into my family history; that's the go-to occupation when other work dries up.  It's certainly higher on the list than housework although, that said, I did do some of that this week as well.  With families of one sort or another on my mind, thoughts went back to my own childhood.

One of the regular vlogs - the video version of the blog - that I watch regularly on YouTube features a woman in New Zealand who is experiencing the challenges of setting up a self-sufficient homestead amidst the demands of a tiny one, who is just beginning to crawl.  Doing things with constant interruption is not only inefficient, it is also a source of increasing frustration.  But many of my readers will already be aware of that!

My imaginative recollections led me to my grandparents' home in Norfolk.  It was handy that they lived quite close to us.  As the proverbial crow flies, it was about 200 yards away, but to walk around the block in either direction it was about half a mile, so still easily manageable.  It was easy to plan a pattern of regular visits by my mother and her sister - who lived only a short distance further away - to their parents, prima facie to keep an eye on them as they got older, and more so because my grandmother suffered from arthritis.

Another reason for such visits might well have been to relieve the restrictions imposed by their small children, especially as we grew older and, bored with toys, would find far greater interest in following our mothers around the house as they tried to do housework, faced with a constant barrage of 'What is this for?', 'How does this work?', 'Why do you do that?' and the like.  Even worse was the fear of little fingers prying into places where they shouldn't go, with the potential for damage to either the aforementioned fingers or to what they were exploring!  No doubt there would also have been times when my cousin or I - or both of us - would be parked with the older generation to enable shopping or other things to be done in comparative freedom.

I begin to see a less philanthropic motive for my mother teaching me to read.  Once I could do so, I could be parked with a book and she would be free to do whatever was necessary without the constant 'tail'.  Memories include Rupert annuals, Jack & Jill and Enid Blyton's wonderful series of Noddy books.  

Consequently, I have fond recollections of my grandmother's home, of climbing on her armchair to look at the books on the shelf above the wireless (radio set to my younger readers), or of playing on the hearthrug.  In fine weather, of course, the garden could be explored, allowing mud pies to be made or the behaviour of worms to be studied, and there is photographic evidence of grandad supervising a visit to the chicken run at the top of the back yard.

Whether it is 'toddler elements' in my YouTube watching, or the visitors who come to my neighbours, or simply the rose-tinting of the past that results from advancing years, these things have become of sharper focus just now, and seem worthy of being shared.