Who knew the power of a cup of tea and a plate of custard creams? It was this kind offering on a Sunday morning in the home of a loved one's loved one — a nan — which prompted a sad personal realisation: I had forgotten what it's like to have a nan and, in this instance, the simple joy of being spoiled by one.
Having such memories to cherish in the first place is a privilege in itself, I know, whether it's your nan, gran, nain, grandma, mamgu, gu or mamo.
It's been five years since my Mam's mam, Gwyneth Jenkins, passed away mere weeks after a cancer diagnosis. She was my best friend, and a beloved grandmother to five.
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I can still hear her emphatic 'Hiya!' from when she would open the front door to greet us at an unannounced visit, before the routine, welcome trip to her kitchen to inspect which miniature chocolates she would have picked up in her supermarket shop for the treats cupboard: would it be a Twix, Mars or Milky Way this week?
Raised in a house where fizzy drinks - 'pop' in this neck of the woods - was practically banned, that was my next port of call: a glass of lemonade, often enjoyed as a youngster in a sherry-like red-tainted glass with a transparent stem. It felt posh.
A talented seamstress, my Nan had her own sewing room dedicated to making clothes or altering them for friends and family. The standard warning of 'watch now, there may be pins on the floor' was a guarantee whenever one of us ventured towards the room, off the cosy living room in the home she had lived in with her husband Selwyn (they were married for 29 years) - who those who recall The Merthyr Gangshow may remember - and their two children, Caron and Neil.
Softer memories aside, my Nan was nothing short of an inspiration. She survived one bout of cancer in 2006 before it returned to cruelly cut her active, full life short in 2017. She quite literally never had a bad word to say about anyone, and - after having to convince my grandad 'Grampa-Sel' to buy their council home through Right To Buy amid his concerns she would be left with a lump sum to pay off should anything happen to him - she eventually bought her own home herself after she was widowed aged just 50 when Grampa-Sel died suddenly. It was just two weeks after their Right To Buy went through. His fears were realised.
When my parents had two young children to care for alongside work, Nan dropped her hours to work part-time at OP Chocolate Factory to allow my Mam to return to work, an arrangement which lasted until my teen years, where after-school activities would involve watching Animal Park and Bondi Rescue on TV plus failed attempts to teach me to iron.
When her cancer was diagnosed as terminal after just a few weeks of illness in 2017, even then she continued to put others first: trying to protect loved ones from how she was really feeling amid dark or practical jokes about what was to come. Soon after being told the news, she said "Aw, I wanted to see the end of Halcyon (on ITV)" and "I'll have to give that bottle of vodka back that I had for Christmas".
My most prized possession is a voice recording of a family get-together in her living room with her two children and all four of her granddaughters. I was worried I would forget what her voice sounded like.
Reminiscing about holidays in Pwllheli, Bognor Regis and Butlins, we laughed and laughed as stories of yesteryear - of the days of paying a pound to get a child out of the lost kids' pen at beaches, tap-dancing in hotel rooms to cause mischief and Factory Fortnight - were retold to the new generation's bewilderment and awe. Add in my Nan's dismay that at least two of her granddaughters were not a fan of custard to go with the day's dessert, too; "There's another one now who doesn't like custard."
It was her last trip home from Ysbyty Cwm Cynon in Mountain Ash, where she later received palliative end-of-life care on ward six (she requested I publish how amazing the staff there were, they treated her like the Queen, and I will never forget the hug from a University of South Wales student nurse when the reality of what was happening hit home). My Nan loved and laughed fiercely, perhaps poignantly exemplified by the constant flow of visitors throughout her several weeks in hospital.
Born in 1939 to parents Owie and Sarah, she spent a happy childhood in Blaen Dowlais, Merthyr, with her beloved sister and four brothers, going to County Grammar School after passing her 11-plus and then leaving school aged 15 to begin factory work in Kayser Bondor Ladies' Underwear, which - in her words - was a great place to work, with the factory girls even singing as they worked on their sewing machines.
She loved laughter; there was no stopping her once she started. She was proud of the fact that in 2016 she had nine holidays, ranging from cruises to long weekends away. When she couldn't be contacted, people would automatically assume she was away on holiday including her own children, who found it difficult to keep track of her whereabouts.
She also disliked seeing anything go to waste. After marrying Grampa-Sel in 1960, Nan typically wore a pale blue and shorter wedding dress so she could wear it again at a later date for dancing. Nowadays, if there is so much as a new cushion, duvet or lamp in my Mam's home - we are happy to be living in my Nan's former home - my instant retort of "what's happened to the old one?" is a trip down memory lane for my Mam.
Line-dancing, a favourite tipple of gin and lemonade, a rejection of bread and butter pudding at every opportunity because of what it represented during her childhood, bowls, the smell of Chanel No. 5, marching like a sergeant major because she walked so fast, her hugs, smile, laughter and warm nature: they are all things associated with her which bring a smile and can brighten any day.
While I may have forgotten what it's like to have a nan, I've certainly not forgotten my Nan and that is a great comfort.
Written in hope that others will enjoy their own memories of their loved ones who are no longer with us.
Read next:
Carolyn Hitt's beautiful farewell letter to the readers of the Western Mail and WalesOnline
What the census can teach us about our roots
The town that made Burberry: How a community of skilled workers reclaimed their factory floor
The women who helped to make modern Wales during the factory era
Nana, grancha, bopa, and the family members Valleys folk know so well
