My grandmother was a remarkable woman. Devoted to her four daughters to the exclusion of all others, she was not an easy granny, and it is unfortunate that, although she died when she was 86, it was only afterwards that we began to become more tolerant of her personality and understand that everyone must be allowed to be themselves without having to conform to what you expect they should be - especially when the family traits began to show in other members of the family! If I had known she had so many stories to tell, I would have taken the time to ask her about them, but fortunately my mother has imparted many of them, which should surely be recorded for posterity.
She was a talented artist, pianist and card-player, and doubtless her artistic bent can be used to explain away her apparent forgetfulness in the course of daily life. The following story I found particularly delightful:
Living in Kalk Bay at the time, Granny decided to visit her sister-in-law, who lived in Clifton. She got into her little car (we are talking about 72 years ago), taking her youngest daughter with her (the others were at school) and set off along the primitive road that crossed the Fish Hoek valley and wound over Chapman's Peak, through Hout Bay, up over to Llandudno, along the coast to Camps Bay and at last Clifton. This was no small journey.
No sooner had she arrived than she remembered she had left a pot of soup on the stove, and immediately got back in the car and drove straight back home! What a marvellous way to live!
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