Lovely Wendy. I loved my grandfather. He also fought in WW1 and lived in Liverpool. A great picture. Hands are so telling. I’m thankful to have mine. When my grandmother was dying in hospital I gave her a manicure. It’s a lovely final memory. X
Thanks, Margaret. That is touching. Glad you were able to share that experience with your grandmother.
What a coincidence that our grandfathers were just across the Mersey from each other. My grandad and his brother were in the Cheshire regiment. Maybe they served with yours?!
Oh Wendy...I loved this so much–before I noticed you so lovingly quoted my 'hands' piece. I am touched. Wouldn't it be wonderful if this set off a barrage of stories about hands. Now nature entering our homes is another story. Gulp, I have been wondering if snakes will be visiting me in my lovely woodland. They just might. To be continued. Hugs again
Thank you, Andrea. Hands are so memorable. I’ve been thinking about your piece ever since I read it. Which probably isn’t so long ago, but seems ages in Substack time!
I thought of the negative connotations hands can have, too, but that would be a different essay.
Hope you’re not bothered by snakes in your new place. First time I’ve ever seen one up close here and I’ve lived in this house 26 years!
Lovely post, Wendy, love the photo of you holding your grandfather’s hand ☺️🥹
Decades ago in NYC, I left an unscreened window open and a 🦇 bat flew in 😳 I called the fire department and it was like something out of a Dracula 🧛 with the swooping and the firemen saying “woah, woah” and ducking 😂
I love bats in theory – all for them! – but in practice I have a phobia of anything that swoops! On the occasions we've had one in the house, I'm the first to run screaming from the room. I'm meticulous about closing windows at night!
My father once told me that if a bat flew into a room it could get caught in your hair and would have to be cut out. I've been freaked out by the idea ever since!
Great piece. I've never seen a snake in England, I do fear I would freak out. I don't like them, or sharks or alligators. But quite happy with spiders, I encourage them to feast on flies and clothes moths...
I don't remember my grandfather, but I had a great uncle Stan who was a gardener in Essex, and in all the photos he's wearing shirt, tie, waistcoat, tweed jacket and flat cap. In every weather. He grew sweet peas, rolled his own cigarettes and ate mustard off a spoon. Magical!
Also: I have never seen a snake up close and personal like that, other than in a zoo, Sarah! A fleeting glimpse of an adder once, near the beach. But this was a real surprise.
What a beautiful piece of writing, Wendy. It brought back a lot of memories for me, not least the Swarfega by the kitchen sink!
I'm sorry for the loss of your son, Otto. Do you feel the loss of having more memories is especially hard? (Please don't feel you have to answer this though, if you don't want to.)
I'm glad you confessed to being scared of bats and snakes and moths and spiders at the end! Me too, especially the spiders!
Thank you, Emma. Swarfega! What's in it to be that miraculous at removing grease?!
And yes, nature is fantastic, until it gets too close to me!
Thanks for your question about Otto. Yes, I think of him as my "shadow child", the one I'll never know. There was all the anticipation, and then finding out he'd died before he was born was devastating. It's coming up to 24 years and August always reminds me of him.
Milo was born 15 months later, which was/is a total joy.
I know you mentioned in your recent post that your oldest son died, and I'm so sorry. You must be feeling the loss of his future so keenly.
Hi @Wendy Varley don’t worry, I have missed a few comments on here lately too. I don’t know if it’s a glitch with Notifications, but I always feel mortified when I discover them, in case people think I’m ignoring them 😳
Exactly, Catherine! I hate to miss a comment! I think it’s because they get ‘nested’ in notifications, so later comments on a published post might end up a long way down your feed in the notifications list.
I happened to go back to this piece to check something today and there was your comment!
It’s crazy about hands, isn’t it? We are taught to look people in the eye, poems are written about the “windows to our souls”, yet I think it’s the hands of my lost loved ones that come to me most often. Dad’s especially. And when I look down quickly, I see Grandma’s in my own. Thanks for a beautiful piece. Well except for the snakes and bats and spiders 😱
My grandfather also fought in WW1 and came from Carlisle. He was 17 when he signed up and went off to Gallipoli and the Somme. My other grandfather ALSO fought on the Somme. Madness. I think they were both deeply affected by it. I like YOUR hands in the photograph, did you learn ballet?
Seventeen. Goodness, Rosie. That generation were very affected by it. My grandfather never talked to me about it, but he went to France to visit his brother John's grave later in his life, and in an old diary of my nana's I found reference to them marking John's birthday.
I was going to dance classes around the time that photo was taken, and was always dancing. I didn't study ballet properly until I was 11, after much pestering!
Thank you for this! Enjoyed it very much. And thanks for adding the footnote, because I was bewildered — completely certain that I'd read that beginning part somewhere before. Had actually double-checked the date after the first sentence. Was it possibly in the context of a review of a book?
Thank you! Well remembered! The Guardian used to run reader’s photos with commentary and I was delighted they included mine back in 2015. The link in the footnote still works! It’s one of my favourite photographs, so glad to revisit it and expand on it here.
Lovely Wendy. I loved my grandfather. He also fought in WW1 and lived in Liverpool. A great picture. Hands are so telling. I’m thankful to have mine. When my grandmother was dying in hospital I gave her a manicure. It’s a lovely final memory. X
Thanks, Margaret. That is touching. Glad you were able to share that experience with your grandmother.
What a coincidence that our grandfathers were just across the Mersey from each other. My grandad and his brother were in the Cheshire regiment. Maybe they served with yours?!
And I’m in Wallasey and my dad did his National Service with the Cheshire Regiment. Small world.
Beautiful post (and moth), Wendy.
Thank you, Keris. Oh wow, yes, small world! I presume rather more recent for your dad. (Not WW1!)
Yes. Mid-50s. Got lots of letters and photos to share on my Substack soon.
Oh Wendy...I loved this so much–before I noticed you so lovingly quoted my 'hands' piece. I am touched. Wouldn't it be wonderful if this set off a barrage of stories about hands. Now nature entering our homes is another story. Gulp, I have been wondering if snakes will be visiting me in my lovely woodland. They just might. To be continued. Hugs again
Thank you, Andrea. Hands are so memorable. I’ve been thinking about your piece ever since I read it. Which probably isn’t so long ago, but seems ages in Substack time!
I thought of the negative connotations hands can have, too, but that would be a different essay.
Hope you’re not bothered by snakes in your new place. First time I’ve ever seen one up close here and I’ve lived in this house 26 years!
Lovely post, Wendy, love the photo of you holding your grandfather’s hand ☺️🥹
Decades ago in NYC, I left an unscreened window open and a 🦇 bat flew in 😳 I called the fire department and it was like something out of a Dracula 🧛 with the swooping and the firemen saying “woah, woah” and ducking 😂
Thank you, Jolene.
I love bats in theory – all for them! – but in practice I have a phobia of anything that swoops! On the occasions we've had one in the house, I'm the first to run screaming from the room. I'm meticulous about closing windows at night!
😆
My father once told me that if a bat flew into a room it could get caught in your hair and would have to be cut out. I've been freaked out by the idea ever since!
Gah! Aren’t parents wonderful at instilling phobias! Bats are very good at dodging us, actually. But I still have a fear of fluttery things!
I had a towel on my head when help arrived!
Ha! Yes! Hide from the bat is my default, too!
Had you met my Dad?😉
Haha I was told the same thing as a kid! 🦇 😱😂
😂
Great piece. I've never seen a snake in England, I do fear I would freak out. I don't like them, or sharks or alligators. But quite happy with spiders, I encourage them to feast on flies and clothes moths...
I don't remember my grandfather, but I had a great uncle Stan who was a gardener in Essex, and in all the photos he's wearing shirt, tie, waistcoat, tweed jacket and flat cap. In every weather. He grew sweet peas, rolled his own cigarettes and ate mustard off a spoon. Magical!
Thank you, Sarah. Yes, that generation was all about the layers! I have a photo of my nana at the beach at New Brighton, just as fully-clothed!
Mustard off a spoon?! That is hardcore!
Also: I have never seen a snake up close and personal like that, other than in a zoo, Sarah! A fleeting glimpse of an adder once, near the beach. But this was a real surprise.
What a beautiful piece of writing, Wendy. It brought back a lot of memories for me, not least the Swarfega by the kitchen sink!
I'm sorry for the loss of your son, Otto. Do you feel the loss of having more memories is especially hard? (Please don't feel you have to answer this though, if you don't want to.)
I'm glad you confessed to being scared of bats and snakes and moths and spiders at the end! Me too, especially the spiders!
Thank you, Emma. Swarfega! What's in it to be that miraculous at removing grease?!
And yes, nature is fantastic, until it gets too close to me!
Thanks for your question about Otto. Yes, I think of him as my "shadow child", the one I'll never know. There was all the anticipation, and then finding out he'd died before he was born was devastating. It's coming up to 24 years and August always reminds me of him.
Milo was born 15 months later, which was/is a total joy.
I know you mentioned in your recent post that your oldest son died, and I'm so sorry. You must be feeling the loss of his future so keenly.
Such a compelling blend of life and death, vivid yet matter-of-fact
Thank you, Eliza.
That photograph says SO much. Lovely remembrance.
Thank you, Jill.
What a lovely piece of writing Wendy, managing to touch on all the emotions. You've got yourself a new subscriber 🥰
Catherine, I don't know why I've only just spotted your note – it didn't pop up on notifications at the time. But a belated thank you!
Hi @Wendy Varley don’t worry, I have missed a few comments on here lately too. I don’t know if it’s a glitch with Notifications, but I always feel mortified when I discover them, in case people think I’m ignoring them 😳
Exactly, Catherine! I hate to miss a comment! I think it’s because they get ‘nested’ in notifications, so later comments on a published post might end up a long way down your feed in the notifications list.
I happened to go back to this piece to check something today and there was your comment!
Aha, mystery solved!
It’s crazy about hands, isn’t it? We are taught to look people in the eye, poems are written about the “windows to our souls”, yet I think it’s the hands of my lost loved ones that come to me most often. Dad’s especially. And when I look down quickly, I see Grandma’s in my own. Thanks for a beautiful piece. Well except for the snakes and bats and spiders 😱
What a touching comment, Lori, thank you. Yes, hands are so memorable. Thanks for commenting. Good to meet you here!
Beautiful and evocative. What a lovely Grandad you had, Wendy. We don’t have snakes in NZ. I would have piddled my pants!!!!
Thank you, Leah. Yep, the snake was a real surprise. Never seen one up close outside of a zoo!
I too loved THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN. And I can see your elegant grandad, all dressed up for the beach.
Thank you Rona. I’ll reread that book to see what I make of it now. Read it so many times as a child.
Grass snakes scare me breathless. It's a genetic thing.
My grandfather also fought in WW1 and came from Carlisle. He was 17 when he signed up and went off to Gallipoli and the Somme. My other grandfather ALSO fought on the Somme. Madness. I think they were both deeply affected by it. I like YOUR hands in the photograph, did you learn ballet?
Seventeen. Goodness, Rosie. That generation were very affected by it. My grandfather never talked to me about it, but he went to France to visit his brother John's grave later in his life, and in an old diary of my nana's I found reference to them marking John's birthday.
I was going to dance classes around the time that photo was taken, and was always dancing. I didn't study ballet properly until I was 11, after much pestering!
Thank you for this! Enjoyed it very much. And thanks for adding the footnote, because I was bewildered — completely certain that I'd read that beginning part somewhere before. Had actually double-checked the date after the first sentence. Was it possibly in the context of a review of a book?
Thank you! Well remembered! The Guardian used to run reader’s photos with commentary and I was delighted they included mine back in 2015. The link in the footnote still works! It’s one of my favourite photographs, so glad to revisit it and expand on it here.
I see! How completely lovely.
Thanks so much, Maureen.