AM ROLY POLY ON MY GRAN TOUR
Janet by Llandudno’s Grand Hotel porridge. Nan says she used to be religious, even arranging her own baptism at the age of 17. She remained quite devoted to her church until she was kicked out for getting pregnant outside of wedlock.
Turns out Reverend Sparks grew oncerned when my Uncle Michael arrived six months after Sparks had married my nan (to my grandad, that s). Sparks cornered my nan after a unday service and asked if the baby had been premature.
Nan didn’t much like what he was getting at, so replied, “No, he was two weeks late actually.” Sparks said he would have to discuss her membership of the church with the congregation. It was decided Nan was no longer fit for purpose. “So I washed my hands of the church,” she says, “and haven’t been in one since.”
We’re gathered in reception, waiting for the minibus to zip us around town. During our little tour, driver Owen fills us in. He starts with a word about the conception of Llandudno. “Purpose built, Victorian resort. The arrival of the railway useful to this end. The promenade’s two kilometres long. Drop a fag it’s a twenty quid fine.”
Owen continues up and round to Happy Valley, a popular little park decorated with characters from Alice in Wonderland, including The Cheshire Cat. Nan certainly likes the look of the place. She didn’t realise Llandudno had a connection with Alice, while I didn’t realise Nan was such an Alice fan.
“Oh yes,” she says. “I read them as a girl, and again recently. Your Auntie Jo is having an Alice-themed party for her
Cheshire Cat at Happy Valley
50th. I’m going as a playing card.” At dinner the theme of childbirth comes up. Nan says her mum lost her first baby during delivery. Her father built a little white coffin, but she doesn’t know where her brother was buried.
“I wish I’d asked my mother,” she says. “I cannot forgive myself for not asking her.”
Then she points at me with her spoon and says, “Ask your mother while you can. No matter the question.”
Afterwards, we share a table with Barbara and Keith from Cumbria for the bingo, which proves fruitless. Less
TRAVELS Ben beside holiday coach
fruitless is the company of said Cumbrians. I’m interested to learn that Keith was employed in an iron works all his life, and that Barbara’s a big Tom Jones fan. She remembers a concert in the 70s when all the girls were throwing their knickers on the stage.
“I wasn’t, of course,” says Barbara. “No,” says Keith, “because you didn’t have any on.” Nan goes to bed and it’s just me and Gary from Leeds. Big, burly, and stoic. He used to drive a lorry all over Europe. He says his wife worked at a university and would get in the cab for six weeks each summer.
Those were the best times, he says, though they did have a run-in with the German police once because they thought she was a prostitute. His wife used to joke, “We’ve been married 40 years but I’ve only seen him for 25.” Gary reckons that might be the secret to a happy marriage – 15 years off. “You say ‘used to joke’, Gary.” “She died in 2012. Cancer. She was 65. Got it at 47. It came and went. She couldn’t take the chemotherapy any more. Said she’d had enough. So I said all right, and we stopped it. I held her hand at the end.”
I look at Gary apologetically. “I’ve still got her though.” “That’s the spirit.”
“She’s in t’boot.”
Turns out Gary keeps his wife’s ashes in his car boot, and whenever he finds a place he thinks she’d like, he scatters some of her there. I raise my glass to the man. He raises his and says, “T’boot.”
At breakfast I tell Nan about Gary and his wife in the boot, which prompts her to remember a friend who buried her husband in the garden. When it came to winter she couldn’t bear the thought of him out in the cold so dug him up and brought him inside.
Now each year she buries him in spring and exhumes him in autumn. “Seems like a lot of work to me,” I say. “Lugging a body in and out like that.” “No, you brush. He’s in a small tin.” We’ve 10 minutes before departure, so I go through to the lounge. Val’s here.
When she asks what I’ve enjoyed the most this week I start to give a silly answer, but check myself and say: “It’s been my nan really. Getting her take on things, hearing about her life. It sounds silly but I might start calling her Janet.
“After all, she was Janet before she was my nan.” Val chuckles.
“I asked the same question of your nan.” “And?”
“She said the jam roly-poly.” ■ The Gran Tour: Travels with My Elders by Ben Aitken, out on Icon Books on September 3, £14.99 30% off discount code ‘gran30’ at Waterstones.com
Ex-truck driver Gary sprinkles his wife’s ashes at spots he thinks she would love