This summer, when in charge of the grandchildren, I took them for a walk across the ‘rock-jumping’ area of the moor. At least that is the family name it has been given for the simple reason that there are a lot of rocks which children, at some risk, can leap from rock to rock.
At the start of the walk there stands a lonely tree which cries out, “climb me!” to the fearless three year old grandson. So, I lift him up to the first branch to get him started then, to my personal amazement, I find I am able to follow him. This new found agility is the result of the loss of two stone by zealously following the Atkins Diet. Watched by the less fearless five year old granddaughter we climb higher and higher to reach the point where the thin top branches can hardy support us.
“I’ve climbed this tree before.” the boy informs me.
“Really” I reply, keeping a wary eye on my grandson as it is quite a long way down to some very unyielding rocks.
“Yes, with daddy”
“Right”
“Daddy climbed this high”
“Did he? Did you climb this high too?”
“No”
“Oh, s**t!” This said silently to myself.
I look down and my granddaughter is looking up at me. She has that knowing look in her eye. The sort of look she gives me when I take the wrong turning on the way to the swimming baths, and she asks, in that adult manner that smug five year olds often ape; “didn’t you see the sign, Gramps?”
She is thinking that this is something she can regale her parents with at the dinner table; maybe not tonight but sometime soon. The tale will be exaggerated, embellished with the result that I will get a call, text or email asking if it’s true that I have placed my grandson at risk of life and limb.
This reminds me of the time you and I looked down from giddy heights of the bell tower of St Matthews Church when you were probably a bit younger than your son.
It happened during the church fete held on a day of glorious sunshine and cloudless blue skies. Your mother had dressed you in your best summer clothes and had tried her best with me.
Along with a myriad of other attractions a trip up the bell tower was advertised. I thought that this would be a really interesting adventure for my daughter. We set off up the stairs leaving your mum and her friend Janet at the bottom of the tower with your mum’s firm instructions – not to do anything silly and not to get your clothes dirty – echoing threateningly up the stairwell.
To my surprise the stone spiral stairway stopped less than halfway up the tower emerging into a large dimly lit room that harboured decades of dust. A wooden stair led from this to a slightly higher floor level. Then, to my growing unease there stood the longest step ladder which was wide at the base and tapered at the top where it ended at a rectangular opening to the sky.
You didn’t seem concerned; an example of ignorance is bliss. I was bricking it.\
Having been born in the aftermath of World War II and raised on a diet of heroic tales and courageous self sacrifice, ‘bricking it’ was not an option. This was my north face of the Eiger.
Resigned to showing my daughter grit and determination we started to ascend the ladder with you underneath me so that my arms would prevent you falling to an almost certain untimely death. After a heart stopping climb we emerged into the bright sunlit roof.
I’m not sure if you remember the fantastic views across billows of green foliage and the red tiled roofs of our neighbourhood. We were not alone; you watched fascinated as the local boy scouts disappeared over the embattlements and abseiled down the side of the tower. I pointed out where our house was and as we looked down we saw the oval faces of your mum and Janet looking up. A magic, memorable moment; well worth climbing my personal Eiger for.
After a nervous descent we emerged to find the Verger pinning a notice on the door announcing that the tower was closed as the church insurance did not cover the general public.
“That’s a pity” I said, “The views are wonderful from the top.”
“You’ve been up there … with your child?” he asked, looking at me, then down at you standing by my side.
“That’s right!”
“Oh, God!” the Verger replied, a vivid picture of bodies lying in pools of blood, probably passing before his eyes.
I turned round to walk away to find you mother standing behind me with, I could see, from long experience, vivid pictures of bodies lying pools of blood passing before her eyes.
“Oh, God!” I said quietly to myself.
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Josie @Sleep is for the Weak on December 6, 2009
I love your dad. And that is all I have to say about that.
xx
Bec on December 6, 2009
Gramps rules one zillion percentile!
xx
Wife of bold on December 6, 2009
Ah your Dads great, i see where you get your great writing style from and dare i say your flare/flair (don’t know how to spell that one duh) for the dramatics lol x
rachel pattisson on December 6, 2009
Oh God indeed! I can just imagine the look on the verger’s face. Well, what are rules for anyway?!
Bubblegumbodw on December 6, 2009
Fabulous post. I can see the look your mum was giving him in my mind! Lol
Mwa on December 6, 2009
I want a gramps like that to guest post! Great stuff!
Expat Mum on December 7, 2009
Oh what a brilliant idea and a fabulous post! Well done. You guys should write a book of this type of “letter” to each other. (I’ll only ask for 10% commission!)
Expat Mum on December 7, 2009
Acvtually, it ties in with a Xmas gift I bought this week, so I will post and link in my next one if you don’t mind.
admin on December 7, 2009
No problem – I look forward to seeing it!
Insomniac Mummy on December 7, 2009
I’m loving it badabababaaa!
x
sue_bailey on December 7, 2009
All us grandparents should be able to write about memories like this, it’s beautiful and so vivid. Hope your children remember tree climbing with Gramps too.
Leighann Garber on December 7, 2009
I like your “voice”.
Great story, thank you.
I used to live in a 22-story apartment building in St. Louis, Missouri. We only lived on the ground floor. But to see the fireworks on the 4th of July (and sometimes just for fun) my dad would take me to the roof. We’d look out and see the beautiful lights of the city at night, and feel the building swaying slightly (they do so they give and don’t just snap off) I’d be quite nervous for a while, scared I would fall or even BLOW off (I was only 5 or 6 at the oldest) but he would coax me to come to the edge, lay down, and look over the side. Oh the double thrill of fear and excitement.
And the whole time my mom would be standing at the door. “Jim! Jim! Not so close! Come back here right now!”
Now thinking about this. Oh god! I couldn’t do it. I’m so scared of heights. What was he thinking? But I’m glad he did. Those are some great memories.
Dulwich Divorcee on December 7, 2009
Gramps is just the best. Not leaving my children with him though xx
Jodie at Mummy Mayhem on December 7, 2009
I love Gramps’ posts. In fact, I want to adopt him, move him to Oz and let him take my kids to the beach and climb on the rocks there. Any maybe a tree. Maybe.