Like many of you my Grandmother was my guardian angel. Well, to me she was. In the late 1920’s she was bundled over to Canada from England, by a man 20 years her senior. They settled fairly comfortably in those hard times.
He was a native of Listowel, but lived in Canada for 70 years, with his young wife Muriel Jones (My Grandmother) who was from London and had trained to be a seamstress. George H. Wright (My grandfather) was also a member of the T. Eaton Company’s Quarter Century Club and had been there for over 30 years. He was also a Sargeant with the 166th Battalion, Queen’s Own Rifles. He died at 76 years of age. I was the first grandchild and made my presence known to him by changing the channel on his radio and removing the knob. Irksome, I guess LOL When he died that left Gram to be inventive.
Together they raised eight children. My mother being the eldest girl and second eldest child. This put her in the position of second bread winner.
My gram was pretty thrifty and crafty, I guess. I heard she’d use the kid’s tiny hands to sneak small bits of coal through the coal yard fence. She’had a few curtain rods and took in people’s fancy embroidery to clean and stretch. Monsters on her back porch. She did whatever it took to raise her children. They were lucky to have a house, which she lived in until life took her strength away.
I stayed with her while my parents worked to buy themselves a home. So my days were in my Gram’s care through my early childhood. Probably from a baby to 8 or so years of age. She guided me, she comforted me, she spoke softly and firmly. When I heard her calling me from five or more blocks away I knew I had to get! She had “Some Holler!”, but I knew at the end of it was a warmth and smile and depth of demonstrative love, I’ll never forget. I should have called this,