A charming story to remind you how precious a Grandmother's love is and how lasting the memories she makes
It’s 4 am on a dark, cold morning in 1977 in Mooroolbark, a suburb outside of Melbourne in Victoria. Dad wakes my sister and I up.
“Come on girls, get in the car. It’s time to go to Grandma's house.”
This was our regular fortnightly trip to the city . Dad would drop us off at Grandma's house on his way to work. Dad worked at The Queen Victoria Markets. He was a butcher and started early on Saturdays. My sister and I would spend the day with Grandma.
After an hour's drive listening to Dad's favourite 50/60’s tunes on the radio, we arrive at Grandma's house. It's an old-fashioned terrace-styled house in the city. Grandma opens the door. “Hello Jamie (that’s what she called my dad ). Come in, girls.”
We walk into the old house and stand at the fireplace in the lounge room and warm ourselves up. We walk through the old hallway to the old kitchen. Grandma makes us fried eggs on toast like she does every Saturday morning. They are the best fried eggs on buttery toast ever! Grandma makes us a cup of tea, and we sit at the table and talk about what we are going to do for the day.
After breakfast, we have to wash our dishes, and then we go into the garden and check on our strawberry plants. We each have our own plant in a pot. Grandma has a beautiful garden with carnations and vegetables.
We play in the yard for an hour or so, and then Grandma takes us for a walk down the street to the local store. Grandma buys a few supplies and buys us an ice-block (that's what we call a popsicle in Australia).
We walk back to Grandma's house, and Grandma takes us into the lounge room and gets out the photo albums. Grandma shows us photos of her parents and all her family when she was young and photos of Melbourne when she was a young girl.
Dad comes and picks us up at about 1.30 in the afternoon.
These memories are precious memories of times spent with my Grandmother. I remember the smells of her house, and I still try and cook fried eggs the same way my Grandma did.
Grandma passed away many years ago, but her love and the memories of our Saturdays spent together will live on forever and be cherished. Every time I drive past the historic terrace houses of Melbourne, I am reminded of Saturdays with Grandma Betty.
Meet Deborah Stanley ...
Hi! I'm Deborah Stanley. I was inspired to write this story about Grandma after reading "Breakfast with Grandpa by Manndi Wilkins.
I have developed a love for gardening and have a green thumb. I am sure that my Grandmother has passed that down to me .