Granny Jackboots...
Haven't mentioned her for years on here so without pearoasting let's see what I can recall...

Well, it's not too difficult to figure out where the nickname comes from - that's right, she was an avid Daily Mail reader and given that she was around at the time and her views since, it seems more than likely that she agreed with their famously frothing support for Mosely's Blackshirts back in the early 30s.

My mum was born in Bristol in 1939, thus she was always blamed for bringing the war. A little unfair perhaps, but then bringing war is something she's still fairly adept at now so maybe Granny Jackboots had a point. Anyways, Bristol was bombed to absolute buggery during the war however my Gran's take on this was to chuck the rest of the family into the shelter then head for the upstairs window and watch the city burn. Apparently it was "quite exciting" which is strangely faint praise for dicing with death in such a way.

She despised having children and spent her whole life convinced that kids had ruined everything. Or at least, my mum, who was the first one, had. My Auntie Steph, a few years younger, was pretty, thusly she could do no wrong. This distinction was made with much regularity to the point that when announcing their engagement, Gran uttered a phrase to my Dad that is oft repeated in our family - "I'm glad you're taking her, there's not many who would!"

Further evidence of her pathological hatred for what children had done to her was evidenced when, at the tender age of 42, well past having any more children to go with the two girls she already had, my Mum announced she was pregnant. Gran's advice? "Well you've no-one to blame but yourself. I'd get yourself a bottle of gin and a hot bath if I were you." Similar advice was repeated when my sister got pregnant years later.

My favourite story of Granny Jackboots however is her falling out with her sister, Joyce. Their dad, my Great-Grandfather, was in the armed forces, I forget which, but suffice to say he was away for long periods of time. Whenever he returned he always brought with him some presents for the children. On one such occasion he had been over to the US - VERY exotic in those days! He had brought back with him two teddy bears - one each for his daughters. To her dying day, around 80-ish years later, through all sorts of senile dementure that saw her unable to recognise anyone or anything around her, my Gran held onto one thing above all else. 80 years that bear sat in her mind, burning a little hollow of bile and hatred for itself. 80 years it festered away, clawing at the very fibre of her being and why?

Joyce got the bigger bear.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Fri 3 Jun 2011, 17:50, Reply)