Nan

I never knew Nanna as a young woman. The photos of yesteryear are all I have to know that before there was my grandmother, the old lady, there was Nancy. Or Julia if you will. If you’re confused about her name don’t worry. I was too until about the age of 10 — I couldn’t work out why she had two names that were interchangeable. But there was also a third I think she liked best, Nanna. I stuck to that one. It was the one that in my eyes, she wore better than the others.

Nanna lived a long life and it’s testament to the toughness of her character. A woman who lived through the depression years, a world war that separated her and her husband, and of course who could forget supporting her “Doggies”? 94 years of that is enough to test the resolve of anyone’s character, and let’s not forget her leaning over the bench with a cigarette. Even through decades of that her lungs and arteries still held up. Although something tells me her classic pose as she leaned across the bench might be the reason her ability to stand straight later in life was diminished. Still, she managed.

She was tough, but this never hardened her nurturing side. The best example I can give of her strength and nurture is to remark on her hands. Her arthritic wrinkled old hands that toiled in her youth working hard for family and country. Sacrificing a hardworking finger tip to the bullet machines during wartime, I was always fascinated that my Nanna was missing a piece of her but didn’t seem to care. It just was what it was — no fuss to be made. Which really was Nanna. No fuss.

That was Nan to the end. Even when she slipped away during her final sleep, there was no mess to clean up, no agony for her family to endure, just a quiet final no fuss gesture as she went to meet up with pop.

As I grew older, again her hands featured to me as she patiently passed on to me how to oil paint. Although becoming wrangled with arthritis they would flick the brushes and spatulas through the paint and oil with a swift dexterity, never hinting at the pain within them and certainly never a complaint from Nan. She was just there for me to nurture a creative side she saw in me that I’m now lucky enough to have made a living from. All that was sparked from seeing my Nanna create beautiful calm landscapes in her artwork and a bit of a nudge from her early on.

I suppose now that she’s gone we can auction off some of the paintings and make a buck from the late artists’ collection. Although nan never really had a side to her that implied she needed anything but the simple things in life. Love and happiness for her family and a big warm cuddle from her boys were her riches.

Constantly told by those around us that her and Pop “spoil you rotten”, we were loved richly and deeply by both of them and boy didn’t we know it. Trips to the movies at Highpoint with her and Auntie Bessie, with all the trimmings from the lolly shop were on offer for me, I learned first hand about great cinema, or at least Mel Gibson films anyway, and even more to the point, the fine art of sneaking into a second film after the first was finished. It seems that two dottery old grandmothers aren’t going to arouse any suspicion among the ushers at Hoyts Highpoint, but they can certainly inspire mischief in a young boy’s heart and mind.

McDonald’s Yarraville was also a fixture and of course all the lollies, snacks and soft drink we could consume as long as it was on the mat in the kitchen. As we grew older and lollies merged into bigger treats and we started to attend secondary school, Nan and pop had moved to Melton. Nan was a there like an angel every night, parked by the cemetary to save us from the brutally gruelling 2km walk home. Waiting patiently across the road to drive us home in the Bluebird (which was green, again, confusing to me as a child) Nan’s nicotine coloured thumbs would slide out a couple of Blue PK chewies for the ride and there’d be a cold meat pie waiting when we arrived home. And the lolly jar did always remain full. It sounds sad to say this but I was even sniffing around for a joob after I said my final goodbyes to Nanna. But Nan would have liked that.

Everything she gave, nothing she would take. Nan’s currency was a bear hug and sloppy kisses. There was never a doubt that Nanna thought anything but the world of all of us. She always lit up when she saw us, quick with those bear hugs that you’d be engulfed by, again, the strength in her hands defied the rickety exterior and the smothering kisses that would suffocate you with love left you breathless but warm and happy that Nan was around.

Later in life I was lucky to see that same affection and spark in her eye from the outside when my boys and my wife Anna came into her life. Anna became the granddaughter she never had and Nanna became the grandmother that Anna had missed and craved to be with since her youth. They loved each other as blood and formed a bond as close as any of us boys ever had. Of course it did mean I got relegated down the pecking order and that I’d have to start wearing some abuse from time to time for not coming to visit, or a poor shaving routine, or naming my son Charlie when clearly I meant to call him Charles. But it was certainly worth it to see how much we all meant to her, and certainly that she was still sharp as whip and not one to put anything past. Grand-nan was born with Oliver and Charles and will always be a special part of them as they carry on her life’s values in theirs.

For all Nan’s physical ailments I can vividly picture her strong, stoic nurturing hands solid as a rock holding my babies as her face lit up staring into their eyes. Her hands told the story then and there of her entire life, holding my boys, protecting them and nurturing them; she had not lost the strength of the youthful woman that dutifully served and saved her country so many years ago. Her soft appearance outside, always belied the strength within.

Never let them see you coming.

I honestly think that Nan decided in the end that it was time. There was nothing left to prove, or to fight for, or to have to protect and nurture. It was just the right time so she chose to move on. And she did, in the most graceful way, as she said she’d always like to. She shut her eyes and went to sleep.

Julia “Nancy” Annie Chard was a woman of another time that made ours with her all the more special. Never preaching how it should be done, but teaching us buy example how a person should live.

Long, Strong, Loving and always putting family first.