Nancy Hannah was my wife’s gran but over the last 10 years she became my gran too.
Sadly Nancy died last month just days before her 90th birthday. She lost her sight a year or so ago and grew so frail she had to move out of her sheltered housing flat into a nursing home.
Jayne and I were able to say goodbye to this remarkable woman on the day she died.
She came from a generation of people we will never see the like of again.
I smile when I remember Jayne and I driving the winding road to Renton to see her – she smoked like a chimney and the cakes she baked could be used as sturdy doorstops, but I loved them.
I had never met such a mischievous old person or one so full of life and generosity. Jayne told me she’d been like that all her days.
On one occasion she sent me out for fish suppers and then got Jayne to cover her leg in red lipstick to make me think she had fallen and sustained a horrible injury.
She was one of those “pit forit yer hon” (translation: put forward your hand) types who always ensured you were over fed and sometimes fit to burst. It’s a measure of my love for her that I even have fond memories of the indigestion she gave me.
I will never forget the day she bounced our son Charlie on her bed and sang to him. He loved her too and I’m so glad he got to spend so much time with her.
The minister at Nancy’s funeral hinted God now had a new helper.
Of all the people I’ve known Nancy Hannah was probably the strongest candidate for Sainthood.
If the big G gave Granny Hannah free rein up in heaven then no one would ever go hungry again that’s for sure.