Chartreuse Three Peace Suite
My Grandad would sit in his corner seat in the kitchen quietly to greet our family on arrival, but would usually disappear about 20 minutes later.
In contrast, Grandma was loud, obnoxious and bossy and often used to say ‘He’s a bit backward at coming forward is Grandad’, by way of explanation of his absence.
It would fascinate me the way Grandad would sneak out, and I would go and search him out in the quiet lounge. Grandma would shout ‘GRANDAD DOESN’T WANT TO BE BOTHERED’ or my Dad would tell me nervously ‘don’t go in there with Grandad, he doesn’t want you lot all running about making noise’.
I didn’t believe them. Grandad seemed perfectly happy for me to sit on the sofa opposite his armchair most times. I was always quieter on my own than when I had to shout to be heard over the rest of the family. He used to laugh whenever I talked, because something about they way I talked used to tickle him, although I never did work out what it was. He had a tall 1970s ashtray with a ‘spinny’ thing on the top. When he would tap the ash onto the tray, sometimes he let me press the spinney thing so that the ash all fell inside, for the lid to then snap closed to encase it inside the metal container.
I’ve always loved the smell of the cigarettes being smoked, and still do even now that I’ve been given up for 15 years. Grandad smoked Benson and hedges, and he used to let me look at them in their gold packet, with the foil covering the little white sticks. Smoking was a big taboo subject in our house. My dad smoked, but only in secret in the garage. Mum knew really, but she actively disapproved, passive aggressively, and it was unthinkable to even admit that cigarettes existed in our house. That made it an exotic and thrilling thing for me, to see smoking happen out in the open as if it was actually ‘allowed’!
The best memory I have of my grandad is the Benson and hedges cigarette card book that he gave me. It was a book that he had kept to give me, in fact, in hindsight I realise that he must have sent off for it especially. Not for my quiet, blond, curly-haired little sister, or for anyone else, just for me. He didn’t have to ask permission of my mum, like anyone else would, he just gave me this beautiful book of Greek mythology. You had to stick cards in there, just like the football ones the boys at school had. Except this was much, much cooler and more exciting.
I had a large Greek myth story book with pictures in at home that I used to pore over, and I don’t know if Grandad knew that, or if it was just a coincidence. I liked that he had thought about me when he ordered this book. Before that, I had thought that I was just an irritating, too chatty child who he suffered because he had no choice. I knew better after he gave me this book, and every time I went there I would ask if there were more cigarette cards that had arrived to add to it. Looking back, I think maybe he wanted me to keep asking for the cards and that’s why he gave me the book, so that I would have a reason to talk to him.
This interest in Greek mythology carried me through the first year of the English Literature part of my degree that included studies of The Odyssey and The Three Theban plays. They always seemed much less dynamic, too adult and boring by comparison with the cigarette card stories in my head. The only thing that kept me reading was the faint hope of running into a Gorgon, minotaur, or Pegasus.
I believe I got my social anxiety from my Grandad. He distinctly preferred to sit in the lounge alone instead of facing the crowd of our family, and I now know exactly how he felt, just wanting that bit of peace. Smoking quietly in a corner in his chartreuse velour armchair next to the bookcase is how I remember him. Quite honestly, nowadays this sounds like the perfect afternoon away from the hustle and bustle of life to me too.
