You are so fortunate to have had your Oma until you were married. My Nanna (Dad’s mum) died when I was eight, and she was the last Grandie.
I spent one year of my after school hours with her, and looking back, it was such a treasured time.
Although I wish I’d asked her about when she was a little girl, growing up in rural Tasmania. I wished I’d asked her what her parents were like, and what it was like to have so many brothers & sisters.
I would have loved to hear about post-war Melbourne, where she moved with her new husband. Did it hurt to have ten children and only seven survive?
Was she terrified when her husband died of a heart attack when she had a six week old baby (my dad) and three kids still at home under ten?
But what do we know when we’re kids?
I loved my Nanna because she always went for a walk to the local shops during the day & bought me a donut or something for afternoon tea after school. She was as short as I was then, and she smelled of lavender & mothballs.
I so enjoyed reading about your Grandmother's life and memories, so interesting. Thank you for sharing! 😊
You are so fortunate to have had your Oma until you were married. My Nanna (Dad’s mum) died when I was eight, and she was the last Grandie.
I spent one year of my after school hours with her, and looking back, it was such a treasured time.
Although I wish I’d asked her about when she was a little girl, growing up in rural Tasmania. I wished I’d asked her what her parents were like, and what it was like to have so many brothers & sisters.
I would have loved to hear about post-war Melbourne, where she moved with her new husband. Did it hurt to have ten children and only seven survive?
Was she terrified when her husband died of a heart attack when she had a six week old baby (my dad) and three kids still at home under ten?
But what do we know when we’re kids?
I loved my Nanna because she always went for a walk to the local shops during the day & bought me a donut or something for afternoon tea after school. She was as short as I was then, and she smelled of lavender & mothballs.
Maybe that’s enough of her for me to remember.
Thanks, Monique, for helping me remember her.