In 1989, then-prime minister Margaret Thatcher, wearing a purple coat, came bustling out of the door of No 10, walked right up to the camera and announced: “We have become a grandmother”. Her use of the royal “we” earned some laughs at her expense, but she was clearly absolutely delighted at reaching an important milestone, thanks to her daughter-in-law Diane and son Mark.
I’ve been thinking about that moment because we’ve been celebrating my mum, Pauline’s, birthday this week (I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement saying I won’t reveal her age, but I can tell you it begins with an “8,” and anyway, she looks way younger). We’ve been reflecting on her relationship with all of her five grandchildren, two of whom are my sons, Ollie and Joe.
An important point to make clear here – none of them actually call her “Gran” or “Nan” (unless they are deliberately winding her up). She is “P”, and that’s that, because as she has told us “, I don’t want to feel old” – so we’ve stuck to that. She has a terrific relationship with all of them, and they clearly look up to her – not literally though, as they are all a lot taller than her already.
I’m not doing her a disservice to say that the loving relationship she has forged with Max (12), Lydia (13), Isabella (15) and my two (22 and 19) has blossomed in the last few years – essentially since all of them could hold conversations with her. Pauline wasn’t really one for getting on the floor with them when they were toddlers, but every grandparent has their own style.
My boys’ other grandma – on my husband’s side – was a lovely, kind and generous woman but, again, not much of a floor-roller. We used to slightly dread family visits to her cottage in South Wales when the boys were very young, because she had a lot of ornaments and precious trinkets around the fireplace and on low shelves – in perfect smashing range for two football-obsessed, energetic boys who’d been cooped up in a car for three hours on the M4.
Their grandads on both sides were most definitely happy to get sprayed with water or field endless cricket deliveries in the back garden when the occasion demanded. But without wanting to be sexist, maybe it’s easier for grandads to do that than grans?
I look up to my mum hugely for what she had to go through while making sure me and my sister and brother knew we were loved unconditionally – it taught me a sense of resilience which I have applied to challenges in my own life. But is being a role model as a parent different to being a role model as a grandparent?
I look at my sons’ friends and their grandparents. Some are still lucky enough to have them in their lives and be old enough to ask them meaningful questions and appreciate their value – and not just at Christmas. I’ve also seen the grandparents whose lives have become completely taken over by their grandkids and I feel sympathy for them – they are exhausted and don’t have much time left for themselves. Yet they play a huge role in helping their own adult children to work by picking up the grandkids from school and taking them to the zoo during the school holidays.
I always felt slightly envious of my colleagues whose parents were just around the corner, ready to help when they had children – both my parents and my husband’s were scattered in the North, Wales or the West Country.
And maybe that’s what explains how close my mum is to her brood – because she now lives near us and can take part in their lives regularly and not just via the family WhatsApp.
My husband always feels a degree of sadness that he didn’t ever know his war hero granddad: a proper East End character with a colourful life; and my own stepdad left us way too early. I look at the youngest grandchildren and lament that they never knew him, although we tell them all about him.
Which makes me realise how lucky I am – and also what I’d be like as a grandma. I have a distinct feeling that I’ll be almost broody all over again, I’ll be hard to keep away and I’ll want to be very involved in their lives. And yes, I’ll get on the floor and play with the train sets and the Lego.
Not that my “we are a grandmother” moment is coming any time soon. And no hurry, Ollie and Joe, if you’re reading this – but whenever it happens, I am ready.
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