Last week, dear readers, I nearly killed my Mum.
Don’t worry – I haven’t started some peculiar matricide pursuit; it was an accident – but unforgivable never the less.
I took my family to Rome for a break & the temperature last Wednesday in the square in front of St Peter’s Basilica was a scorchio 44 degrees C. Poor Mum collapsed with heat stroke inside St Peter’s & I eventually had to send for the doctor. All’s well that ends well & she’s fine since returning to Donegal where our Irish summer temperatures are a good 30 degrees lower. It didn’t half give me a scare & the stuff that went through my head in that hour & a half I’ve pushed away somewhere so I won’t have to think about it again.
The outcome was that Mum couldn’t go back out in that heat for the next few days – so my sister & I (that’s all of us in the photo) took it in turns to stay in our apartment with her. No internet, no books apart from Rome guides in English, no English speaking programmes on the tv – how on earth would we pass the time? Guess what – we resorted to conversation & I have to tell you it really wasn’t that bad.
I spent hours lying on the sofa listening to Mum telling me stories about things that happened in her lifetime & stuff she’d heard about when she was a child. Some of it I’d heard before but a lot of it was brand new. I heard about:
· the Donegal friend of my grandmother who’d gone to see someone off to America and got on the boat herself, taking her mother’s elastic sided boots that she’d borrowed with her – my grandmother had to go back & break the news to the girl’s mother (I remember the same woman returning to Donegal for the first time in all those years when she was an old person when I was a child)
· the day the soot fell down the chimney covering my sister who was in her cot beside the fire – moments before my grandmother was due to arrive to visit us in Yorkshire
· all the jobs my father did as a teenager between leaving school & moving to England
· the details of my parents wedding which had a guest list of 6 people plus the priest – my Mum is the only one of that group still alive
· an escaped prisoner that my grandmother had given sanctuary to whilst my grandfather was in hospital in the early 1960s
· stories from Mum’s working life as a clippie on the buses of South Yorkshire Transport between Doncaster & Barnsley in the 1950s
and loads of other interesting stuff. We covered a lot of ground & it was thoroughly enjoyable. So it’s true – every cloud has a silver lining & being offline for a few days really isn’t that bad. Tell me some of your silver lining stories please.