I found Dundee marmalade at Trader Joe's. I made toast sliced from fresh bread, I smeared some Irish butter on it, and then thickly spread the marmalade on top....and I was in heaven. Toast and marmalade is, I think a very British thing. I missed it like crazy when I first lived here. Fortunately, like so many other things, I can get marmalade here and I don;t have to wait for my parents to bring it over. marmalade reminds me of Paddington Bear, a wonderful character in a children's story, who is found at Paddington station in London, taken home by a loving family, and who happens to keep marmalade sandwiches under his hat. You know, emergencies might arise, and a marmalade sarnie could be just the thing.
But most of all, marmalade toast makes me think of my grandad. Grandad Self (my dad's father) was an old East Londoner through and through. He had a thick London accent and knew cockney rhyming slang, which would keep me entertained for hours. (Apples and pears; stairs, "I'm going up the apples." Butchers hook;look, "I'll go take a butchers." Syrup of figs; wigs, "that blokes wearing a syrup!") Anyway, Grandad was the youngest of 7 or maybe more kids and was born in 1909. The only photo I ever saw of him as a baby was one where he wore a dress (i guess they used to?), but as a little girl, I thought that was bloody hilarious. Grandad had wonderful stories to tell. About going to school, the three "R's', rulers rapped on knuckles, and how young he was when he didn;t go to school anymore! But the best stories I ever heard, and the ones that have stuck with me, where ones about his wife (my Nan). Violet was the oldest of 7 or so kids, and was out walking one afternoon with her sister, Lil. They bumped into my Grandad (John) and his brother. (Percy maybe?) Grandad takes one look at Violet and decides he wants to ask her out. (Did I mention Grandad was a bit cocky?) So, he does, and they start courting. After two weeks, two weeks, my Nan asks my Grandad, "John, do you want to see me again?" And John replies, "See you? I want to marry you...." So they got married (I remember that photo too. My Nan with one of those really long, straight veils pre- World War 2) with none of my Grandad's family there. He had fallen out with them, over the family business, which was a furniture moving company. Grandad has sold the moving truck (I think to have extra money to start married life maybe?) without asking his brothers....they had a big fight. grandad wouldn't admit he was wrong, so his family didn't come to the wedding. (Did I mention the Self's were stubborn?) Anyway, my grandparents adored each other. During the War, Grandad was a mechanic on the army trucks. He was based in London for a time, and all the men were under strict orders not to leave the base. Well, my nan and my Dad (who was little), had stayed in London during the war, so my Grandad just leaves the base without permission and goes to see them in secret. He told me that nothing could keep him away from seeing his wife and only son. Of course he got caught, but I remember him telling me the story and chuckling the whole time, as he remembered his punishment (cleaning offices at night on the base) and how he managed to talk some other bloke into doing it for him. (Did I mention that John was very rascally?) Grandad had all kinds of stories about what he used to get up to and I was a willing listener. I used to badger him constantly to tell me more. After my nan died, he used to take the coach from East Ham in London to come and stay with us. It used to be the highlight of my summer. He taught me how to play cards, and perhaps the best of all, how to ride a bike. Every morning, I would get up and plead with him to come into the back garden and teach me how to ride my bike. He would have barely had time to eat his weetabix cereal and marmalade toast, washed down with PG tips tea, before I would come tugging at his sleeve. I remember it took me a week, until I was ready to show the whole family that I could ride my bike, on the grass, all by myself.
My sister, brother and myself were his only grandchildren. So we were spoiled. Not like kids are today. Our spoiling consisted of being allowed custard and ice-cream on your dessert. Or being able to have a choc ice (kinda like those blocks of vanilla ice-cream with a thin layer of chocolate on), and a twix bar in the afternoon. He and my Nan called me Baby, long after I stopped being one. I'd get all huffy. But secretly, I think I liked it. Now, the boys and I call my Grandad, Grandad John Robert. Otherwise they'd get confused since they have a Grandad in England now. JP liked that he shared the name John with him. I have so many memories, of his house in London, of his tiny garden that was the size of our kitchen, but filled with beautiful flowers and vegetable anyway, of how his tobacco smelled when he filled up his pipe, and how he always wore suspenders. John loved a joke, loved a pint of beer and a ploughmans lunch, and loved to tell you exactly how something should be done. (Did I mention that he kinda acted like he knew it all?!) It's odd how he is gone, been gone for a while now, and all I can pass onto my children are snippets of my memories of him. Thank god for Dundee marmalade for helping me remember him all the more.
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