My writing in the last fifteen years has included several pieces of memoir. One of my most interesting subjects was my grandmother on my mother’s side who lived with us in a mother-in law apartment in our house in Lexington. She was a creative, independent person with a love of anything British. The following short pieces were inspired by my life with Gram in the 1950’s.

I am upstairs studying at my desk in front of my bedroom overlooking two apple trees, which are bare now in late October. I am easily distracted by the antics of two chickadees as they hop between the branches, and then swoop down to the bird feeder below for a quick snack. My reverie is broken by the distant tinkle of Gram’s tea bell. Happy for an excuse to take a break, I clump down the stairs to her first floor apartment.

“Carolyn, will you bring the tea wagon over? Be careful over the rug,” Gram warns. ”

“I will.” Carefully I lift the handle and maneuver the wagon with its two large wooden wheels from its place along the wall beneath one of Gram’s floral watercolors over to the couch. “Do you have peppermints today?” I ask.
Gram smiles. “You do love sweets. Well, so do I. Yes, I have peppermints.”

Diana arrives and we take our seats in two of her antique chairs dating from the early 19th century.

“I’ll take the pulpit chair,” Diana announces as she sits about halfway back into the huge chair with a high back and intricately carved arm rests. The seat is so deep that to sit anywhere close to the back would leave your feet well off the floor. I take the rocking chair, which is so low that as a lanky teenager my head is at the level of my knees. Gram, meanwhile, is sitting very erect and tall on her couch in front of the elaborate British style tea setting.

On the glass tray on the tea wagon are three willow china cups, a matching china teapot, and a tall silver pitcher of hot milk. A small silver dish holds sugar cubes, over which rest silver claw foot tongs. Another sliver dish with handles topped by two birds holds both peppermints and orange jelly-filled chocolates.

Gram takes the pot of brewed tea and half fills one of the china cups. She then fills it up with hot milk, and passes it to me. She does the same for Diana.

“Thanks Gram. Did you hear about the Russian satellite Sputnik? They say we’ll be able to see it tonight. Dad said he’d take us to the 128 overpass to take a look”

“Yes, I read about it in the Monitor. Just think. When I was a girl we were traveling by horse and buggy.”

Suddenly Gram glances at me with disapproval as I try to gracefully sip my tea between my knees. “Carolyn, you must learn to sit in a more ladylike manner.”

“But Gram, this rocker is too low!”

“Then bring in one of the upholstered chairs from my bedroom.”

As I go to get the chair, Diana surreptitiously snatches one of the jelly filled chocolates, which are reserved for after tea.

During the time she lived with us my Grandmother on my mother’s side spent most of her time in her mother-in–law apartment – reading, sewing, playing Scrabble, and painting. She painted watercolors of scenes from her bedroom window or flower arrangements from my mother’s flower garden.  She had an efficiency kitchenette with a hot plate and small refrigerator to make breakfast and lunch, but for dinner she joined us in the dining room. Dinnertime was the time she chose to teach my sister Diana and me correct grammar and proper decorum at the dinner table.

Opening the door to her apartment I called, “Gram, it’s me! Dinner’s ready.”

“It is I, Carolyn, it is I! I’ll be there in a moment.”

Grandmother grew up in the tiny town of Calais, ME, very close to the Canadian border. It is likely that she spoke with a typical Maine accent, with “ayah” and “ain’t” thrown in, but that all changed when she was sent to the Mary C. Wheeler School in Providence, Rhode Island. In addition to cultivating her skills as an artist, Gram learned decorum, table manners, and proper English. She never let us forget it.

For the evening meal my mother always set a formal tone with candles, fancy placemats and a flower arrangement as a centerpiece. Grandmother Sayward, as my father called her, always sat to his left, my sister beside her, and my mother at the other end of the table. I, being the eldest, had the other side to myself, which meant I was directly across from Gram and an easy target for her scrutiny. Gram was served first, which was appropriate, but because we had to wait to eat until everyone was served, the food frequently became cold.

Her terms for parts of chicken or a roast were especially choice. If it were beef she would turn to my Dad and say, “Charlie. I’d like a bit of crisp, please.”

Translation: the end of the roast, which was browned more. The thigh of a chicken was NEVER a thigh, but a “second joint.” One time, standing in the cafeteria line in college, I pointed to such and said, “a second joint, please.” The server looked bewildered until my roommate from Southern Texas, standing in line behind me said, “Do you mean a Thaaah?” If you are wondering about the breast, well that was called “white meat.” I guess such terms were commonplace among polite ladies at the turn of the century!

Gram watched our table manners very closely. We were expected to cut our meat, and then shift the fork to the right hand before bringing it to our mouths. After we finished we placed both the knife and the fork together at exactly 4 o’clock on the plate, ready to be cleared away, always from the right.

“Serve from the left, clear from the right,” Gram would remind us.

There was one dinner in particular that I will never forget. I was about 15 years old. My grandmother had raised three rambunctious boys and one girl (my mother) pretty much on her own because my grandfather suffered from what was then called melancholia. She had a habit of shaking her head side to side vigorously, as though she were having some kind of fit, when we misbehaved. This was terrifying to Diana and me. On this occasion she started to do this during dinner, and my father suddenly turned to her and said, ”Grandmother Sayward, I think you’re faking.” I was shocked. Gram was taken aback and never shook her head again!

Over the years most of what I learned from her at the dinner table remains unused, yet I continue to be very conscious of how people speak. As the result I have served as an informal English tutor to several foreign students and émigrés. They are always very grateful that I am willing to take the time to correct their English pronunciation and grammar. I can thank Gram for that!