Another recent piece written at an Electric Tomatoes session. The prompt was The Heavy Table. Family members will recognise some of the ideas in this piece.
Grandma died.
On the first Sunday after Easter.
Granddad said she stayed home from church because she felt a bit queasy but when he got back there she was on the scullery floor. She'd been taking clothes out of the twin tub he said. Heart attack.
He said he hadn't known what to do with her so he phoned the ambulance even though he knew she'd gone. He phoned the ambulance and then he carefully stepped over her and finished taking the stuff out of the washing machine. It was his shirts mainly. He just used her wooden tongs and slumped the shirts over into the spin dryer while the water drained. But then he noticed he was splashing her and knowing how noisy the dryer was he thought it best to wait until she'd been... taken care of. That's what he said.
We had the funeral a week later and when everyone was gone Dad had said he was going to talk to Granddad. He took him out into the back garden. But only a few minutes passed before Granddad came back in.
'Where's me pipe?' He said. 'Where's my effing pipe?' He sounded cross.
It was there on the side table next to his chair, hanging in the pipe rack Jack had made him.
'It's there Grandad,' I said.
'Where?' he said. 'Fetch it for me, lad.'
I ran and rattled the pipe from its stand. Dad was standing in the back doorway watching him with a grim look on his face. Mum came in from the kitchen and caught Dad's eye. They didn't say anything but I saw Dad give a little shake of his head.
'Do you want tea, Dad?' she said.
'And the pouch, lad. Don't forget my baccy.'
I popped back to the table and looked for the pouch.
'In the drawer, in the drawer.'
I slid the drawer open and grabbed it and the plastic lighter that rolled up to the front, the smell of stale tobacco rising bitter in my nose.
'Dad?' said Mum again, 'tea?'
'I'll take it outside,' he said, and with his smoking gear he walked past Dad in the doorway.
I could see them through the window. Granddad sat squinting on the bench where he would always sit and Dad stood looking at him. Mum poured the tea into mugs and carried them out. I couldn't hear what they were saying but they weren't smiling.
Then Jack came thumping downstairs. He been up in the guest room looking at the old stack of Beanos and Dandys that Grandma always kept for us.
'A-Team!' he said.
'Oh!' I said.
He ran out to Mum and a moment later was back turning on the television.
'Can we?'
'Yes, but we have to keep the volume down low.'
Hannibal was just lighting an enormous cigar and had a huge smile on his face as Granddad came in quietly and sat at the table. Mum and Dad came in too. I could hear them talking in the kitchen but not what they were saying.
I watched Granddad lift the tablecloth from the table as he sat there. Just the edge. And fold it back. He exposed the wood and ran his hand along it as if he was checking it was smooth. He curled his finger around the corner as he reached it then slowly slid his hand back along the edge again. He saw me looking. Pulled his mouth into a sad smile. I smiled back.
'Anthony,' he said - pronouncing the 'th', no one else called me that. With everyone else I was Tony or Tone or even Ant but with grandad it was always the full Anthony.
'Anthony,' he said, 'come here.'
Even grandma called me Tony.
I went over to him.
'Give me your hand,' he said.
I held it out as if to shake hands.
'Put it there pardner...' I said.
'No, flat. Like this.'
He stretched his hand out palm up. The skin of his open hand was dry - a little shiny in places. The creases across his palm spelling a clear M.
I pushed my hands out like his, fingers straight, tight together. There were the feint lines of an M on my hand too. 'Man' it would say one day, Grandma had told me, but I couldn't pretend it said that yet.
'Looser,' said Granddad.
'What?'
'Relax your fingers let it go a bit floppy.'
I did as he asked and he then carefully took my upturned hand in his. Cupped his under mine. Then slowly led it to the underside of the table.
'Now... just under here,' he said, pressing my fingertips lightly against the bottom of the table.
'Just under here... .' He slid his hand to one side with mine in it still touching the wood.
'Just under here... Can you feel it?'
'Feel what?'
'Feel again, very gently.'
'What is it?'
'No mouth, just fingers. Feel.'
I carefully spread my fingers brushing the under surface. It was slightly rough.
'It's rough.'
'It is.'
'Like dents in the wood.'
'Pop down and have a look.'
He swung his knees to the side and made an opening for me next to the table.
'Go on,' he said.
I dropped and looked up at the underside of the tabletop where my fingers had stroked. It was dim, dark, but I could just make out some marks along the edge.
'Is it... it looks like... is it writing?'
'It is indeed,' he said. 'Can you read it?'
I peered at the marks that were clearly words forming a sentence but could make out nothing.
'No, it's too dark.'
'And,' said Granddad, 'it's in German.'
'German?'
'Yep!'
'Why? What does it say?'
'It says "Diese Tafel ist für Josef". Can you tell what it means?'
'Er... No.'
'Well what do you think "Diese Tafel" means?'
'No idea.'
'Well, "Diese" means "this"...'
'This?'
'Yes. So "Diese Tafel" means... this...?'
'This... er...'
'Well, what is this?' He banged his hand down onto the table just by my nose.
'This? It's a table...'
'Exactly... ."Diese Tafel" This table...
'Right...'
'"Diese Tafel ist für Josef"', he repeated "This table ist für Josef." Is for Josef.'
' Oh! I said. Who's Josef?'
'My dad! Your great granddad. Josef was my dad and he married my mum, Anna Maria, and they came from Germany to London just before the Great War.'
'Right! They were German?'
'Yes.. Well, Alsatians..'
'Alsatians? Like the dogs?'
'Alsatians are people from Alsace. That's where they came from.'
'Right... So who wrote this then?'
'That was written by my grandma, your great great grandmother, Elsie Dreyer. When Elsie died she wanted to make sure that this table went to Josef, my dad, so she wrote on it. She wrote on other things, too, but this was the only thing for him.'
'And he left it to you when he died?'
'Yes, but he didn't write on it.'
'No?'
'No, he didn't need to. Nobody else wanted it. It was too big and heavy.'
'Right.'
'But I love it.'
'Me too,' I said.
Mum came through from the kitchen.
'Tony, Jack, go wee. We're going now.'
'Why?'
'Because... It'll be bedtime before we get home and you've got school in the morning.'
'But.. Granddad!'
'Yes?'
'He'll be...'
'Oh don't worry about me lad!' said Granddad.
In the car, Mum turned off Sing Something Simple and turned round to us, leaning over the back seat. She spoke in her soft voice.
'So Tony, Jack, how would you to like to share a room?'
'What?'
'What! Why?'
'Because... because we've asked Granddad if he'd like to live with us.'
'What!'
'Yes.'
'What did he say?'
'He's thinking about it. But he'd need a bedroom.'
'But what about all his things?'
'Well he'll bring all his clothes and things of course.'
'And his furniture? Where would we put it all?'
'Well we wouldn't be able to take all his furniture.'
'Oh!'
'So he could bring his favourite chair perhaps, and his radiogram, but we'd help him sell the rest.'
'What? I said,' but not his table?'
'The table?'
'Yes, Josef's table...you can't sell that.'
'Yes, well, it's a bit big. We'd have to sell that. If we could find anyone to take it.'
'It'll go in the auction,' said Dad, 'somebody will take it I expect.'
Grandma died.
On the first Sunday after Easter.
Granddad said she stayed home from church because she felt a bit queasy but when he got back there she was on the scullery floor. She'd been taking clothes out of the twin tub he said. Heart attack.
He said he hadn't known what to do with her so he phoned the ambulance even though he knew she'd gone. He phoned the ambulance and then he carefully stepped over her and finished taking the stuff out of the washing machine. It was his shirts mainly. He just used her wooden tongs and slumped the shirts over into the spin dryer while the water drained. But then he noticed he was splashing her and knowing how noisy the dryer was he thought it best to wait until she'd been... taken care of. That's what he said.
We had the funeral a week later and when everyone was gone Dad had said he was going to talk to Granddad. He took him out into the back garden. But only a few minutes passed before Granddad came back in.
'Where's me pipe?' He said. 'Where's my effing pipe?' He sounded cross.
It was there on the side table next to his chair, hanging in the pipe rack Jack had made him.
'It's there Grandad,' I said.
'Where?' he said. 'Fetch it for me, lad.'
I ran and rattled the pipe from its stand. Dad was standing in the back doorway watching him with a grim look on his face. Mum came in from the kitchen and caught Dad's eye. They didn't say anything but I saw Dad give a little shake of his head.
'Do you want tea, Dad?' she said.
'And the pouch, lad. Don't forget my baccy.'
I popped back to the table and looked for the pouch.
'In the drawer, in the drawer.'
I slid the drawer open and grabbed it and the plastic lighter that rolled up to the front, the smell of stale tobacco rising bitter in my nose.
'Dad?' said Mum again, 'tea?'
'I'll take it outside,' he said, and with his smoking gear he walked past Dad in the doorway.
I could see them through the window. Granddad sat squinting on the bench where he would always sit and Dad stood looking at him. Mum poured the tea into mugs and carried them out. I couldn't hear what they were saying but they weren't smiling.
Then Jack came thumping downstairs. He been up in the guest room looking at the old stack of Beanos and Dandys that Grandma always kept for us.
'A-Team!' he said.
'Oh!' I said.
He ran out to Mum and a moment later was back turning on the television.
'Can we?'
'Yes, but we have to keep the volume down low.'
Hannibal was just lighting an enormous cigar and had a huge smile on his face as Granddad came in quietly and sat at the table. Mum and Dad came in too. I could hear them talking in the kitchen but not what they were saying.
I watched Granddad lift the tablecloth from the table as he sat there. Just the edge. And fold it back. He exposed the wood and ran his hand along it as if he was checking it was smooth. He curled his finger around the corner as he reached it then slowly slid his hand back along the edge again. He saw me looking. Pulled his mouth into a sad smile. I smiled back.
'Anthony,' he said - pronouncing the 'th', no one else called me that. With everyone else I was Tony or Tone or even Ant but with grandad it was always the full Anthony.
'Anthony,' he said, 'come here.'
Even grandma called me Tony.
I went over to him.
'Give me your hand,' he said.
I held it out as if to shake hands.
'Put it there pardner...' I said.
'No, flat. Like this.'
He stretched his hand out palm up. The skin of his open hand was dry - a little shiny in places. The creases across his palm spelling a clear M.
I pushed my hands out like his, fingers straight, tight together. There were the feint lines of an M on my hand too. 'Man' it would say one day, Grandma had told me, but I couldn't pretend it said that yet.
'Looser,' said Granddad.
'What?'
'Relax your fingers let it go a bit floppy.'
I did as he asked and he then carefully took my upturned hand in his. Cupped his under mine. Then slowly led it to the underside of the table.
'Now... just under here,' he said, pressing my fingertips lightly against the bottom of the table.
'Just under here... .' He slid his hand to one side with mine in it still touching the wood.
'Just under here... Can you feel it?'
'Feel what?'
'Feel again, very gently.'
'What is it?'
'No mouth, just fingers. Feel.'
I carefully spread my fingers brushing the under surface. It was slightly rough.
'It's rough.'
'It is.'
'Like dents in the wood.'
'Pop down and have a look.'
He swung his knees to the side and made an opening for me next to the table.
'Go on,' he said.
I dropped and looked up at the underside of the tabletop where my fingers had stroked. It was dim, dark, but I could just make out some marks along the edge.
'Is it... it looks like... is it writing?'
'It is indeed,' he said. 'Can you read it?'
I peered at the marks that were clearly words forming a sentence but could make out nothing.
'No, it's too dark.'
'And,' said Granddad, 'it's in German.'
'German?'
'Yep!'
'Why? What does it say?'
'It says "Diese Tafel ist für Josef". Can you tell what it means?'
'Er... No.'
'Well what do you think "Diese Tafel" means?'
'No idea.'
'Well, "Diese" means "this"...'
'This?'
'Yes. So "Diese Tafel" means... this...?'
'This... er...'
'Well, what is this?' He banged his hand down onto the table just by my nose.
'This? It's a table...'
'Exactly... ."Diese Tafel" This table...
'Right...'
'"Diese Tafel ist für Josef"', he repeated "This table ist für Josef." Is for Josef.'
' Oh! I said. Who's Josef?'
'My dad! Your great granddad. Josef was my dad and he married my mum, Anna Maria, and they came from Germany to London just before the Great War.'
'Right! They were German?'
'Yes.. Well, Alsatians..'
'Alsatians? Like the dogs?'
'Alsatians are people from Alsace. That's where they came from.'
'Right... So who wrote this then?'
'That was written by my grandma, your great great grandmother, Elsie Dreyer. When Elsie died she wanted to make sure that this table went to Josef, my dad, so she wrote on it. She wrote on other things, too, but this was the only thing for him.'
'And he left it to you when he died?'
'Yes, but he didn't write on it.'
'No?'
'No, he didn't need to. Nobody else wanted it. It was too big and heavy.'
'Right.'
'But I love it.'
'Me too,' I said.
Mum came through from the kitchen.
'Tony, Jack, go wee. We're going now.'
'Why?'
'Because... It'll be bedtime before we get home and you've got school in the morning.'
'But.. Granddad!'
'Yes?'
'He'll be...'
'Oh don't worry about me lad!' said Granddad.
In the car, Mum turned off Sing Something Simple and turned round to us, leaning over the back seat. She spoke in her soft voice.
'So Tony, Jack, how would you to like to share a room?'
'What?'
'What! Why?'
'Because... because we've asked Granddad if he'd like to live with us.'
'What!'
'Yes.'
'What did he say?'
'He's thinking about it. But he'd need a bedroom.'
'But what about all his things?'
'Well he'll bring all his clothes and things of course.'
'And his furniture? Where would we put it all?'
'Well we wouldn't be able to take all his furniture.'
'Oh!'
'So he could bring his favourite chair perhaps, and his radiogram, but we'd help him sell the rest.'
'What? I said,' but not his table?'
'The table?'
'Yes, Josef's table...you can't sell that.'
'Yes, well, it's a bit big. We'd have to sell that. If we could find anyone to take it.'
'It'll go in the auction,' said Dad, 'somebody will take it I expect.'
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