Becky Bananas (8 page)

Remembering is a positive thing. Mum couldn’t say that was negative. She is always taking out the photograph albums and all her press cuttings. That is what I am doing, except that I am doing it in my mind. I am remembering Gran’s house.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a teeny tiny
bathroom without any toilet. The toilet was downstairs in the yard. It was spooky going out there at night so when I was little I used to have something that Gran called a jerry, but which most people call a potty.

I asked Gran once why she called it a jerry and she said because that was what
her
gran had called it, but then she stopped to think and she said it was probably because in the First World War people had referred to the Germans as “Jerries” and the German helmets had looked a bit like potties.

So now that is what I always call them. If I ever have a baby I will not put her on the potty, I will put her on the jerry. I think that potty is a silly and childish word. All it means is a little pot. It is baby talk!

Another word Gran used to use for it was “po”, which I thought was rude until Mum explained that it was simply the French word for pot. The French pronounce pot as po! But I still think that po sounds vulgar.

It is strange how many different expressions there are for such a small and insignificant object.

Like all those words for lavatory. There is Ladies & Gents, with the little signs.

There is WC (which stands for water closet).

There is bog (which Uncle Eddy sometimes says).

There is karzy (which he also sometimes says and which I don’t know how to spell).

There is loo, though this is really just the French word for water.
L’eau.
Loo is how it got to be said in this country. In Edinburgh, in the olden days, when people used to empty their chamber pots out of their bedroom windows, they used to shout “Gardy loo!” to warn the passers-by.

They really meant
“Gardez l’eau”.
Watch out for the water! Mademoiselle LeClerq told us this at school.

Gran’s toilet got a bit pongy sometimes, because of the damp and being outside. Also, it used to have spiders in there.

All the rooms in Gran’s house were absolutely tiny, even the big back bedroom where Mum and me slept. Uncle Eddy used to sleep at the front and Gran had the littlest one of all. Gran’s bedroom was like a cupboard but Gran said that she was old and didn’t need much space.

“Not like a growing lad.”

That was Uncle Eddy! It is odd to think that when I was born he was only –

I am not very good at sums. Mum is thirty-three. And I am eleven. That means that when I was born Mum was twenty-two. And Uncle Eddy is seven years younger than Mum, so he was …

Fifteen! I can hardly believe it. That is the same age as Sarah’s brother.

I loved it at Gran’s. Outside in the yard she had a row of giant toadstools that Granddad had made for
her. I think they were made from cement. Or stone, or something. They were painted bright red with big white spots and I used to spend hours trying to jump from one to another without falling off.

Kitty used to jump with me.

At night when I went to bed she would come and sleep with me, all curled up on the pillow, right next to my head.

When the trains went past you could see the lights from the carriages flickering on the wall. I asked Mum where the trains were going and she said they were going to Stratford and Bow. I thought it sounded incredibly romantic. I was only very little, then. I didn’t realise that Stratford and Bow were just up the road.

There was a sweet shop on the corner of Samuel Street. It was owned by a lady called Mrs Platt who had a big bosom. Once I went in there with Stacy Kitchin who lived next door and we stole things. I stole a bar of chocolate and Stacey stole a packet of crisps. We did it while Mrs Platt was serving someone. She never knew.

I don’t think she did. She never said anything about it. But quite soon after that she put up this notice saying, “Only two school children in the shop at any one time”, so maybe she did after all.

I feel really bad about it now.

Mrs Platt is someone else it would be nice if I could say sorry to.

I don’t know why we stole things. I suppose we thought it would be exciting. It must have been Stacey’s idea; she was always the one that had the ideas. I just followed. Mum never liked me playing
with Stacey. She said she was a bad influence. She never liked having to live with Gran, either. She loved Gran, but she didn’t like having to live with her.

It was because we didn’t have enough money to buy a home of our own. Mum didn’t work very much in those days. Not on television. Sometimes in the theatre, and sometimes she had to go away on tour and then she used to leave me with Gran. I didn’t mind. I loved being with Gran! Mum said she spoilt me, but she didn’t. She was quite strict. For example, she wouldn’t ever let me use bad language or stay out late.

We used to play in the street, me and Stacey and some other kids that lived on the block. Once when Gran came to call me in I ran off and hid and she got really mad. She stood on the front doorstep and yelled, “Becky Banaras! You come here this instant or I’ll tan your hide!”

I think to tan your hide means to wallop someone, but Gran never did that. She just used to slap my legs and tell me I was a “little bleeder”.

When I am on
This is Your Life
it will be too late for Gran. But I will think about her! She said to me before she died, “When you have loved someone, they are with you always.” And I do believe this to be true because sometimes I can feel Gran with me even now.

I hear her saying things to me, such as, “You just pull your finger out, my girl!” if I’m being lazy, for example. Or if I wake up in the night feeling a bit wimpish and scared she’ll whisper, “Don’t you worry, my lovey! You hang on in there. It’ll all come right in the end.” And that makes me feel stronger and gives me some bottle.

It is strange to reflect that if I had had a dad the same as other people, I might never have gone to live with Gran. I loved my Gran so much! I wish she hadn’t died. I know that everybody has to, sooner or later, but when it happens it is so sad to know that you can never see the person again. Not until you die yourself, and then you will meet in the afterlife and it will be as if no time at all has passed, as if it was just yesterday.

This at least is what I believe.

Your parents got married when they were students,
but you never met your dad.