“God gave you two ears and one mouth.  That means you should listen twice as much as you talk.”

One of Gran’s favourite little gems that Mum is always saying, and sometimes it drives me nuts.

 “I’d forgotten all about this Sally.  Your Gran left it for you.  She said to give it to you when you were grown up because it wouldn’t make sense before.”

Yesterday Mum Spring cleaned the attic and handed me a box she’d found up there.

It was heavy.  A large, old Lipton’s Tea tin in the shape of a caddy, thick with 23 years of dust and a rope of cobweb draped over it like a necklace.

For once the kitchen table was clear of my little brother’s homework because I’d made him do it before the weekend.  So with a cup of tea in one hand and the tin in the other, I sat in the late Sunday afternoon light and opened it. 

On top of the small pile of treasures, all carefully folded and neatly placed inside, was a brown envelope.  In it was an engagement ring with tiny sapphires and diamonds in a fine gold setting, which barely fitted on my little finger.  It was beautiful, perfect and opened the door to another world.  I looked at it and watched it twinkle.

Underneath was another envelope. A sealed pale blue one, with “Sally” in black spidery handwriting on the front.

“Dear Sally,” it began, “I hope you are a happy healthy young woman when you open the box and read this.”

Gran had died when I was a baby and knew that she would never see her grandchildren grow up and I thought for a moment about how hard knowing that must have been for her.

“You have already found my most precious belonging. My engagement ring was your Gramps’s mother’s and she was born in 1930.  She was the kindest person I ever knew, like a mother to me as my parents were killed in the war when I was much younger than you.”

I looked out into the garden.  I’ve never thought much about my life – I just get on with it.  But it’s been an easy life I suppose.  I’ve never had to deal with a war and I’ve never known what it’s like to lose a close family member because they’re all around me all the time.  But Gran’s life was very different to mine and she’d put this little treasure chest together in a special order to show me things that were important to her.

As a teacher in a city school the children run me ragged so that I always seem to be shouting at them. Jason Bundy’s the worst.  He always has something to say to disturb the class; he can never keep quiet, ready cause mayhem at the drop of a hat.

I love my job but sometimes I feel like I’m walking through treacle and really can’t do it well at all.  Somewhere I feel there must be a key to it all – something that will make it all easier and me a better teacher. 

“The letter in the cream envelope,” I looked into the box and took it from the top of the pile,  “was the only one your Gramps ever wrote to me.  But we were never really apart in the 35 years we had together, so he never had to write.” 

I pulled open the flap of the letter, postmarked “Ceylon” in June 1952.  Gran must have read it over and over, judging by the worn creases, perhaps in good times and in sad ones.  In the letter he told Gran how much he loved and missed her and at the end of the letter, in the middle of the page he had written,

“Will you marry me My Love?”

A large tear rolled down my cheek and plopped onto the table. Gramps is still a man of few words, not much given to shows of emotion, so it was especially touching to see those simple but poignant words.

In my other hand was a well-loved black and white picture that I’d pulled out of the envelope with the letter.  It was of a handsome young Gramps in uniform with a small brown dog lying at his feet.  On the back of the photo was Gran’s writing – “John and Whistle” it said. I looked closely at the face looking out at me and smiled.  He really hasn’t changed a bit and he misses her too. 

Next in the box were photos of Gran and Gramps’ wedding, my mother’s christening, early childhood and their family life.  Happiness from simple things and the wisdom of hardship shone out of the faded snaps.

“When we were young, in the days before television,” Gran went on in her letter “we pressed flowers and made cards for our friends and family.”

The two or three little flower cards and boxes had been decorated with ribbons and faded pink blooms.  They were lovely - hours of work done with patience – I’d never seen anything like them.  I thought of my brother and the kids in my class who want everything high-tech and they want it right now.

“All year round we made little things that we would give as Christmas and birthday presents.”  None of the shop-bought twinkle for my Gran’s generation, no last minute shopping or gift vouchers.

The last and largest gift was underneath the cards and little boxes.  It was a tapestry, which I unfolded gently and laid on the table.  There, on a soft pinky-cream background she’d sewn a couple with a baby, a man in uniform, and old fashioned looking car, a seaside scene and a ‘Bed and Breakfast’ sign.  And there were other scenes all stitched with tender loving care.

“My word,” said Mum, leaning over my shoulder,  “What treasures she’s left you.  I remember this,” she fingered the tapestry, “it always seemed to be at the side of the chair and she added pictures to it.  That’s the office where Gramps worked all his life; that was Whistle, our little terrier.  And she’s put the TV in there – we were the first in our road to have one.  We used to ask the neighbours over if there was something special to watch.  All my little school friends were jealous of that.  What a work of art it is.”

“It took me twenty years to do the tapestry,” Gran said, “I expect you’re wondering why.  Well we didn’t have modern washing machines and things and there was cleaning and washing to do every day.  Being a Mum and keeping a house was full time work.  But in the evenings when your Mum was in bed, Gramps and I would sit in the back room and he would read bits of the paper to me while I stitched. He’d tell me about his day and I’d listen and then I’d say what I’d been up to.  Together we made plans for the weeks ahead.”  I could imagine her remembering all this as she had written it down, hoping that I’d understand.

“I hope you have enjoyed the things I’ve put in the tin.  I expect your life is so very different from mine.

“I feel sure that you have grown up to be a thoughtful, kind and delightful young woman.  I am so proud of your mum and I am so very sorry that I am not there to be with you.”

In this tin was Gran’s world and she cared enough to share it with me.

Today I came home from school and found that I had learned from her wisdom.  I listened to Jason Bundy instead of telling him to be quiet and sit down.  He told the class about a science program he had seen on the TV and now we’re going to do a project on it.  Then he sat down and worked until the end of the class without a peep.

Thank you Gran for your wise words.  Although I never knew you, you’ve helped me see my world through fresh eyes.