Snapshot: Mum, who taught my sons to have fun
I lost my mum in February this year. She was 73 years old. She was my mum, my best friend and my spiritual guide. She was a teacher in every sense of the word. She was full of curiosity and wisdom, and she never stopped learning. In the last five years of her life, she had many problems with her health, but her sense of humour and wisdom helped her through all the difficult times.
But most of all, she was Supergranny. She had five grandchildren (all boys) and she loved spending time with them. She was a loving, kind grandma who did everything to please her grandchildren. She lived in Budapest, where my brother’s family lives, but often came to London where I live with my family. She was with me when my two boys were born, and she stayed for a month to look after them when I had to go back to work. She told them many stories, played chess and football with them, and often took them swimming. There were no limits to her playfulness, whether it was wrestling, singing, playing horsey, or standing on her head. She was full of fun and adventure and she wanted her grandchildren to be like that too. I think she succeeded.
This photo was taken in 2014 in a fantastic spa called Széchenyi Fürdő in Budapest. Men in this spa often spend the whole day sitting in the water playing chess. My mum, who was a big chess fan, would sit down next to them and watch them play. When she took my boys to the spa, they sat and watched the games together.
She taught us that, regardless of your age or your health, you should never stop having fun.
Julia Rooney
Playlist: Singing my way into a better, brighter day
Titanium by David Guetta
“I’m criticised, but all your bullets ricochet / You shoot me down, but I get up”
I was slumped against the window in the passenger seat on the way to sixth form, dreading each passing minute. I knew that when I got there, there would be pointing, whispers and cruel remarks, all because a friend who had turned bitter had made false accusations against me. It had been going on for a week and I didn’t know how much longer I could take it.
In the car, my mum turned to me, knowing how I was feeling, and said: “You know what you need to do? Scream it out, let everything go.”
“Mum, I’m not screaming. How is that going stop me feeling betrayed, angry, sad and lonely?” I moaned, trying to listen to the radio and go back into my bubble of emptiness.
Mum was silent for a minute when she heard the first bars of Titanium by David Guetta being played. Then she said: “Sing then. Sing as loud as you like.” And she turned the radio up so it was blasting through the car. I started to sing, quietly at first, then getting louder and louder until both my mum and I were singing at the tops of our voices. With tears in my eyes, but feeling better with each passing second, I sang as if my heart were breaking, not even caring about the onlookers. When the song finished, my mum turned to me and asked if I felt OK and I nodded, half laughing to myself. That day was a better one for me as I gained a new friend, so that I was no longer lonely during the day.
Now if I’m feeling low, I listen to the song and remember that car journey with my mum. It always makes me smile and I feel as if I can conquer any challenge.
Tara Curtis
We love to eat: Auntie M’s Christmas black-treacle brittle
Ingredients
Sunflower oil, for greasing
75g soft light-brown sugar
75 g dark-brown sugar
50g golden syrup, with lashings of treacle if you fancy
25g unsalted butter
½ tsp bicarbonate of soda
Pinch of salt
If liked, 175g shelled, skinned nuts – any sort, your choice
Grease a baking sheet with sunflower oil. Tip both sugars and the syrup (and treacle, if using) into a medium-sized, heavy pan. Add 75ml water and stir over a medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Add the butter. Stir until melted. Bring the mixture to the boil and cook until the mixture reaches 154°C/310°F on a sugar thermometer, or when a bit dropped into water becomes hard. Remove from the heat. Sharpish, add bicarbonate of soda, salt and nuts. Stir well. The mixture should foam up. Pour on to the baking sheet. Spread with the back of a wooden spoon. Once the brittle is really cold and hard, smash it. With a rolling pin. Or hammer. Eat … until Uncle Frank arrives …
Every Christmas, we waited for Uncle Frank to come down so we could open our presents. One year, it was a long wait. We had so many family members staying that my brother and I were sleeping on camp beds in the living room. Father had rigged up a pair of boots and red crepe trousers with cotton-wool trimming, which hung down into the fireplace. Every time we shone the torch – 3am … 4.27 am … 6.49 am ... we were defeated. Father Christmas was not finished.
Aunt Muriel took pity. She played the spoons. It was not enough. So she made black-treacle brittle. She might have made the recipe up on the spot. Feel free to embellish your brittle – Auntie M always did.
Nigel Bagnall
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