Dear Nan,
I’ve always loved the story of how you and Grandpa met. It’s not the most romantic of tales; a guy on a bike, a girl painting a fence. But to me, the story really does sum up your 70 yearlong marriage. It’s the no frills, no bells and whistles, no nonsense kind of union that set the scene for a lifetime of ups and downs, and round and rounds, but at the core of it all was the simple, uncomplicated love for one another that got you both through thick and thin.
I’m imagining the setting - country Camden, back in the day. You wearing overalls or an apron; a fresh faced 16-year-old with paint splattered hair, a hint of a much older you, decades into the future. A dog by your side; the smells from the dairy farm. There wouldn’t have been many cars back then, so the street your house was facing, I imagine, was quiet. A gangly, 18-year-old, riding along on his bicycle, would not have been something you’d easily miss.
I’m picturing Grandpa, riding along the dirt road, on his rusty old push bike, with narrow wheels, no gears, no brakes. I bet it had a squeak to it. He quite possibly had bare feet. Knowing how much he hates the restriction of boots and shoes; I think he would’ve made use of the opportunity any time he could.
What did you first think when you saw his shy, toothy smile beaming at you through the fence palings? Did you think: boyfriend material right there?
I can only imagine the exchange was fleeting as he rode on by, too nervous to mutter much more than a G’day. You always said he was shy as a teenager. It’s hard for me to imagine that.
I know you said there were hellos to one another, and nothing much else. I wonder if you had given him another thought since that first ride by.
I laugh every time I think of the way Grandpa approached you on the next encounter. It’s obvious that he’d given you another thought, because next thing you know, your mum has a message for you. What courage he didn’t have!
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