Ripples from the family tree..

I bought a card shuffler. Because of a memory.

I don't recall how I got talking to my husband about this, but I was telling him the story of my Nan. A brash, bolshy Brighton girl. She died when I was 11, I never knew her well since we lived several hours away, and my memories of her are limited to say the least.

I recall her living alone in a small council flat with walls a fetching shade of fagnolia; yellow and a bit sticky. She loved to smoke and had her chair facing a small black and white telly on which she'd watch the snooker (I suppose the commentator had to explain which ball was pocketed). When I first saw Catherine Tate's character 'Nan' I was instantly reminded of her. It's the accent and the utter lack of a filter. I have to give it to her, I remember she spoke her mind freely.

She definitely had some ugly glass fish, which I suspect are now collectable; sods law we never kept them. She also had a cigarette dispenser and this card shuffler. If you've not seen one, you split the deck, put the two stacks on either side and pressed a button, there was a whirr as the cards shot inside one by one and a perfectly shuffled deck popped out the bottom.

I've no idea why that stuck with me, I think it may have been the only thing I was allowed to use or play with. The flat wasn't exactly child friendly. I'm just glad she didn't encourage me to play with the ciggie dispenser.

I was a little bit obsessed by the shuffler so when I was telling Alan about it, he said let's get one! Now I have it, it's predictably cheap and nasty but I like having it in the house. It isn't hers but, it looks just like it, and it's nice to have a that little reminder.

The memory is a potted summary of the memories I have, at best, and is recalled through the filter of my childhood. I know more about her from my parents.

She was pregnant with my Dad in late 1939, right the start of the war. His father didn't stick around. I have visions of a soldier who used going off to war as an excuse for a leg-over but I'm sure there was more to it than that. Her mother was French, something that fascinates me to this day but that's for another time.

Pregnant and facing life alone, she was extremely lucky meet my Grandad. The man who married her complete with child on the way and raised Dad as his own. They had two more children and the truth of Dad's biological father didn't come out until my Nan was much older and my Grandad had passed away.

He didn't fight in the war as he was both deaf and mute, we often joked it was the only reason he could put up with Nan. I am deeply grateful to this kind, generous hearted man for being an positive influence in my Dad's life. It could have been so different.

I was maybe 5 or 6 when he died. I do remember their little garden with their terraced house, he'd built a little wishing well and a rockery. He painted the stones of the well and the rockery in pinks, blues and yellows. To me it was simply magical, the adult in me sees it as magically simple.

To this day my Dad is easily pleased by simple things like this, a trait I see in myself and one that deserves to be reinforced and nurtured. I wonder how far back that goes and what Grandads parents must have been like. Sadly the trail goes cold.

In pausing to think about Nans' life and the ripples that continue to this day I am proud to have known of her, even for a short time. A robust, brave and stalwart woman, unrefined but determined and resolved to make the most of her situation. Grandad, many would write him off for his disabilities, a hard worker and caring father.

I find many things when thinking of these long departed figures in my life. Their influence remains, little ripples not seen until reflected upon. I assumed I had nothing from Nan but I would be proud to own her forthrightness, moderated with my own filters of course.

We know nothing of Dad's biological father - I wish him no ill will, but he's nothing but a DNA donor to us. The true 'Dad' in this was a man who couldn't hear or speak and yet, with her, raised three children to be empathetic, honest and fun loving. I am deeply proud of both of them.

How often do we stop to look at the ripples we have made or are making?

Not enough, I'd bet my shuffler on it.