The Twa Grannies

Our kids loved the Katie Morag books. Mairi Hedderwick nails the dilemma of torn loyalties between maternal and paternal grandmothers and brings the two together in a sweet story. Katie Morag lives on a island with her mum’s family, and her “other granny” comes to visit from the mainland.

Granny Mainland and Granny Island both have endearing traits but are very different, and Katie is baffled as to why they don’t get along.

I love this story so much and can relate to it. I grew up in England with my mum’s family, the Robertsons, and rarely saw my dad’s mother Lizzie Moffat. When I was we lived around the corner from her but then we moved to England when I was 2.

My only memory of being with her was when we visited her before she died. She had had a stroke and was laying in bed. It was summer as I remember the bedroom window was open and the white curtains fluttered in the breeze. I sat on a cane chair and was fascinated by the little holes in the seat - I put my fingers in them but my mum told me to stop. It was very quiet. On the bedside table was a bottle of Lucozade - a bright orange fizzy cordial with magical healing powers. I was allowed to have a sip.

Lizzie wore hearing aids. Once I overheard my mum saying that she pretended she was hard of hearing but “could hear everything.” This was very interesting to me.

The contrast between her house and my nana’s house was dramatic. At Nana’s house I was encouraged to sing and dance and play. At Lizzie’s house I had to be on my best behavior. There was a lot of tension between Lizzie and my mum that I must have absorbed.

There’s something about the Celtic nature that is deeply tribal and sorts by loyalty. Insiders and Outsiders. Highlanders and Lowlanders. Scots and English. Underdog and Overlord. Mammie’s mammy and Daddie’s mammy.

Robertson / Moffat

Mum’s / Dad’s

East (Edinburgh/Leith) / West (Glasgow/Paisley)

Poor / Posh

Young / Old

Fun/Strict

Happy/Cranky

In the case of the two grannies it’s only natural that children favor their mum’s mum because they usually spend more time with her. There’s even a song about it:

Oh ye cannae shove yer granny off a bus

Nae, ye cannae shove yer granny off a bus

Ye can shove yer OTHER granny, cos’ she’s yer daddy’s mammy

Nae, ye cannae shove yer granny off a bus…

I didn’t get a chance to know Lizzie. I was 5 yrs old the last time we saw each other, the same age as her little daughter Margaret when she died of meningitis. It must have been painful for Lizzie to have the joy of her only son and a granddaughter living nearby only to have them move far away. No wonder she was cranky.

Learning about Lizzie’s life makes me wish I’d known her better, gone hiking with her, learned how to crochet, heard her story about how she met John.

Lizzie and Dad c. 1957