Mad Relatives

I was recently exposed as some kind of ‘mad uncle’ who would be locked in the attic when visitors came around by Jess. Given some of the things I have been called over my life I was actually quite flattered to be a ‘mad uncle.’

It did set me off thinking though – which, as I am sure you are aware, is possibly a worry.

Mad relatives. Surely we’ve all had or got mad relatives haven’t we? I’m genuinely curious MMA. Have you got any mad relatives? – and if so, tell us their stories. Tell us of the demented things they do or did. If they are still alive then change their names – and possibly your own – so they can’t connect you but tell us of your mad relatives. Inquiring minds need to know. Well mine does anyway.

I had an uncle with an artificial leg due to his poaching activities in the 50’s and 60’s. He would ride his motor cycle and side car over the Lancashire moors, run over a sheep, dress the carcass in a WWI flying hat and goggles, sit it in the side car as if it was a passenger then ride to a local butcher and sell it for an amount that was clear profit for him but a huge discount for said butcher. The WWI disguise was to fool the local police should they see him ride by.

The artificial leg came about when he ran over a sheep that bounced back up and knocked him off his motor bike which then crushed his leg which had to be amputated. His artificial leg finally ended up in my fathers grave when it fell off as we lowered the coffin.

I had an Aunt who tried to flush her seemingly dead gold fish down the lavatory only for the movement into the toilet bowl to revive it. According to the doctor, the fatal heart attack that ensued for my auntie was probably brought about by the sudden apparent resurrection of said gold fish. A more bizarre way to shuffle off I cannot think of.

My much adored Grandmother had a stroke. The stroke affected her speech and, despite constant nagging by my Grandfather she declined speech therapy so never recovered her ability to speak properly again. She said “Bennie”. That was all she said. “Bennie”.

“Which TV channel do you want to watch Gran?”

“Bennie”

I would switch to BBC 1 and she would be happy.

“Which horse should I back for you in the Grand National Gran?”

“Bennie” – as there was never a horse of that name I would back one that – to my mind – should have been called ‘Bennie’ and, bizarrely, the bloody thing would win!

We finally decided that ‘Bennie’ came about as the lift in the hospital whence she was rushed after her stroke was made by ‘Bennie & Co’ so, perhaps, her mind had registered the name as she was transferred to a ward? We never really knew but that was the accepted theory.

When my Gran got angry – which was usually when, as I lived with my Grandparents from the age of 15 after being thrown out of my parents home for coming home drunk once too often and setting the garage on fire – but that’s another story – my mother said something disparaging about me she would say “Bennie! Bennie!! Bennie!! Bennie!!! BENNIE!!!!!”

If you got three ‘Bennie’s’ you were in trouble. If you got four you were about to be assaulted with her walking frame. If you got five, as my mother often did after criticizing me, you were about to get the glass that contained her false teeth overnight thrown at you. I recall many a false teeth glass incident. The best was certainly when my Grandmothers aim was ‘spot on’ and the glass bounced off my mothers head and I caught it, handed it back to my Grandmother who promptly, with one final ‘Bennie!!” threw it again catching my mother right on the bridge of her nose.

Personally I never received more than two ‘Bennie’s’ – but, then again, she was my Gran.

If I decided to stay home of an evening I would often put on records for my Gran and Grandad. They adored Glenn Miller and, as a result of listening to Glen Miller in my teens with them, to this day, I still love Glenn Miller. At some point they would say “Put some of yours on now lad” – well, my Grandad would say that, my Gran would pat my hand and say “Bennie”. That was the ‘Bennie’ that meant “Put some of yours on now lad”.

Invariably I would play them some David Bowie, Alice Cooper and Slade. Also invariably I would finish ‘my’ selection with, firstly, a ‘big band’ number for my Grandad who had led his own ‘big band’ during the war years and was a marvellous pianist and occasionally could be persuaded to ‘tinkle the ivories’ for a ‘sing song’ –  and finally the finale.

The finale would always be the song my Gran loved the most and it would make my Grandad cry because he knew I was playing it because his wife was my Gran and she loved it. Me and my Grandad were ‘The Jets’ 😉 – and you know what? My Grandad could play this BIG TIME! – sadly I couldn’t sing it in tune.

Whilst you consider owning up to your mad relatives on MMA I leave you with my Grandmothers special finale to our regular music nights.

I think of her (and my Grandfather) every day.

For you Gran. For you xxxxxxx

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