The Story So Far...Part Three

Despite producing six children - three girls and three boys - my maternal grandmother wasn’t really interested in being maternal, and despite also having sixteen grandchildren, she wasn’t really that interested in us, either. She was a distant grandmother and I didn’t know her very well at all, apart from, in her later years, her developing penchant for sherry and her insistence that there was a man living amongst the chimney stacks of the house opposite hers. 

Luckily though, following the departure of the incumbent Nurse Morris (carer of Children 1,2 and 3), she had the foresight to employ, on the arrival of Child Number 4 (my mother), the services of one Nannie Porter, who not only became a live-in asset to the family for many years, but also a surrogate Nannie to us grandchildren. I had a great fondness for Nannie Porter, my third grandmother. 

Nannie Porter hosted her own ‘Farewell’ birthday party every year for many years, started during her mid sixties, when she became the longest lived member of her own family and felt this deserved annual celebration. She loved elephants. She owned two cat brothers - a tabby called George and a ginger called Henry. My Dad hated cats, but whenever we went to Nannie Porter’s for a visit, those cats LOVED him! Nannie Porter took up pottery as a hobby - kiln and all - because she could. She was Nannie to the Duke and Duchess of Rutland before she became Nannie to my mother, aunts and uncles. She ran a home for retired gentlefolk in Petersfield, Hampshire, and I remember visiting her there and terrorising the residents with gifts of plasticine models. She ran a day nursery for pre-school children in Kent. She drove a Mini car, usually up the half of the road that was in the middle. She would tell me she was only allowed six oven chips with her dinner because she was diabetic. She would tell me this whilst arranging the six chips on her plate and popping the spares straight into her mouth. 

As a teenager, I used to stay with Nannie Porter during the summer holidays, when her day nursery was closed for a couple of weeks. The private accommodation with her nursery consisted of only one bedroom, but on the spacious landing next to that bedroom there was a single bed against the wall, curtained off to form a little snug space, and that’s where I would sleep, in a sort of inside tent. Happy memories! 

During these visits, Nannie Porter would always listen to the daily service of worship and sing along with ‘Songs of Praise’ on Sunday. Not only did she practise her Christian faith, I think she must have been interested in spiritualism, too, because I remember this book being on her shelf...

‘A Guide to the Understanding and Practice of Spiritual Healing’ by Harry Edwards

It is signed, too, inside the front cover. It says, ‘Best wishes, Harry Edwards.’

When Nannie Porter died, in the late 1990s, this book came into my possession. It felt important, a connection between me and her. I took it home, and kept it in a small suitcase I had for storing precious mementoes. I didn’t read it, though. It just felt right that I had it.

And even though I’ve never forgotten Nannie Porter, I forgot about the book.

Until about ten years later. I found myself visiting a place in Surrey, near Guildford. The place was Burrows Lea. Burrows Lea is the healing centre set up by Harry Edwards, where he carried out his work during his lifetime and where his work continues today. It is the home of The Healing Trust, also known as the National Federation of Spiritual Healers. It is a beautiful place - a gorgeous building, wonderful grounds and magnificent views across the Surrey countryside. 

When I arrived home from the visit, I remembered Nannie Porter’s book. I dug it from the suitcase and read it. Another loop of connection was knitting itself my life.