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I was around ten when my parents went to Iceland for a couple of weeks towards the end of the 1950's and left me with my Gran, wrote Gail Kavanagh. I can't say I was looking forward to it.
Gran lived in a semi-detached house in the London suburb of Clapton Park, and I had spent most of my life in the country. The cramped houses and narrow streets always looked forbidding to me, as if sullenly refusing a child any place to run and play.
Then there was my Gran. Adelaide Woodruffe was a large, plain slab of a woman who, it had always seemed to me, never smiled. She was known among her friends and neighbours as a woman who did not suffer fools gladly.
Her wide floral print dresses, sensible grey coat and large black umbrella were well known in places where she clashed with authority, such as the bank, or the local council offices.
Especially the umbrella...she would bring this mighty weapon crashing down on the counter if they didn't treat her with respect. There was another side to her.
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