My Grandmother Elke, True Story, Manchester UK

One Sunday afternoon, my brother Robin and I took a walk to my maternal grandmother’s in Prestwich. She lived on the first floor of an old draughty house that had been converted into two flats.  
 
We sat talking in her cosy kitchen for a while, the three of us drinking stewed tea, Grandma telling us stories about her past in her loud slightly falsetto voice. She was very much an eccentric who took delight in saying something, then chuckling to herself. We used to tease her a bit. Understandably.  
 
That afternoon in the downstairs flat, she was talking about discipline and the need for children to observe strict bedtimes.  
 
‘When your mother and her brother were about six and seven,’ she said. ‘I went upstairs to see what they were doing because I couldn’t hear a peep out of them, and there they were fast asleep with the light out. And it wasn’t yet five o’clock in the afternoon. That’s how children should behave.’ Leaning forward, she chuckled to herself.
 
Robin and I looked at each other and grinned. ‘Grandma,’ Robin said. ‘Is there a song that goes Early To Bed?’
 
‘Oooh, yes,’ she said, eyes lighting up.
 
‘Well, how does it go?’ I said.
 
A smile spread across her face. ‘Early to bed,’ she began, placing an emphasis on the final word of the line. She stopped and chuckled. ‘Early to rise. Makes a man healthy, Wealthy and wise.’
 
More chuckling.
 
I said, ‘What about Every Night At Eight O’clock Up To Bed As Proud As A King?’
 
She shook her head. ‘You’re being silly now.’
 
She went to the fridge while Robin and I giggled among ourselves, imitating her accent in whispers. ‘Ah,’ Robin said. ‘Hellow,’ I said.
 
She turned round, chuckling again. ‘What are you two kiddiewinks whispering about?’
 
‘Nothing,’ we said, trying not to laugh.
 
‘Nu?’ she said, reverting to the Yiddish word for ‘So?’
 
‘We were laughing about the rhyme. Can you tell it us again?’
 
Her smile vanished. ‘Give it a rest now.’