The
little boy and girl sat on the sill of my mother’s childhood home for many
years – their story ingrained - rendering them part of the family furniture.
They were originally spotted in a shop window by a beautiful 16-year-old, strolling along the streets of Blenheim with her fiancé during the second World War.
She stopped to admire them. Her fiancé took note and, later, secretly returned to the shop and purchased them for her.
Two years later he was killed when his plane went down over Kapiti Island.
Although later marrying a wonderful man, she treasured those porcelain ornaments and, after moving to Whangarei, passed down the story to her subsequent children, their children and her grand-children’s offspring.
One house move later and the youthful figurines now take pride of place in the bedroom. On a recent visit, I overheard my nana telling the story to my daughter, after she had found her admiring them, much like I used to. I stood outside the door and listened as she regaled her captivated six-year-old audience.
It was a special moment.
But although her beloved figurines have been captured in eternal youth, this week my ‘dear old nan’ turned 90.
To mark the occasion, last weekend we held a party in the theme of her favourite colour purple. All the family came from across the globe – including first cousins in their late teens who I had never met. There was live music, professional catering, a full bar for the young ones, both moving and hilarious speeches accompanied with champagne - all in beautiful outdoor surroundings.
Unfortunately you don’t reach the age of 90 without losing many dear friends along the way and nana’s once vast circle was reduced to one large table. Despite some with ailments and grievances of their own, they all turned out in their finest and it was truly grand to witness their easy comradeship and banter across the table, like old times.
It takes someone pretty special to bring that many people together and my nana, the matriarch, was the reason.
The story of the porcelain boy and girl’s origins has been passed down through the generations and while experiencing many triumphs and tribulations since she first laid eyes on them, my nan still remains that same beautiful, graceful lady.
They were originally spotted in a shop window by a beautiful 16-year-old, strolling along the streets of Blenheim with her fiancé during the second World War.
She stopped to admire them. Her fiancé took note and, later, secretly returned to the shop and purchased them for her.
Two years later he was killed when his plane went down over Kapiti Island.
Although later marrying a wonderful man, she treasured those porcelain ornaments and, after moving to Whangarei, passed down the story to her subsequent children, their children and her grand-children’s offspring.
One house move later and the youthful figurines now take pride of place in the bedroom. On a recent visit, I overheard my nana telling the story to my daughter, after she had found her admiring them, much like I used to. I stood outside the door and listened as she regaled her captivated six-year-old audience.
It was a special moment.
But although her beloved figurines have been captured in eternal youth, this week my ‘dear old nan’ turned 90.
To mark the occasion, last weekend we held a party in the theme of her favourite colour purple. All the family came from across the globe – including first cousins in their late teens who I had never met. There was live music, professional catering, a full bar for the young ones, both moving and hilarious speeches accompanied with champagne - all in beautiful outdoor surroundings.
Unfortunately you don’t reach the age of 90 without losing many dear friends along the way and nana’s once vast circle was reduced to one large table. Despite some with ailments and grievances of their own, they all turned out in their finest and it was truly grand to witness their easy comradeship and banter across the table, like old times.
It takes someone pretty special to bring that many people together and my nana, the matriarch, was the reason.
The story of the porcelain boy and girl’s origins has been passed down through the generations and while experiencing many triumphs and tribulations since she first laid eyes on them, my nan still remains that same beautiful, graceful lady.
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