Transportation to Another Time and Place
by Wendy Higham
I stand with my hands dipped in the warm soapy suds staring out at our beautiful sunlit garden, with the birds singing in the trees. The beautiful lemony aroma drifts gently up my nostrils. I stand in a daze, frozen in time, the fragrance transporting me to another place and another time.
I’m standing there in a small, well-lit kitchen. I am a small child, standing looking up at my Granny as she washes the cups and saucers that were used earlier. The white back door is open, and the distant sounds of my Granddad and my dad’s voices drift by, they are discussing issues about laying concrete. The voices get nearer as my Granddad’s head peers around the door, a round smiley face. He doesn’t want to enter the room because of his muddy gardening boots. My Granddad is a happy man with a balding head, wearing large brown trousers held up with dark, elastic braces, which stand out against his beige shirt. He disappears again into the garden.
I gaze around the small kitchen, taking note of the glass fronted cabinet where my little wooden cat on a stool sits amongst the china cups and saucers, and the door to a small outhouse, filled with buckets and other essential equipment at the other side of the kitchen.
The sounds of china cups being placed carefully onto the drainer and the birds singing a morning song just for us fill my ears. My Granny chuckles as she washes the pots, looking down at me, placing lemony bubbles on my nose and making me laugh too as I brush them off with my little fingers. Her white, curly hair bounces as she moves and as I stare into her round warm and kind face I notice that the sunlight streaming in through the window, above the small sink, seems to reflect her already radiant face.
Cotton tea towel in hand, she dries the delicate china cups and reaches up high to replace them in the cupboard. As I stand in awe of this wonderful person, I can’t seem to recall any conversation, just the actions and the sights, and particularly the strong smell of lemon Fairy liquid.
The memory fades as quickly as it arrived and I’m back in the room. Happier for the experience and thinking about past days and questioning why I can’t recall the conversations we would have had.