As Florence greeted me at the door, eyes watering and cheeks flushed, she looked like she'd seen a ghost. In fact, she had.
I'd called to visit my mother on my way home from the city late one afternoon back in the days when I lived in Melbourne, was married and ran my own one-man business from home as a freelance copywriter.
"You're not going to believe this," she declared sheepishly the moment I walked through the door.
As she sat down in her favourite chair by the fireplace she produced from a pile of papers on the floor beside her a copy of a marriage certificate dated 1856. The newlyweds were William and Agnes Simmons, Florence's great grandparents.
The marriage was conducted in Melbourne, Australia and, according to the document, William was born in Oxford, England, and Agnes in Dundee, Scotland. They probably met on the ship coming out.
My father had died a few years earlier.
It wasn't long after before Florence set about redecorating her small government pensioner flat in her own style. Then, at the age of 72, she decided to research the family tree.
"You won't believe what I've discovered," she repeated, taking great pleasure in drawing out the moment of her big revelation.
"No. What?" I asked, expecting to hear nothing more startling than the latest family gossip.
"Well, it's about our family tree. I'd phoned my brother to ask whether he knew anything about our ancestors. I thought it was a good place to start. He told me about this marriage certificate he'd sent for some time ago and promised to send me a copy. This is it, a certificate of the marriage of my great grandparents on my mother's side."
Florence pointed to the photocopy I was holding in my hand.
"I'm so pleased you're researching our family tree," I replied with surprise because Florence had never attempted anything this complex in her life. "I know your father passed over when you were quite young," I said, "and I remember visiting your mother when I was a boy. But what about your grandparents? Do you remember them?"
"I only remember Grandma Allen, my mother's mother, who died when I was 11. But there was also Granny Fitz. She would sit at the table with us when we were eating our evening meal and she would always be there when I was playing on my own at home.
"Granny was really my great granny, Agnes Reid, the one on this marriage certificate. I recognised the name Agnes Reid but I called her Granny Fitz. I remember her quite clearly. She had curls falling around her shoulders and always sat on a stool at the table. Even though I was very young I still remember Granny so well."
"I can recall you speaking of her in the past with great affection," I remarked. "So what's this all about then?"
"The last time I saw Granny was when I was five years old. She was always there at home with me when the others were away at school, before my younger brother was born. Then once I started school she just disappeared from my life and I had always assumed she must have died. But it seems I was very mistaken."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well I applied for her death certificate and put the year at 1913 or 1914 when I was 4 and 5 years old. But to my surprise no records could be found.
"So I contacted the cemetery where her husband William was buried and learned that she had died in 1892. It seems that Granny Fitz, alias Agnes Reid, had died 17 years before I was born.
"I always thought it strange that she never ate at the meal table. That's why. You see, she was dead."
My mother was truly spooked.
And so was I.
"I can recall you speaking of her in the past with great affection," I remarked. "So what's this all about then?"
"The last time I saw Granny was when I was five years old. She was always there at home with me when the others were away at school, before my younger brother was born. Then once I started school she just disappeared from my life and I had always assumed she must have died. But it seems I was very mistaken."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well I applied for her death certificate and put the year at 1913 or 1914 when I was 4 and 5 years old. But to my surprise no records could be found.
"So I contacted the cemetery where her husband William was buried and learned that she had died in 1892. It seems that Granny Fitz, alias Agnes Reid, had died 17 years before I was born.
"I always thought it strange that she never ate at the meal table. That's why. You see, she was dead."
My mother was truly spooked.
And so was I.
