by Paul Tristram
When I was but a child before the age of ten
my Nana lived across the road from us.
In the Summertime me and my brother
would call in there whilst playing in the street.
She would always be in her kitchen
and would greet us with a thick Welsh accent
“Hiya boys, do you fancy a bit of apple, then?”
She was a strong, powerful woman
not just physically but in character also.
She would walk to the fruit bowl on the table
and fetch back a single green apple.
I’d whisper under my breath to my brother
“Watch her face, she won’t even flinch!”
She would rip that apple in half in one go
with no sign of effort or strain at all
and always completely down the middle.
“Imagine that apple was your head, mun!”
I would tease my brother as we walked out
through the backdoor chomping on apple.
Years later I was drinking with a girl
and I was telling her about my Nana’s apples,
she went to the kitchen and got 2 red ones
and tried to get me to try it myself.
I told her that there was no way in hell,
that I was 37 years old and if I couldn’t
I’d never be able to forgive myself as a man.
So she had a try and failed to do it!
And I bet my Nana was looking down
from her big kitchen in the sky
making Welsh pasties and watching it all
with a big old smile upon her face.