The Mash Family Chronicles

MARGARETS FAMILY
Margarets girlfriends swore that her son had rushed into a marriage like a bull at a county fair. Hed just come back from the Army, full of vim, and there she was a clever lass whod already made herself useful, never objecting, always saying yes.

She was short, sturdy, a bit thickboned, with a squat figure, a wideset face and tiny, slanted eyes. In Margarets eyes the name Poppy was hardly fitting for a future daughterinlaw, and the girls all nodded.

Girls a mess, not worth a penny, theyd snort.
Did she even finish school or go to Oxford?

Mike, a handsome athlete and top of his class, snapped straight back to university after demob. The very first girl he met, Poppy, fell pregnant almost on the spot.

Shes doing it on purpose!
Poppy isnt his match!

Mike decided to wed. Margaret vented to her old school friends, poured out her heart, but at home she kept her thoughts to herself in terse chats with her son. His eyes shone a little too brightly; she feared a nightowl might spoil his day, or perhaps she just didnt want to upset Mike.

She recalled getting pregnant at nineteen, just before turning twenty, and giving birth a month before her birthday.

The boy had been a frail child, often ill, but grew up strong, took up sports and amazed everyonenot just with his desire to marry. Margaret wasnt thrilled, but she hid her disappointment well. The child, after all, wasnt to blame for his parents mistakes.

She fully supported her sons wish to behave properly, to give a name and surname, to be a proper father. She swore she wouldnt turn into the kind of motherinlaw who never said a kind word to her daughterinlaw, the way her own mother had treated her when she married. That old woman had never spoken warmly to Margaret, even though they lived in the same town.

When Margarets divorce left her with a baby, her own mother took them in, registered them before she passed, and was relieved the flat wouldnt be lost.

Even though Margaret wasnt religious, she kept sending flowers to the local church for her late mothers soul, knowing it meant a lot. She kept the old photographs, placed a portrait of her wartime grandfather in a fresh frame above the kitchen table. The old lady had once reminded Margaret of the actress Love Orlov.

Mike grew into a good-looking lad, and Poppy turned out to be quite a character herself.

One autumn evening, Michael asked if he could stay with his mum for a while, or whether he should scramble for a family room in the dormitory. He promised to cook a proper borscht and not cause trouble if his mother said no.

Margaret, amused, gave her verdict:

Put Poppy in the flat and well swap rooms. Ill give you the big one for the three of you.

Mike leapt up, kissed her cheek and whispered, Mum, youre the best in the world! Dont worry, Ill get a parttime job. We wont be a burden! He was confident, though he had no clue what it meant to have a baby and a student household.

Margaret didnt reveal her amazement; life would manage.

The first weeks under the same roof were far from the smooth picture Margaret had imagined. She worked at the central library in Manchester, headed the reference department, earned a modest salary that just covered the bills, albeit tightly.

Then the nineties hit, promising freedom and bright changes, but delivering chaos. Margarets friends fell apart one after another, husbands vanished for drinks or work, neighbours argued, and gunshots echoed at night. Factories stopped paying wages, and a librarians pay looked like pocket money compared with soaring prices.

Mike kept his head down, studied hard, went away on weekends with mates, helped elderly neighbours in their gardens. Poppy, roundtheclock pregnant, kept smiling and cracking jokes as she shuffled up the stairs of their old flat without an elevator.

When she finally gave birth, she held up the newborn at the window and asked her husband, What shall we call him? A tiny light seemed to flicker inside her, reflected in her eyes.

Soon Poppy struck a bargain with two retired army veterans living on the ground floor, Ivan and Elena. Theyd never spoken much, but she managed to coax them into looking after a small patch of garden right outside her window. She planted potatoes and carrots, and by the next spring most neighbours were digging in their own backyards.

Whenever Margaret felt overwhelmed, shed rub the back of her head and think of a clever solution. She refused to believe everything was lost and never had time for endless philosophising. Poppy switched to parttime studies to juggle baby and books, shouting, Brilliant! Perfect! Simply smashing! whenever anything went her way.

The garden was right outside the flat, no need to travel far, and nobody stole her spuds. What a workout for the character! shed laugh.

Margaret stopped noticing Poppys quirks the odd clothing choices, the mispronunciations and only corrected her gently, never snobbishly. Poppy never took offence; she thanked Margaret and kept learning.

The child grew fast, standing at nine months, babbling by his first birthday. He loved walks with Margaret, never whined, and if he whined it was a clue something was amiss. He was sunny like his mother, handsome like his father.

During exam season, little Danny (the babys nickname) would nap between visits from Poppys best friend, Len, the veteran Smirnovs, and Margaret herself. He ate well, slept a lot, and behaved exactly like the pictureperfect infant from a parenting handbook.

Margaret, weary of a fussy, sickly child who mixed up day and night, was convinced that calm, content babies were a myth. Welcome to reality, she muttered, only to discover that such babies do exist.

As New Years approached, Margaret felt a twinge of embarrassment: she still hadnt met Poppys parents. The couple had married quietly a year and a half ago, visited each others homes, but never invited the other side over for a proper celebration.

Determined to fix this, Margaret packed Danny into a coach and promised Mike shed be back by the weekend, giving them a few days without inlaws. Poppys family sent telegrams as per the custom, and the little towns bus station was suddenly swarmed by a crowd of ten enthusiastic locals waving signs that read Welcome! (though theyd forgotten to bring a banner).

Theyd even decorated the guest room with a big poster that read, in bright letters, For Danny, Ivan and Zinas children a warm welcome for Mary. Margaret, hearing this, was stunned into silence for half a day.

At the bus stop, a bewildered lady snatched Danny from her arms, refusing to hand him back. Hes our little trophy, she said, and we wont give him up. Margaret broke down that night, finding a festive tea cup and a sweet bun with a note in three different handwritings:

Dear Mary, big hugs and sweet dreams in your new home! Dream of a husband for the bride!

It turned out the note came from Uncle Fred, the local matchmaker, whod mischievously played the part of a divorced godparent for the whole town.

The next morning, the cheeky locals asked Margaret, Did the dreamgroom show up in your sleep? A spry old lady, the towns matchmaker, replied, Whats the surprise? She looks like a little girl, lips like a bow, a pure bride! The children decided to marry you off. Off you go!

Danny was eventually sent off to a neighbours house for a night, and a frantic Margaret ran to retrieve him. She discovered the child had been taken to a nearby village, and she felt guilty for having let him wander.

Grandma Nasty (the towns beloved septuagenarian) comforted her, saying, Dont worry, love, well get your treasure back. Hes our boy, he ate, slept, and well bring him home. She even mentioned a makeshift sled ride for the kids.

After a frantic fiveminute search, Margaret learned Danny had been taken to the village by Zinas brother, Ivan. She broke down, feeling both ashamed and terrified at being a bad mother and granny. A cup of mint tea with a spoonful of honey and a splash of whisky eventually soothed her nerves.

Zina later sent Danny back with her, promising a proper tea party and a bath. The next morning, Aunt Anastasia, the matriarch who held the family together, insisted Margaret attend church for a service, even if she wasnt baptised.

The holidays stretched from two days to a week. Danny never left Margarets sight again, and the whole clan kept dropping in, eager to meet the new family.

When they finally boarded the coach back to Manchester, four huge bags were shoved under the seats jam, pickles, knitted socks, and coats for Danny, Poppy and Mike. Dont be shy, visit more often! they were told, or well think youve taken the wedding spirit for granted.

The nineties, with all their prickly edges, gave way to a more ordinary, if still stern, school of life where punches and pokes coexisted with happiness, surprise visits, warm knitted socks, and Grandma Nastys love letters, dancing, and boisterous singalongs.

Caught up in all this, Margaret found herself smiling more, frowning less, and feeling content.

One of Poppys cousins, a budding doctor, asked to stay with Margaret while looking for a flat. She welcomed him, and he bowed respectfully. Margaret, amused, thought, If Nasty hadnt believed in me, Id still be sorry!

Their lives settled: Danny went to nursery, Mike began teaching history at a local school, and Poppy landed a job with a construction firm that actually paid real money, not just school allowances.

Later, Mike flirted with a pretty young lecturer, the deans daughter, and hinted at divorce. Poppy went pale, almost fainted. Margaret swooped in, hugged her, and whispered hoarsely, You swore youd never repeat dads mistakes, never abandon the family. Mike packed his bags, filed for divorce, and left.

A few months later, he dropped by, asking about the division of property. The flat, of course, Margaret snapped, and tell Poppy to move out. I dont want her crying.

Mikes son, now a teenager, clutched his cheek as Margaret, fists clenched, growled, Get out of my house!

The courtroom drama that followed saw a former friend of Margarets as the judge, and her old pals daughter, recently abandoned by a husband in London, as a second. Both were unsympathetic to the cheating parties.

Margarets exmotherinlaw tried to mediate, but Margaret and Poppy shut the door in her face. Danny, now a lanky teen, walked around the house, listening politely.

In the end, Margaret kept the flat, paid a modest sum to Mike, and the whole family Poppy, Danny, and the extended clan moved into the house together. Young doctor Igor set up an IV drip for Margaret, and life slowly fell back into rhythm.

Twentyplus years later, Poppy never remarried, but she thrived in her career, drove a sensible car, bought a modest onebed flat nearby, and occasionally dated a divorced accountant from her firm.

Margaret, now in her sixties, still lives with Danny (who now lives three times a week with his beloved granny) and her grandson, who teaches at a grammar school and wins international maths competitions.

She no longer feels lonely. The house is always buzzing with one or two university students from the extended family.

Grandma Nasty passed away not long ago, bidding farewell with a chorus of her favourite songs, broken into three days and three nights like a bad joke about two accordions. Shed raised wonderful children and grandchildren, and a year before she died she promised Margaret shed never be left alone.

And now, at sixtyseven, Margaret feels spry, jokes that the prayers of her late grandma keep her looking ten years younger, and is being courted by a widower named James, whos a decade younger but insists, If you find happiness, grab it with both hands and dont let go!

After all, thats exactly what grandmothers have always taught us.