Wendy K. Laidlaw

My granny-laid-law was to become an excellent wife and mother.

That was her role and she was committed to doing those roles with such dedication and resolve, despite my grandfather being

a little unkind and cruel and having a long-term mistress and an eye for the ladies.

But she was strong, loyal and full of duty.

Yet as she got older, she would be treated for chronic depression and mental illnesses.

I remember her saying to me how she felt invisible and worthless.

Would anyone even notice if I was gone, Wendy?

She would say to me sometimes.

Of course, Granny, I cried.

Of course, I would miss you so much.

You see, she was like a second mother to me when my own mother was in and out of hospital after I was born with endless endometriosis, cysts and other medical complications.

My other grandmother, my granny Downie, had equally had a stoic and tough upbringing in East Lothian on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

Her family worked incredibly hard and provided her with lots of love, yet she would meet my grandfather and bear nine children together.

seven who survived, whilst running a farm during the bleak war times of running to bunkers, collecting eggs, feeding cattle, driving the combine harvester, and up all hours helping during lamb season.

the farm was responsible for providing certain milk quotas and meat for the local villagers and the local towns.

My grandfather, his mother, had left when he was five years old and he was brought up by his father, who was well known for being quite a brute, in inverted commas.

But my granny Downie again had the most inspiring strength to navigate not only the deep uncertainty of her life and her seven children,

but also to ensure the role of family mediator and the internal squabbling politics around the dinner table.

And she also had the most delightful sense of humour, despite the challenges life threw at her.

And she taught me how to look for the tiny little bits of light in any dark situation.