Snapshot: My grandma’s healing islander’s hands

My maternal grandmother had big calloused hands that knew all about hard labour and vicissitudes. From an early age, her wrists, fingers and thumbs learned how to tame the arid land in her native Guanajay, formerly in Pinar del Río province, western Cuba. My grandma’s hands were broad with thick fingers, that’s why people used to say she had manos de isleña (islander’s hands), a reference to those immigrants who arrived in Cuba from the Canary Islands at the turn of the 20th century. In her case, this claim was more than justified; her own grandfather on her father’s side was one of those fortune-seekers who had crossed the Atlantic looking for a better future.

I came across this photograph recently. The occasion must have been my second or third birthday (1973 or 1974). It was still a couple of years before I was diagnosed with chronic gastritis, a condition that was to leave its indelible mark throughout my primary school years. In this picture, I am flanked by both my parents. You can also see my maternal grandmother on the left with her ubiquitous smile.

My grandma’s rough hands changed function shortly before Fidel and his troops toppled the Batista regime in 1959. She moved to Havana with two of her daughters and began to work as a maid. No more would she be tilling the land and digging her hardened hands into the soil. She would now be serving coffee in delicate china and cleaning floors until they shined.

However, many years later and as soon as my gastritis started, my grandma’s hands took on another role. Very often the pain in my stomach was so excruciating that I usually ended up on the floor, writhing, kicking and screaming in agony. My grandma very calmly rubbed my stomach with one of her chapped hands until the pain went away. The whole time, a loving smile, similar to the one she has in this photo, adorned her face.

Mario López-Goicoechea

Playlist: Uncle John and his fabulous 45s

Johnny Remember Me by John Leyton

“‘Til the day I die I’ll hear her cry, ‘Oh Johnny, remember me’”

As a child, I lived with my mother, grandmother and two uncles. My favourite thing was when Uncle John, who was 23 years my mother’s senior, would return home from the pub at 3pm (in those days pubs closed at 2.30pm), eat his Sunday dinner prepared by my grandmother, then go into the parlour (the front room of our three-up-two-down council semi) to play records.

He was an avid collector of 45s and I remember him coming home with two or three new ones every Saturday afternoon. His collection began in the 1950s with the birth of rock’n’roll. His tastes were eclectic, though, from Abba to the Stranglers, the Small Faces to Little Richard. I loved them all, but my favourite as a small child was John Leyton’s Johnny Remember Me – I thought it was about Uncle John.

Our favourite game, as the music played, was I had to guess the year of each record and the position it reached in the charts. Uncle John has a magic ability to remember dates and numbers, which has served me well as an adult in pub quizzes!

The proudest moment of my life, was, at the age of three, being told I was old enough to choose and put the records on myself – provided, of course, I was extremely careful.

As an adult, music is extremely important to me; to prevent me from becoming homesick when I left home for university, I spent a day in the parlour, putting my favourites on to half a dozen cassette tapes, and I have managed to amass a decent collection of vinyl of my own.

Uncle John is still alive and well and last year I organised a party for his 70th birthday, the most important aspect of which was the DJing. Not all the younger family members recognised the songs, but everybody had a great time dancing.

Julianne Joyce

We love to eat: Nana’s Christmas loaves

Ingredients

450g (1lb) self-raising flour
340g (¾lb) currants
340g (¾lb) raisins
340g (¾lb) sultanas
115g (¼lb) glacé cherries
115g (¼lb) ground almonds
1tsp mixed spice
5 eggs + 2 tbsps milk
340g (¾lb) margarine
340g (¾lb) brown sugar
1 tbsp treacle
3 tbsp brandy

Mix the dry ingredients (flour, dried fruit, ground almonds and mixed spice) in one mixing bowl. In a second bowl, whisk the eggs and milk. Taking a third large mixing bowl, cream the margarine with the sugar. Now gradually combine all the ingredients by alternately adding a drop of the egg-milk mix and small quantities of the dry mix to the creamed margarine and sugar. Once well combined, stir the treacle into the cake mixture followed by the brandy. Divide the mixture between the two prepared 900g (2lb) loaf tins, greased and lined with greaseproof paper, and bake for 3-3.5 hours at 150C. The loaves are ready if a stick of dried spaghetti comes out clean when skewered. Once cooled, wrap them in tinfoil and store in an airtight container until Christmas – if you can wait that long!

As kids we spent Christmas Day at home and Boxing Day at Nana’s, where there was always an extra present from Father Christmas waiting for us. Along with trifle, mince pies, orange Matchmakers and other goodies, in both homes there would be Nana’s cake.

When I lived at home it was my job to bake the Christmas loaves and I even used the same recipe to make my sister’s wedding cake, albeit leaving someone else to ice it. Mum and Dad have since taken up the mantle of chief Christmas cake bakers.

When I was a first-year student, Dad gave me a loaf to take to university saying: “Well, at least you won’t starve.” After my first prolonged visit up north for the Christmas holidays, I was still feeling homesick, not sure I really fitted in down south, and it was a reassuring taste of home.

Our loaves are never iced – as in my photo, above – because Mum doesn’t like marzipan. Instead, it’s our custom to eat a slice with cheese (Cheddar or Wensleydale is best). My husband thinks this is weird, but what does he know? He eats mince pies with Stilton.

This year, I thought I’d bake some of Nana’s Christmas loaves with my children. We’ll probably have to make a second batch as it looks like the first batch will be snaffled well before Christmas Day. If Santa is lucky, we might even leave him a slice to go with his glass of sherry – if there is any left.

Lisa Fisher

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