When my sister and I were small, the highlight of any visit from an elderly relative was when they invariably got their purses out and solemnly presented us with a shiny new five pence piece, or ten pence piece…or even a fifty pence as the years went on and inflation struck.

While we always loved the visits, the presentation of the coin made them extra special and my sister  - much to the mortification of my parents - became an expert at ‘reminding’ elderly aunts  before they that they hadn’t fulfilled their duties.

“Shall I get you your handbag so you can get your purse out?” she would ask our Auntie Cred, whose gammy leg she had just moments before displaced from resting on her stool.

“And remember, I like the shiny silver ones not the old brown ones.” she would add if she saw her hands wandering towards the copper section of her purse.

Fortunately my parents were able to educate the mercenary out of her and now she hardly ever makes demands with menaces…

I remembered this a few weeks back when the housemate’s grandchildren paid a visit - more for a Sunday roast than to see us - and at the end of the day as they prepared to set off for home, The Mother delved into her handbag for her purse.

“Here you are” she said pulling out a crisp tenner and handing it over to the eager 15 year old grandson. “You’ll have to share it with your sister because it’s the last one I’ve got.”

It took seconds for the delight of receiving the cash turn to horror that he was clutching her last ounce of filthy lucre in his fingers.

“ I can’t take this,” he announced handing it back to her. 

“It’s fine,” replied The Mother realising he’d got the wrong end of the stick and happily playing along. “I’ve got plenty of bread and milk and a bit of cheese so I can manage until next week.”

“ I can’t take your last money,” said the 15 year old, who has been a staunch law-keeper since he could toddle.

“I’ll take it,” chipped in his sister, who apparently modelled herself on my sibling.

“It’s fine,” relented The Mother with a grin. “I just meant I didn’t have two five pound notes, so you’d have to give your sister half when you get home,” she added, knowing that his cash box was overflowing with the fruits of his saving.

“Oh ok…thank you…but are you sure you’ve got some money left?” he replied,  still not entirely convinced.

It obviously stuck with him because last weekend on our visit to them, as we finished our garden centre lunch and The Mother opened her purse to pay, a look of panic flashed over the 15 year old’s face.

“Are you sure you can afford to pay for lunch?” I overheard him whisper to The Mother as we wandered through the plants.

“I can,” she assured him. 

“Because you never go to work so how do you manage to get any money?”

“I did go to work for a long time and paid into a pension fund so I would be able to afford to do nice things like buy you lunch now and again,” she explained.

“Ok…but you shouldn’t do it, if you can’t afford it,” he counselled with a frown.

“You should make Liz pay. She still goes to work,” he added just in case his words were misinterpreted as an offer to cough up for the next meal out!