What do people think of this? Is it ok as a descriptive piece?

My Nana grew up in the swirling, romantic mists of the Irish countryside, where the landscape was rich with fast, bracing creeks and never-ending rolls of green-grass hills. In contrast to these fertile lands, her family lived by barren, meager means. With her father sent away to fight in the war, her days were spent helping her mother to cook and clean for her eight younger brothers and sisters. The rations often ran so low that the oldest boys had to raid the nearby farms, running for miles across the fields with the stolen, battered goods, carried in the fronts of their worn sweatshirts. On this impoverished Isle, my Nana learnt how Sunday's potato skins, a cup of flour, stock and stolen onions, could provide hearty, rich soup for three straight meals. From here, she fell prey to the magical art of cookery and its many delicious secrets.



When I myself was a child, many an age after my Nana had been, she hadn鈥檛 lost or forgotten any of these secrets. Sunday was my Nana's day; and every week, my brother, sister and I would visit her at her house, with her green house and rows upon rows of home-made jam filled jars. Her house was modestly decorated, but the smell on unlatching the front gate matched the richest and greatest luxury royal banquet. Retired from raising her own many sons and daughters, she now spent her days in the warm, pulsing kitchen, the true heart of her family home.



The deep , instinctual knowledge, present only in children, told us that we ought not to squabble during these precious afternoons with our Nana, instead we would listen intently to her familiar voice and watch closely her agile hands as they conjured magic in the deep bowls. We all secretly wished that it was just ourselves and our nan, one on one with this quiet,mysterious lady. We wanted to be the only one to hungrily lick the spoon and to run our finger greedily around the lip of the bowl, delighting in the taste of raw, perfect cookie dough. Instead, we had to share the pleasure, and often my brother would make rude noises into the mixing bowl so that my sister and I would be too disgusted to touch the filthy boy germs and he would be left to indulge to his own content.



I was the youngest of three, and the day came very suddenly when my sister was old enough to be allowed to take my brother to the woody park around the corner. At first I was enormously jealous of the freedom which my older siblings were allowed, especially when they tumbled in giggling hours later with muddy shoes and scabbed knees, buckets overflowing with tadpole inhabited water. Whilst they experienced this freedom however, my jealousy was granted blindness as I was invited into the Aladdin鈥檚 cave that was my Nana鈥檚 kitchen, on the magical carpet that was time spent alone with her and the tattered, ancient cookery book. We would pour over the leather-bound book, over-brimming with faded cut-outs and old recipe treasures, whispering like conspirators. Our fingers would run and bump over the stains and crumbs left on the discoloured pages until we found the treasured recipe.



Our favourite choice was little gingerbread boys and girls. My Nana is a perfectionist in the kitchen, yet she never frowned when I clumsily misplaced the raisins on the gingerbread children, personifying them with drunken, merry smiles and giddy, lop-sided eyes. She had an old-fashioned pair of scales,upon which we measured the diamond like grains of icing sugar and the golden nuggets of Demerara with individual weights, stacked precariously like rubies on the cast iron scales.



We鈥檇 mix and fold with our hands, the golden ingredients completely compatible, somehow a creamy consistency forming out of the individual components. As the antique oven baked the treats, the kitchen would fill with mysterious wisps of smoke warming the kitchen with a sweet aroma, and upon opening the oven and peering expectantly through the smoke, we would see the miraculous transformation from this sloppy golden cream to the bright, lustrous orange of the gingerbread family.



My Nana鈥檚 finishing touches always ensured that the end creation was perfect. My impatient fingers and tongue did a lot of the cleaning, but washing the pots, which was a chore at my own home, somehow added to the magic as the suds enveloped my young hands and the bowls would sparkle, ready for the next Sunday visit. Although I regret my Nana's poor upbringing and her losses from the never-forgotten war, at home, in her kitchen, with her wireless radio and her mother's cookery book, she has found the peace of a queen sat quietly smiling in her treasure-filled palace.What do people think of this? Is it ok as a descriptive piece?
I won't correct your Britishisms, but I'll fix your grammar as best I can.



1. The word "bracing" is contrasted with "fast". Replace.

2. The word "barren" is not indicative of "means". "Barren" means "infertile", and while that can certainly be said to apply to land, it is does not apply to living conditions.

3. "Isle" does not need to be capitalized, unless referring to Ireland's informal title of The Emerald Isle, and if that is the case, the entire phrase should be used.

4. When listing items, the last item in the list should begin with an "and", e.g. "first, second, and third", even if the item itself is a compound item and already contains an "and". The list should not, however, be followed by a comma. Let me rewrite the sentence in question:



"On this impoverished isle, my Nana learnt how Sunday's potato skins, a cup of flour, [chicken] stock, and stolen onions could provide hearty, rich soup for three straight meals."



5. "From here, she fell prey to the magical art of cookery and its many delicious secrets." Unless the reader is not actually in Ireland, the story is not taking place "here"; it is taking place "there". Also, "fell prey" carries a negative connotation, as if it were something to be avoided instead of cherished.



6. "When I myself was a child, many an age after my Nana had been, she hadn鈥檛 lost or forgotten any of these secrets."



"I myself" is redundant. Delete "myself".



"...after my Nana had been" Add "born."



It is considered bad style to use contractions in writing unless it is a direct quote. The transition from first-person to third-person is jarring and should not occur mid-sentence. You start off talking about yourself relative to her age, then you describe her in the same sentence; either edit the sentence or split it into two sentences.



7. "Her house was modestly decorated, but the smell on unlatching the front gate matched the richest and greatest luxury royal banquet."



"...richest and greatest luxury royal banquet." This is entirely too many words that mean the exact same thing. Trim.



8. "Retired from raising her own many sons and daughters, she now spent her days in the warm, pulsing kitchen, the true heart of her family home.".



"...she now", Unless the story is taking place in the present, and you are using the present perfect (e.g. "she now spends her days"), remove "now".



9. "The deep , instinctual knowledge, present only in children, told us that we ought not to squabble during these precious afternoons with our Nana, instead we would listen intently to her familiar voice and watch closely her agile hands as they conjured magic in the deep bowls."



There are two things in this passage, one major and one minor. The major is that this is two separate sentences that you have combined with an incorrect delimited, the comma. Replace with either a semicolon or a period and a new sentence. The minor is that I believe this is a British syntax: "...watch closely her agile hands" as opposed to "watch her agile hands closely".



10. "Whilst they experienced this freedom however, my jealousy was granted blindness as I was invited into the Aladdin鈥檚 cave that was my Nana鈥檚 kitchen, on the magical carpet that was time spent alone with her and the tattered, ancient cookery book."



Again, this is two sentences rolled into one. Also, blindness is not a gift to be granted; rather, it is a curse to be imposed. A negative connotation on a negative thought or feeling produces a positive flow.



11. The word you are looking for is "pore", not "pour". This is a commonly confused word.



12. "My Nana [was] a perfectionist in the kitchen..." Not "is", as the story is taking place in the past tense.



13. "diamond-like"



14. "We would mix..."



15. You have used "cream" and "creamy" in the same paragraph. These are too similar, and one should be replaced.



16. This is generally a good story, but you might want to trim down a few of the excess descriptive words. There should be a balance between non-descript (e.g. "The sun was hot") and overdescriptive ("The fiery yellow ball of heat pierced the bright, cloudless sky like a temper in a forge, melting and scorching all it surveyed"). Try to come up with a happy medium ("The bright, burning sun blazed high in the clear sky, warming the air and land.")What do people think of this? Is it ok as a descriptive piece?
Absolutely. Make sure the title matches the content and highlights the fact that you were describing your Nana by what she did with you... maybe "Sundays with Nana" would work. Good use of adjectives and adverbs, by the way!