My Grandfather

The photo below was given to me for my family tree research. It shows my Grandfather, who is in the centre standing next to his Dad. His Mum is sitting down with his brother and his sister is on his right.

It’s funny to think of this being taken in about 1932. My Grandfather looks slightly awkward, shy even.

It’s also strange to see his Dad (my Great Grandfather) and his enormous flared suit. I think they all look happy, don't they?

It feels healthy to think of my Grandfather as a teenager, as I tend only to think of him as an old man. But he wasn’t always. Once he was a teenager in funny trousers standing next to his Dad in the sunshine.

But within 7 years he would be at war.

He fought under Montgomery in the 8th Army against Rommel. These were the battles that helped turn the tide of the whole war. He was injured before El Alamein by a tank mortar and was whisked across the desert, drifting in and out of consciousness. Coming to in Tobruk Field Hospital, he remembers an enormous woman looming over him with a razor, which he says was enough for him to pass out again.

He was finally transferred to a hospital in Alexandria where he says he was surrounded by pretty nurses and he made up silly songs about their names. He was eventually shipped home from Cape Town, thousands of miles away, so they must've been rubbish. His shell injury still troubles him today, but of course, he never complains.

By the age of 30 he was starting a new life in Liverpool. He fathered 4 daughters and ended up as Stage Manager of the Liverpool Playhouse Theatre. I remember I used to think he was actually off to a real 'Play House' when I was young.

Fast forward to today and here he is, at 87.
He's still charming the ladies when Granny's back is turned. (And sometimes when it isn't).

He's still able to laugh at himself. Still makes up songs about people whilst doing the dishes. Still disgraces himself at Christmas.

Still calls me 'Stinkerbomb'.

Still stands for all that's best in Britain.

Still my hero.