NotSheep

My grandfather died in 1996. He’d have been 86 today if he’d lived.

He and my grandmother were wonderful: kind, honest, genuine people. They loved us and supported us. When I was four years old, my parents split up and we moved in with my grandparents - my mother, my sister, and me. We lived with them for the next ten years. My mother worked full-time, my grandmother didn’t (at least not in the paid sense) and my grandfather worked a job with flexible hours, so in many ways they were my parents. They collected us from school, cooked us dinner, etc. After raising their own children, they had a couple of years of empty-nesting, and then started all over again with a four-year-old and a baby. I’m sure they must sometimes have wished things were different, but they never gave that impression.

I wrote last week about how they’d make cups of tea. They amused us in all sorts of other ways too. They were always doing things “for one another”. My grandmother would buy groceries and say to my grandfather, “I picked up lamb chops for your tea” - as if she wasn’t going to eat any. My grandfather would bring in coal for the fire, and say “I’m just bringing in a bit of coal for you” - like he didn’t sit in front of it too. They had quite the double-act going over Chicken McNuggets - Scratchy and I used to take them to McD’s just to get it going

My grandfather could run a house better than any other man I’ve met - better than a lot of women too. He didn’t often have to do housework - my grandmother was well beyond houseproud - but when he needed to, he had no difficulty. In later years, when my grandmother’s eyesight was failing, he took over most of the household duties. He could turn his hand to most practical things - fixing cars, recovering soft furnishings, building a coffee table. For my first Christmas (when I was ten months old), he made me a wooden rocking horse - it got passed along to my sister, then my cousin, then back to me when Barney was born, and all my children have used it. I’ve still got it

Long before I ever got pregnant, I had decided that my first son would be named after my grandfather. When Barney was born, my grandfather was thrilled. I only wish he’d lived to see my other children - he’d have loved them so much.

Happy Birthday, Granda.