In Memory Of My Grandfather

Yesterday, Elvis fans remembered a sad day in 1977, when their idol died. One year later, August 16th 1978, my childhood idol died. My granpop. He was 64. I was 22.

That was one of the most awful days in my life, and even now, 38 years later, when I think of it, it hurts. 

My granpop was born in Bethnal Green, in London, October 23rd 1913, and looks like he was pretty dapper in his youth!

He married my nan in 1936, and my mum was born just before Christmas the next year, with my aunt following in 1940.  

Then he ended up serving in the British Army in India, in a place called Poona.

He was in the Royal Signals. With me having a passion for motorcycles, now I see where I got it from!

This was a pic of him in the workshop there.

Outside the Quartermaster's Stores.

I idolized him as a child, and my nan always used to tell me I was his "favourite" grandchild. I don't think that was a conscious choice, but I lived with them in my formative years, and then spent Summer holidays with them, so I think that bond was there because of that.

About 1962, with the 2 tone blue Austin that used to take us from London down to Devon and Cornwall on holiday

This was taken when I was 9 or 10. By then the Austin had been replaced with a  grey/maroon Thames van.

He and my nan lived around Hoxton and Hackney for my childhood and I have so many happy memories of those times. When I was small, I'd sit on his lap and watch the telly with him. I don't drink tea, and he had his made weird in a pint mug. 1/2 tea, about 1/4 milk and then topped up with hot water and 1 teaspoonful of sugar, yet I would "help" him drink his. Very odd! 

When I was too big to be on his lap, I sat on the floor in front of his armchair, between his feet. The living room was small and with the sideboard, 2 armchairs, the kitchen table and chairs, and the tv in the corner, there wasn't much room.

About a year or so before his death, they had bought a bungalow in a little village near Norwich, for after he retired. That was where he was when he started getting the pains. Up on the roof, doing some maintenance.

My granpop died of an aortic aneurysm, and it was very sudden and unexpected. He was only 64, which was too young, and I definitely wasn't ready to lose him. 

He's buried in the little churchyard on the hill, from where the bungalow known as Sunny View, could be seen. Sadly, it is no more. It has been demolished and a new home built there now.

My granpop's grave (my nan was buried with him after her death). This pic was taken on a recent visit, by my cousin Wendy, who cleaned up the grave