Arthur

I've been meaning to talk about this since Friday, but I've not had the time until now to write about it, or to get my own thoughts about it marshaled into a form where I could write about it.

My mum's dad, my Granddad, died on Thursday afternoon. He was in his eighties, and he'd been reasonably healthy up until recently until he started to have some problems that needed stays in hospital. On his last trip it because obvious he wasn't coming out again.

He didn't suffer too long, and he slipped away with people who loved him around. I hope I go like that.

Arthur was evacuated from Dunkirk, and he fought in Burma, but didn't really ever talk about it. I never got close to him, for as long as I can remember he was an old man who was a bit frail and you had to shout at to be understood (the big bangs of the war had left him quite deaf). He wasn't as "fun" as my other Granddad, who is a lot younger and was a lot more involved in my life. I'm not ashamed that I never got close to Arthur, it's just the way it was.

I went and saw him a couple of weeks ago when he was in hospital for the second time.

We chatted awkwardly for a bit, me trying to shout loud enough to be heard. He seemed quite healthy but at the end as I stood to leave I got struck by the strong sensation that I might not ever see him again, so I leant down and kissed him on the forehead. He looked startled, and I immediately felt weird about it, but now I'm glad I did it. I felt like I said goodbye.

Allow me to tell you one, slightly silly, story about my Granddad. It's a happy memory I'll always have of him.

Quite a few years ago, in December, my dad was taken ill with gallstones and had to have emergency surgery to have them removed. As a rather gross momento, he was given the stones to keep afterwards, in a little plastic tub. They looked kind of like small brown pebbles.

My dad found a morbid glee in showing this tub off to anyone who wanted to see it. As it was Christmas time, we had a big family gathering in the house one evening. Granddad was there, along with loads of aunts and uncles and cousins and stuff. In large groups my Granddad always tended to turn off his hearing aid, as with so many voices it got a little too confusing to hear properly anyway. He was just happy with the company, sipping on a large sherry and taking any Christmas snacks sent his way.

My dad was holding court about his operation. To mum's groans and protestations, he dug out his pot of stones and passed it around to show everyone. Everyone was suitably disgusted, until it reached my Granddad who obviously hadn't heard what this tub full of brown things was...

"Mmmm... nuts!" he said, reaching in to pick one up.

I've never seen a room full of people move so quickly. :-)

...

I don't believe he's looking down from heaven reading this. But I do believe he was a good man who did his bit for his country, and that deserves celebrating. If it wasn't for the sacrifices that he and his generation made 60 years ago, I know I wouldn't enjoy the kind of freedoms I have now.