Memory can be a funny thing

I drove my brother down to Granddad’s funeral yesterday. Due to timings and what not it over complicated the journey and added too much time for what was a minimal additional distance but I was happy for the company so I didn’t mind too much.

Bro hasn’t seen Granddad since Nan’s funeral about 6 years ago, and we’ve only seen him two or three times (and not since Fifi was born), so I suppose it was obvious that his memories of Granddad would be a little more historic than mine.

The things I remember most about Granddad were the explanations about technical stuff and being slipped the odd 20p after a day trip to see them to spend on comics (20p could have got me a copy of the Beano and the Dandy at that point in time) but I guess it’s more what I’ve forgotten that makes me sit up and think.

Bro remembers some aspects of a weeks “holiday” we had staying with them when Mum & Dad went off on a proper grown ups holiday. I’m sketchy when it happened, I don’t think it was secondary school but when he told me of what he remembered, it immediately registered.

He remembered walking along the Brighton promenade with Granddad holding a handful of tiny stones. Every time he saw a topless sunbather on the beach below, Granddad would drop one on her chest with a cheeky grin and we’d scuttle off. They weren’t big enough to hurt, just large enough to make the sunbathers jump slightly. So if you’re in your 50’s now and used to sunbathe topless on the beach at Brighton, apologies for my Granddad.

I think that’s the Granddad I’d like to remember, a retired gent in his smart clothes with a cheeky sense of humour, rather than the permanently ill 90 something he’s been for the last 6 or 7 years.

Here’s to you Granddad.