Ah yes - Grandfathers.

D

Del Boy

Active member
BritinAfrica's story of his grandfather stirred memories of a poem I wrote some time ago about my grandfather, who was also a great character.


MY GRANDFATHER. 1877-1955. 15 may 07




My grandfather was a rascal
They said.
He was born and bred in Spitalfields
And raised his children around the band-stand,
Just behind Shoreditch church.

My grandfather was a rascal
They told me.
Although he worked hard all his life
And even though he and his brothers
Had been stage performers.
His work was rolling fat cigars.

My grandfather was a rascal
As I heard it.
He married a beautiful, dignified lady
When they were young and
They were blessed with sixteen children.
Twelve of these blessings became adults;
Seven girls and five boys.

And he was always there for them.


My grandfather was a rascal
His children complained.
Although he often fried breakfast
For all of them
And he taught them all to spell
Like this:- c – a – Cat.
It must have been a good system;
All of them could read well

And count well.

My grandfather was a rascal
I was led to believe.
When the bells fell silent
He sang and recited for his children
Just as he famously did in the taverns;
Amongst the villains
And the fighting men;
Who clapped and applauded
And rewarded him with pints of beer.

He said he always got the blame
For everything in Hackney
.
My grandfather was a rascal
Rumour has it.
And when London Bridge was falling down
He would carefully clasp a penny in his eye,
Challenging his grandchildren to remove it.
He would tell them that he knew a song called
‘When they begin the beguine’
Impossible, I told him.
When I was fifteen and at a party,
I was privileged to play 3-Card-Brag with him.

My mother harangued him
Until I got my money back.

.
My grandfather was a rascal
He told me.
But my grandmother loved him, I asked her.
When they played cards together for pennies
It has been said that my grandfather cheated.
When they were old he became very ill;
The last time I saw him
Was at his bedside;
Just he and I.
‘Are you in great pain grand-dad ?’, I asked.
‘Del Boy’- he told me,
‘I am being punished for all
The bad things I did in my life.’

My grandfather wasa rascal naughty.
God bless him.


(Del Boy 15 May 2007)
 
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Well I wrote it with a tear in an inspired moment in 2007, but you dragged it from me with your account of your own grandfather; made me think 'Hey, I feel like that!' Sharing it is a tougher matter altogether, isn't it?:smile:
 
There is something truely special about memories of Grandfathers, and how much they meant to us. Mine passed June 28, 2001.
 
Absolutely - and of course it is claimed that a man's work is done in the order of things through the existence of his grandchildren. It is an amazingly rewarding relationship, at its best. Bravo, Grandfathers!:smile:
 
A few years ago, Clive Dunn of Dads Army fame, recorded "Grandad" backed by a number of young children. Whenever I heard that song, I always thought of mine and smiled.

Lyrics.

Clive Dunn
----------
I've been sitting here all day thinking
Same old dream ten years away thinking
Now my days are gone, memories linger on
Thoughts of when I was boy

Penny farthings on the street riding
Motorcars were funny things, frightening
Bow and hoops and spinning tops
Penny Dreadfuls, lollipops
Comic cuts, all different things

Children
--------
Grandad, grandad you're lovely
That's what we all think of you
Grandad, grandad you're lovely
That's what we all think of you
Grandad grandad

Clive Dunn
-------------
Aeroplanes tied up with string flying
Telephones and talking things sighing
A radio and phonograph, Charlie Chaplin made us laugh
Silently falling about
Familiar things I keep around, near me
Memories of my younger days, clearly
Come into my mind
Everyday I find, thoughts of when I was boy

Children
--------
Grandad, grandad you're lovely
That's what we all think of you
Grandad, grandad you're lovely
That's what we all think of you

Grandad, Grandad..
 
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Yes, and of course he was a young man, in character, when he recorded that hit. He is now fully integrated into the character!:smile:
 
Del Boy said:
BritinAfrica's story of his grandfather stirred memories of a poem I wrote some time ago about my grandfather, who was also a great character.


MY GRANDFATHER. 1877-1955. 15 may 07




My grandfather was a rascal
They said.
He was born and bred in Spitalfields
And raised his children around the band-stand,
Just behind Shoreditch church.

My grandfather was a rascal
They told me.
Although he worked hard all his life
And even though he and his brothers
Had been stage performers.
His work was rolling fat cigars.

My grandfather was a rascal
As I heard it.
He married a beautiful, dignified lady
When they were young and
They were blessed with sixteen children.
Twelve of these blessings became adults;
Seven girls and five boys.

And he was always there for them.


My grandfather was a rascal
His children complained.
Although he often fried breakfast
For all of them
And he taught them all to spell
Like this:- c – a – Cat.
It must have been a good system;
All of them could read well

And count well.

My grandfather was a rascal
I was led to believe.
When the bells fell silent
He sang and recited for his children
Just as he famously did in the taverns;
Amongst the villains
And the fighting men;
Who clapped and applauded
And rewarded him with pints of beer.

He said he always got the blame
For everything in Hackney
.
My grandfather was a rascal
Rumour has it.
And when London Bridge was falling down
He would carefully clasp a penny in his eye,
Challenging his grandchildren to remove it.
He would tell them that he knew a song called
‘When they begin the beguine’
Impossible, I told him.
When I was fifteen and at a party,
I was privileged to play 3-Card-Brag with him.

My mother harangued him
Until I got my money back.

.
My grandfather was a rascal
He told me.
But my grandmother loved him, I asked her.
When they played cards together for pennies
It has been said that my grandfather cheated.
When they were old he became very ill;
The last time I saw him
Was at his bedside;
Just he and I.
‘Are you in great pain grand-dad ?’, I asked.
‘Del Boy’- he told me,
‘I am being punished for all
The bad things I did in my life.’

My grandfather was a rascal .
God bless him.


(Del Boy 15 May 2007)
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Sorry All. I spotted a very bad typing error in the last line of my poem, which made no sense. I was not able to edit, the button was no longer available, so the only way to correct it was to quote and correct. Apologies again.
 
Jilly said:
BritinAfrica, I like that poem, such simple times back then...
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Thank you Jilly, but that was a song recorded by a British actor Clive Dunn who played the part of an old soldier in a British comedy series called Dads Army based on the Home Guard of WW2 in England.

AB_Shorts_Momma said:
I really wish I'd had the knowledge/foresight to right down the stories my Grandpa and even my Great-grandma told me!
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Too right


My Grandad always swore (he did that a lot, but this time swore as in an oath lol) that he should have been awarded the Victoria Cross. He never told me of the horrors of WW1 and the trenches, but some stories he did relate to me. My Grandad served in the Middlesex Regiment almost from the day when WW1 broke out until after the end in 1918. He was wounded three times, gassed, frostbitten and became deaf. He was small of stature, 4 feet 11 inches tall, but hard as nails with the courage of a lion and a heart of pure gold, he had a wonderful sense of humour, which I was lucky enough to inherit.


This is his story as he told it to me.


During the Somme in 1916 his section of the front line was under pressure and running out of ammunition, runners were sent back to the rear to bring up fresh supplies but each attempt ended in failure due to heavy shelling.


The situation was getting desperate and volunteers were called for to bring up fresh ammunition, my Grandad stepped forward and said he'd try.


He ran back to the rear, gathered a number of mules, loaded them with ammunition then began the journey back to the front line, all the while under intense shell fire. Some how he managed to get through with his charges and fresh ammunition was distributed along the line, he made a number of forays to the rear to bring up more and more ammunition.


An officer took his name and told my Grandad he was going to recommend him for the Victoria Cross. Later that day, or very early the next, the officer was killed and never forwarded his recommendation for my grandfathers VC.


He often said, “Those bastards owe me the VC.”
lol.


Even though he never got his VC, he was always a hero in my eyes and still is.
 
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BritinAfrica said:
Thank you Jilly, but that was a song recorded by a British actor Clive Dunn who played the part of an old soldier in a British comedy series called Dads Army based on the Home Guard of WW2 in England.
Click to expand...

Wow. That brings back memories, yes I remember the song now. :)
 
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