Iwas having a little rummage through a box of old photographs the other day when I came across this negative. It shows a man and a woman standing proudly behind a pram containing a young child. The man, upon first inspection, seemed to be holding a dog. Just who these people were I had no idea, but it caught my imagination and I was determined to find out as much as I could.
The Chimpton and I were chatting the other day, when we touched upon the subject of some of the stories I have posted recently concerning my Grandparents. While we were chatting, I remembered a story my Grandfather had told me years ago about his time in the fire brigade during the blitz of World War II. As a youngster, I would spend weekends at his house being totally spoilt and listening to some of the stories he would tell me about his life – the stories were even more interesting when my Grandmother was out of earshot. The stories he told me from his youth in Oldham and his years running a shop in Birkenhead were always enthralling but I think my favourites were the stories from the war. It always makes me laugh when I watch Only Fools And Horses on the telly because every time Uncle Albert mentions the phrase, “During the war…” everyone runs for cover fearing another of his war-time stories. I was the complete opposite and could listen to my Grandfather for hours.
Iseem to be getting very nostalgic lately and remembering things from my childhood. One of my favourite memories was my very first foreign holiday. Back in the day, I used to accompany my grandparents on holidays to exotic places like, Bournemouth, Poole, Llandudno and – for the most part – the weather was always despicable. I remember one year we went on holiday somewhere and it rained every single day we were away. Because we stayed in Bed & Breakfasts, we had to leave the place during the day – not that there was anything to do their even if we hadn’t – and, I think for the week we were there we had one afternoon when the weather was good enough for us to venture outside the confines of the car.
Both Bimbo and I have told stories on Jammy Toast previously about my Grandfather. We have also told you how we called him “Da” because my mother called him “Dad” and I was too young to pronounce “Dad”. The poor guy was called “Da” for the remainder of his life. I have also told the story of our Saturday afternoons spent eating steak and kidney pudding and chips from the chippy out of the paper – much to my Grandmother’s annoyance – followed by a rum baba and washed down with glasses of “full-fat” Coca-Cola and a good read of the Tiger comic. Bimbo has also told the story of how – for a short time, anyway – we thought Da was a gangster. However, the one thing we have never told you was that he was also a big fat liar. Let me explain…