In the 1930s my grandfather played piano for passage to America. Six weeks by ship and a long, winding motorbike road trip later, he found himself living with the Coca Cola family in Atlanta. I don't know how. His history was a bit mysterious. Somthing to do with the Earl of Stafford. Something to do with a grocery shop. Something to do with nothing really factually substantial.
There are some wonderful photos of him sitting out in the gardens of the house surrounded by Southern beauties in white cotton lacy summer dresses, picnicing and laughing and looking to all the world as though he'd been born to the life.
But, after just a few years he came home. Then, things I do know - Rented a council house in Manchester, took a quiet job in accounts for a small local business, played piano in Clubs (and for Ken Dodd, no less), took the Morning Star and drove a functional Trabant-looking half van half car for the rest of his life. He was lovely. Modest, unassuming, gentle.
I wish he was here now, he died about 15 years ago. I miss him because now I'm old and unselfish enough to want to know him for the person he was. Not just the grandfather who'd slip me a few quid with every goodbye kiss or who was there to be proud of me or to maintain a full complement of family for me.
He was asked to stay with the family and join the business, but came back because he couldn't live with the social and racial inequities he saw. He could have looked the other way, could have lived the American Dream, and then some. I want to know what made him turn his back on personal gain and become such a satisfied, content person. What are all the things I didn't know about him, who was he? On the other hand, why didn't he do more to improve the world if he felt so strongly that it was full of wrongs? Not that he had a duty to do so, but why didn't he?
I haven't got a photo with me at this house, although there's one in particular I'd love to post. When I find it I'll stick it up. He's standing in the Cheddar Gorge in front of his big black motorcycle wearing an ankle length black leather riding coat. Hands on hips, shoulders back, in his little round tortoise-shell glasses and hair slick-combed back, looking every inch the 1930s intellectual superhero. Who took that photo?
7 comments:
He sounds fantastic, I can't wait to see the picture. My grandad died last year, we were very close and I still miss him all the time.
Hi. Lovely post. It brought back memories to me. I was visiting home in 2001. I stayed with my mum the entire time I was there, 2 weeks. I came back to Australia and a week later I received a phone call. My grandfather passed away. I went all the way there, and was too lazy to travel a few more hours to visit him. I thought I'd do it the next time. I would love to see photos of your grandfather. Take care. G
tallulahbloom - I think I'm missing him for the first time. I was sad when he died, but in the way you're supposed to be sad when family die, and for my Granmother and for my Mum. But something today just made me wnat to be with him. To take a long car journey with him and chat about him and see the world through his eyes.
I'm sorry for your loss too.
gaye - After I posted I phoned my Grandmother and had a chat with her about the weather and her garden and my interview next week. And arranged to go and stay with her for a few days in August. She'll think it was just another call, to me it meant the world to hear her speaking today.
It's always interesting when people move to another country with high hopes and a few years later come back feeling disillusioned. Your grandfather was obviously a very sensitive and caring soul who wasn't prepared to turn a blind eye to the injustices going on around him. Sad that you never knew him properly.
Hiya Nick. Yes, he was given what I think he might have thought he wanted (?!?!) but it wasn't what he actually wanted at all. And, once he realised that and realised what he did want, a quiet modest family life, he was happy.
The saddest bit for me is that I saw him every week and thought I did know him, but he was just too familiar as a grandfather for me to know the man.
"...he was just too familiar as a grandfather for me to know the man"
OMG, well said. This is exactly what happened with my grandfather. I spent every summer 3 months with my grandparents from age 3 until I was at uni. And what you said applies to my grandfather as well. Thank you for putting the feelings into words for me also!
I wish I'd known my maternal grandmother better. She'd had her share of knocks in life, which made her a bit brittle and insecure. I loved her very much, but she wasn't the sort of granny you could sit down and natter with for hours. And there were all sorts of stories, about growing up in the East End in the 20s, all the Labour/Jewish ferment of the time. All sorts of secrets about the various men in her life, her odd holidays to Israel and Russia, well before that sort of thing was the norm.
Hmmf. You got me thinking, damn you.
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