In memory of my Granddad

As some of you may know, my granddad Ronnie died earlier this year after a short illness. On what would have been his 97th birthday, the text below forms my half of the eulogy read by my Mum and myself. I wanted to share this with you, exactly as it was written.

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Thanks Mum.

It’s a little ironic that I’m standing up here on behalf of my sisters and cousins today, talking to you about our, granddad. After all, I first stood up here as a 7 seven year old, to deliver a reading at my auntie Susan’s wedding 30 years ago. And this was something that granddad never tired in reminding people of- particularly me.

At St Mary’s Avenue, there is a photo of Susan and I together at the wedding reception. Granddad would ask me whenever I visited, “Do you remember performing the reading at your aunt’s wedding?”

The truth is that I don’t, not really. Though I remain dimly aware of not being all that nervous on the day, I think the occasion went over my head a bit.

To be so lucky today.

How to sum up, for me, nearly 40 years of my granddad? I ask that question and know that my sisters, Helen and Maria; my cousins, James, Anya and Josh will have different experiences and memories of our granddad. For example, it may only be myself and James who were repeatedly exhorted to “Kick with your left!” as we bashed footballs around in nan and Granddad’s back garden. I’ll leave it to you to work out who listened.

It may be that it was only Maria and myself who were repeatedly told to stand in the corner as we struggled with the idea that we had to go to sleep whilst it was still daylight on those Saturday nights nan and granddad would provide us care whilst mum was out partying.

In fact, I understand that Ria spent a night with nan and granddad whilst Helen was at university and ended up texting Helen from a daylit bedroom having been sent up by granddad.

I remember watching the first Rocky film with granddad until such a point that he felt it was my bedtime- granddad always placed such store in a good night’s sleep. I never understood why, but as I get older I think I understand more. Anyway, on this night, the Rocky night, imagine my surprise when granddad – a huge boxing enthusiast- but also a massive disciplinarian, came upstairs to bring me down to watch the climactic tussle.

I think that if you asked Maria and I to sum up our early experience of granddad, we would probably tell you about tea in bed, lots of prayers, early morning exercise and three games of golf a week. That granddad was still playing golf in the week leading up to his 91st birthday, the oldest playing member over at West Mid, tells you everything about him.

Speaking of golf, I’ve never managed to engage with the game on anything other than a basic level. However, I still remember the day I carried his golf clubs around the West Middlesex golf club as he he played a round with Steven and Jo. I only did this once. Granddad marked this once in a lifetime event with one of his own- a hole in one.

Sport was such a massive part of granddad’s life, his passion for it has run down through his children to us and grandchildren. It is how I bonded with granddad.
Not for nothing has my partner Jo frequently commented with varying degrees of exasperation that, given a chance, I’d watch anything involving a ball. Particularly football; especially the Arsenal.

The last game we all watched together was the 2014 FA Cup Final.

Having grown up watching football with both Stevie and granddad, distance and the general misery involved had limited these gatherings. But with Arsenal facing a final they couldn’t possibly lose, against Hull City, we made arrangements to watch the game together and..

By the time granddad took his seat, Arsenal were 1-0 down. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was two. “Here we go again, why did we bother?” We all wondered. And we blamed Granddad because he was always a bit of a Jonah.

Luckily, Santi Cazorla and Aaron Ramsey made sure that our story that day had a happy ending, the cup was won. We’d had a proper family, proper Arsenal experience.

My sisters and cousins have all done, and are doing, amazing things with their lives. In their careers and education, I know how proud Granddad was of my sisters, how proud he was of James who is now studying at Cambridge. He only ever wanted us all to believe in ourselves and be the best we could be. I think that, at times, my relaxed attitude to life frustrated a man who believed nothing was ever worth doing if you didn’t do it 100%, whether it was the gardening, exercise, your job, or polishing the silverware.

So, it seems particularly apposite that the day after we lost Granddad, I finally stuck my head above the parapet and, for once, absolutely nailed a job interview, securing a long sought after promotion. I will never be able to have a conversation with Granddad about this, but I know he’d have been so proud of me. Mum suspects I might have been channeling him. If I was, then, Granddad, I thank you.

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What this doesn’t tell you is that the following things happened at Granddad’s burial service:

My Mum’s graveside sobbing prompted a hissed admonishment from my Nan, “For God’s sake, Desirée, get a hold of yourself!”, to the general amusement of those of us close enough to hear it.

Roses were bought for the family to throw onto the casket. As they descended, my Auntie Susan wryly, and loudly, observed that, perhaps, golf balls would have been more appropriate.

As the service ended and we prepared to head to the golf club one last time, Great Uncle Tony, asked everyone to join him in a song. He then launched into a chorus of “Oh My Darling Clementine”, one of Granddad’s favourite songs. We all joined in on this most perfect of endings to a bittersweet morning.