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This is a question Grandparents

My awesome grandad flew in Wellingtons in the war. Damn, those shortages were terrible. Tell us about brilliant-stroke-rubbish grandparents.

Suggested by Buffet the Appetite Slayer

(, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:51)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

My Nan was lovely but had a very dry sense of humour
She also had two bedrooms in her flat. One had twin beds, one of which my Nan slept in and the other one I had slept in on quite a few occasions when I had stayed over. The other bedroom, however, had a huge double bed with a carved wooden frame and headboard and two mattresses on it. The size, the carving and the fact it had two mattresses and was consequently enormously high from my perspective made it a fairytale bed when I was small. The closest I had ever got to sleeping in it was when I sneaked it and threw myself on it when the adults were distracted elsewhere. I coveted that bed and could think of no greater pleasure than sleeping in

Not long after I turned seven, my Mum was due to give birth to my brother. My Nan lived a short distance away, between our house and the hospital. When Mum's contractions started late one night, my sister and I were woken up, bundled into the car and dropped at Nan's house so my parents could speed on to the hospital. This had all been previously arranged and explained to us so when it all kicked off the excitement was overwhelming. The baby was arriving, I was in the car in the middle of the night and, because there were two of us, we were getting to sleep in Nan's spare room in the big bed.

After we had calmed down, Nan decided it was time we were put back to bed. Finally I got to climb in under the covers and lie, thrillingly far from the ground, under all best blankets and bedspread. My cup of joy was full. My sister got in the other side and seemed ready to fall asleep again instantly. The fool - I was going to lie there and savour the luxury first. Nan finished folding our clothes and then stood for a second in the doorway with her hand on the light-switch. She looked down at me and, in a purely conversational tone, uttered the words "Your Granddad was sleeping on that side of the bed when he died." Then she clicked off the light and went.

I did not sleep well at all.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 21:16, Reply)
My Granddad Fucked A Postbox Once.
And his lung fell out...
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 21:02, 3 replies)
My Granddad is 91.
He and my Granny lived in a council house in Birmingham all their lives and were pretty much penniless- or so we thought. The only holiday they ever had was the odd coach trip to Weston Super Mare. It wasn't until my Granny passed away that we found out she had been salting away money for decades, and her bank account ran into six figures.

They "had" to get married (my dad was born somewhat less than 9 months after they did) and they hated each other. I'm sure she deliberately hid the money so he couldn't have any fun- a proper case of cutting her nose off to spite her face. She may have been money savvy but unfortunately for her she forgot that he would inherit the lot when she pegged it.

He now spends at least 8 months of the year in a bar San Fransico and in a five star hotel in Hawaii. He spends a large amount of money on Chivas Regal. He had a 42 year old girlfriend in Hawaii but he dumped her because she was too possessive. I'm sure my Granny is turning in her grave.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 20:21, 1 reply)
they're all dead.

(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 20:09, Reply)
My nan
has a thin layer of minced lamb inside.

It turned out quite tasty after we cremated her.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 20:04, 1 reply)
my grandmother
Died at birth.

A. Paradox.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 19:50, Reply)
I don't even own a grandparents.

(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 19:23, 7 replies)
My gran was great
She used to look after my sister and me in the school holidays while my mum worked in a fruit and veg shop a few miles away. About half an hour before my mum was due to finish work she'd have us up at the front window which looked across the valley to the main road, every red car that passed she'd tell us was our mum coming home...until she tired of this after said half hour and tell us there must have been an accident and she was hurt or dead. She always reminded me of the granny out of George's Marvellous Medicine but with less redeeming features...
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 18:22, 4 replies)
Having read through some of the stories about the rationing attitude towards food, it reminds me of my Nan. She was a proper Jersey bean – born & bred. I think that the farthest she ever got away from Jersey was France, and not very far inland at that The Channel Islands were occupied by the Germans in WWII, and if you thought rationing was difficult in the UK, it was doubly so over here. The majority of the island relied on Red Cross parcels sent across from the mainland – the majority of the local produce being either appropriated by the Krauts or nicked by any number of the Polish/Russian PoW’s brought to the island as labourers to work on the Atlantic wall. Nettle soup and acorn coffee were local delicacies – though I doubt that word could really be applied now.

This lack of food in her youth didn’t seem to affect her in later life however. My father was an only child. His father in turn had died when Dad was in his late teens or early 20’s, therefore when Nana was presented with two grandchildren, my brother and I, we became the centre of her life. To say that she spoilt us shitless is a HUGE understatement. We walked from school to her flat every day and upon arrival would be greeted with, at least, a 5-pack of mars bars, a couple of Dairy Milk caramel bars, a ¼ pound bag of sweets (the type you could only buy from a proper sweet shop), a whole assortment of penny chews, wham bars, flumps, curly-wurly’s, a bag of peanuts (salted for my brother, dry roasted for me) as well as that days copy of the Beano & Dandy and whatever Commando comic books we didn’t happen to have. To add to this, she must have spent the rest of her pension money on toys for my brother & myself – we had a full toy-box at her flat, it really was a home away from home. She let us rule the roost, and was in her absolute element when we were there. Suffice to say, neither of my parents could understand why my brother and I were so hyper after spending a couple of hours at hers before coming home. Strangely, neither of us have (yet) been diagnosed with diabetes!!

She died about 14 or 15 years ago now, when she was 75. Both my brother & I were in the room at the time. She was sitting on her recliner, my brother & I on the sofa scoffing sweets and reading our comics. She had a massive coronary, let out a single groan and died almost instantly. My brother & I called Dad who in turn called an ambulance, but there was no chance that anyone could’ve done anything.

It always left me a little upset that she had died in the room, but now that I’ve grown up (a bit) I can accept it as just a part of life. What’s more, I give thanks that she died so quickly and with the two people she cherished so much in the room with her. My only regret is that my Dad never got a chance to say goodbye properly.

Looking back on it, it’s easy to say that we were hugely spoilt as kids – we were, there’s no doubt about it – but looking at if further I love the fact that, just by being us, we brought so much joy to her in the twilight of her life.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 17:35, Reply)
My grandad once ate some Japanese food and didn't like it.

(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 17:32, 8 replies)
nan & grandad
I come from a mixed race family

My nan on my mum’s side would never stop talking. Whenever she was visiting she would follow you around the house with a constant stream of fast chat in her mixed Caribbean Texan accent. You would be sitting on the toilet, loo roll in hand ready to wipe with her in the hallway chatting at you through the door. We timed her once during a 2 - 3 hour car journey and she managed to pause for 11 a maximum seconds.

She also had a habit of waking up at 5am for her tea and banana before sewing and has driven an 18 wheeler truck from Canada to Texas. She moved to the UK in the 1960's from Trinidad, a young single mother with two young kids, endured all that life threw at her, the racism, riots, poverty and hardship with steely determination to do well, later she moved to Toronto then down to the US aiming for California and got as far as Dallas which rather strangely suited her.

She passed away last month and before when shown pictures of her final resting place she announced "I hope all the others there are ready to get up at midnight and party ". More Rest And Party than Rest In Peace.

My Grandad on my dad’s side was your London working class man from Catford. A builder by trade, raced a few greyhounds and retired selling a bit of fruit and veg down the market. In his own home he would be “nigger” this and “wog” that. My dad used to point out to him “I am married to a black woman, Peter is dating a black woman, you have a black guy sleeping on your sofa and so and so who is also black is fixing your car…….”. His response would be that he can say whatever he liked in his own home. It was a focal point of many arguments between them.

We found out later that when he was working on the building sites if anyone said anything racist in front of him he would with all seriousness have a go “don’t you fucking dare speak about people in my family like that in front of me”.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 15:53, 3 replies)
I think my grandad was sexually abused
It seemed that God gave him 7 strokes in quick succession and at that age he couldn't take the strain and popped his clogs.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 15:26, 1 reply)
No war stories.
The only "during the war" story my granddad had was that he once accidentally got stuck inside the top of this:


As rather unsurprisingly, it was felt his 'talents' would be better suited helping the war effort from home, rather than being sent to fight.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 15:19, 3 replies)
Amorous Badger reminded me
That my child's father, ie, his grandfather, is the one that left me in Portugal.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 14:36, 17 replies)
However, My Dad's Father
Has led an interesting life, he always has stories to tell, and a firm hand for discipline, I honestly believe that if it wasn't for him (and the way he raised my own father) I'd have been one of those scrotes running about drinking pikey cider and robbing grannies.

He used to tell me stories of his RAF days stationed in Germany, and how they'd always used to go out and get pissed up on pay day. One particular story that sticks in my mind is when a group of them have gone out and spent a serious amount on the piss, they've gone back to base and passed out in their bunks. Upon waking he hears a quiet whimpering and whispers of "what the fuck have I done?" Looking over to the sounds of distress he sees one of his buddies with shit all over the covers, and a look of horror on his face. "I will never drink again" vows the buddy. Next month they're out again, and Private Shitty is not out with them. Again, a quite substantial amount of money is spent in a bar in West Germany. They go back and pass out again. However, Private Shitty is asleep, and they accidently wake him up. What happens next you ask? Well, another one of the troops is so bladdered, he can't see a thing, and he needs to use the toilet. What Private Shitty then sees is his mate, curling one out onto his bed! The whole block is woken up by Private Shitty beating 7 shades out of his mate.

On another note, My Granddad is one of the most inventive people I've ever met, he used to help me build the most fantastic vehicles out of mechano when I was a kid, he also taught me how to sail dinghy's and has never been shy of giving me advice (even if I don't need it)
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 14:31, Reply)
Cancer has had at least three goes at killing my nan. The first time they cut her face open, removed part of her jaw and threw it away, and replaced it with a spare bit they'd hacked out of her arm. They then put her face back together with steel staples. When I went to visit her in hospital she literally looked like a geriatric terminator, sitting up in bed sipping tea and clanking slightly against the cup.

The cancer's been back twice since, and she's seen it off again both times. Hard to kill, my nan. I've told her she clearly isn't going to die because she hasn't yet found and killed whoever it was she was sent back in time to get. I'm not convinced she got it, but she laughed politely anyway. In much the same way that she laughs, politely, in the face of death.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 13:29, 1 reply)
my grandad is also my dad
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 13:18, 3 replies)
My scouse nanna
This is my 1st QOW,be gentle
Were to start,loved a drink and loved a sailor hence 2 uncles with different dads.
She married my dads,dad(1st born)..(keep up)and went to live in London in a big house and maids etc,but left him and went back to Liverpool as she didn't like it.By all accounts he was worth a few bob and was a WW2 war vet who escaped from the germans,my dad had no contact with him so the story of my life i missed out on my inheritance,or just some good war stories would have done(easily pleased)
As i said she loved a drink and after the odd whiskey or three was renound for getting her tits out on the dance floor.(bless her...must be where i get it from)
My uncle used to drink in the same pubs as here and when he was going to another pub she'd tag along,one day they came out of the pub and borrowed a bike,my nanna on the handlebars while my uncle pedalled like the clappers.i had visions of that film with Paul Newman in or E.T.
New years eve parties were good when we were kids,us coming from Manchester,a bit of an eye opener is Liverpool at 12 o'clock on new years eve,plenty of characters.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 13:11, 2 replies)
My Grandfather invented the Honda Accord
Whilst taking MASSIVE DRUGS and getting a Handjob from his supermodel girlfriend.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 12:50, 5 replies)
Real Life Soap Opera Plot
My paternal grandparents were friends with another couple back in the sixties. They'd play cards every Friday night, etc. One day my grandfather comes out with the news that he has been banging the missus of the other couple, and that she was telling her husband at the same time. Well, my grandmother had been knocking boots with the other guy. So all four went and got their divorces finalised and married their respective others. Then they went and helped each other move houses. They still played cards every Friday, and got along with no problems. My dad was about 13 or 14 at the times and remembers it clearly. I was about 9 or 10 when I was told, and stuck in my head all this time is the question:

Were they swingers?
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 12:48, 3 replies)
I never met my grandad...
...but I'm told he was old-school Stockport. Family legend has it that when viewing my parents' wedding photographs he cheered my dad's ex (from Stockport) and booed my mum (from Surrey). While she was in the room.

He'd spin in his grave if he heard my BBC/RP accent.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 11:54, 3 replies)
My grandma liked a tipple
Bit too much to be honest. Like many of her generation, it was gin. Grandad had died and [Royal Family joke]
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 11:29, Reply)
My Dad captured ten Germans. He would have been a hero
except it was 1965.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 11:26, 3 replies)
My grandmother thrashed Churchill, Stalin and FDR in a no-holds-barred last-man-standing Royal Rasslin' Rumble to decide who'd go up against Hitler in the Grand Final Finale Final
but then Chiang Kai-shek gave her a Chinese burn in the changing rooms so she had to go back to washing laundry and scrubbing steps. The rest, as they say, is history.

(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 11:16, 4 replies)
Always look on the bright side.
When I was very small, both my parents worked, so my Nan used to come and pick me up from school.

I remember very clearly coming out of the gate one day and looking for her only to see my Granddad instead. Before I knew it I was in hysterics, crying my eyes out inconsolably and not letting him hug me or comfort me before eventually managing to blurt out "Nanny's Dead"

She wasn't, she was at home making dinner. God I was a pessimistic child.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 10:39, 8 replies)

My grandfather was a fireman during the war, and got caught in an explosion trying to put out a fire. For the rest of his life, little shards of glass would pop up all over his body, under his skin. Eventually they would break out and he would throw them away.

He also had a strange growth near his eye which he called his Little Willy. Being young, I thought this was a cute name. Then one day he had his Little Willy cut off. I was very sad as I couldn't understand why he had this fun, wobbly appendage removed.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 10:18, Reply)
Another war story
My Grandad always loved to tell stories about his part in the war but we didn't realise just how much he embellished them to make them sound better to our young ears. There was one time he told us about when he was cornered by some 'nazty bastard' but managed to get him 'clean in the chest' as the other guys aim wasn't as good. He made it sound like a standoff scene from Hign Noon. He didn't know at the time but this was caught on film and years later we'd seen the actual incident and you could pretty clearly see that Grandad just shot at him first.

He also said he could do the kessel run in under 12 parsecs. Lying sod.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 9:53, 2 replies)
I used to own this

It got me into a lot of trouble when I took it to play school and told everyone it was 'Chocolate Charlie'

Thanks for naming him that, Granddad.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 9:08, Reply)
Well I'll tell you something, that Maude Kerbishly never went without nylons during the war
and you should see the state of her net curtains - eh! They look like they ain't seen the inside of a washer for weeks!
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 8:44, 4 replies)
I had sex with your grandparents
All of them. At once. It was great.
(, Tue 7 Jun 2011, 8:22, 1 reply)

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