My granddad (1913-1995)
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
I sat with Hugo in Starbucks a while back and we talked about our families and I started talking about my paternal granddad. This is always a splendid source of many stories and Hugo said that I should write a book about it all.
My granddad was born in 1913. He wasn't even one yet when his father died in the First World War saving another man and my granddad didn't remember him.
His mother re married and my granddad once told me his stepfather beat him for eating a pear. I remembered thinking that was incredibly sad.
My grandma was only 16 when granddad fell in love with her. He was in his twenties and her family wasn't so keen on him because he had nothing. He moved to Zagreb and sold lemons to earn money to come back for my grandma.
Story goes that they had my aunt and they built the house. At the beginning of the Second World War, my granddad was drafted but he told me he ate raw potatoes on the day of the medical and he was sick as a dog. They rejected him as a soldier on the grounds that they believed he had some dysentery disease.
My granddad wanted more children but my grandma, always the sensible one, was against it because it was the war years. However my father was born in 1944. in a bunker made by my granddad, hidden in the garage, or something like that, during a raid. He almost died due to umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck.
My granddad worked as an international lorry driver. He loved different countries and was in love with Spain ever since he went to Palma de Majorca.
He would tell me how, if he'd see a police car, he'd put on his hat and swerve a bit to make them think he is drunk and they would immediately stop him for questioning, upon which he would be a model citizen with 0 % alcohol in his blood and this would confuse them but be a rich source of fun on a long haul trip.
He would wake up and announce that Prince Maximilian is coming. This would be a cue that day we would have to call him that if we wanted an answer.
Grandma was religiously involved with the local church and on occasion, the nuns would visit her. Granddad would take the piss out of them in such a suave, smart, subtly sarcastic way that they wouldn't even notice. Grandma would because she knew him, and she would be fuming quietly, composed in front of visitors.
There would always be hell to pay after but it was worth it.
On many occasions I witnessed my granddad grope my grandma a little. This would enrage her, especially if it was done in front of me. He found it funny and had a little song for her, which he would sing as he did it. She used a wooden spoon on him on more than few occasions.
Once he took me and my cousin Marin out for the day and we spent our allowance on ice cream and fun fair. Granddad pitched an idea that I should sing in the tram and we would earn some money. Natural exhibitionist, nobody had to plead for me to sing. I once wrestled Santa on stage because he interrupted my song and wanted to take a microphone away from me...
I sang cute songs, Marin looked cute (he was 2 and I was 4) and granddad collected the money.
One year while we were on Hvar, he took us out and I complained I was tired walking and he stuffed me into Marin's pram and we busted the front wheel. Then we needed a wee and granddad ended up knocking on someone's door to let us use the loo and somehow we ended up staying there the whole day, having lunch and god knows what else. It was always like that, manic and fun, spontaneous and impulsive.
He taught me all about Spanish revolution and told me how Lorca died. We'd go to the library and find out about stuff like that.
If he took me to cinema, he would hide me under his raincoat. After a while we had the act of paying for just one ticket perfected.
Every year we would watch Eurovision contest. We would be prepared with pen and paper and would mark each country. One year, this cute German girl won.
My granddad was giving her best scores and was delirious afterwards and sang it for months.
Once grandma went away to visit her brother and left us alone. Granddad cooked pasta and scrambled egg and mixed it together. To this day I remember that as the best food I've ever tasted. We were such survivors.
He once removed snails from his garden and threw them over the fence, but suspected that the same ones were coming back. Second time he marked them with red felt tip pen and when they came back, he took a detour of a mile to release them so they wouldn't return to his garden.
There was a scarecrow in the garden made of his old shirt and a football with a face painted on it. Often birds rested on it after eating his lettuce.
He could not pass a skip without salvaging some weird outfit.
He died in December 1995 in his sleep. Grandma died 3 days later. Although she never let on, I think she adored him, how could she not, he was one of a kind, and her life was never short of love or fun.
It was an incredibly sad affair for me, it totally shattered my heart.
My granddad was born in 1913. He wasn't even one yet when his father died in the First World War saving another man and my granddad didn't remember him.
His mother re married and my granddad once told me his stepfather beat him for eating a pear. I remembered thinking that was incredibly sad.
My grandma was only 16 when granddad fell in love with her. He was in his twenties and her family wasn't so keen on him because he had nothing. He moved to Zagreb and sold lemons to earn money to come back for my grandma.
Story goes that they had my aunt and they built the house. At the beginning of the Second World War, my granddad was drafted but he told me he ate raw potatoes on the day of the medical and he was sick as a dog. They rejected him as a soldier on the grounds that they believed he had some dysentery disease.
My granddad wanted more children but my grandma, always the sensible one, was against it because it was the war years. However my father was born in 1944. in a bunker made by my granddad, hidden in the garage, or something like that, during a raid. He almost died due to umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck.
My granddad worked as an international lorry driver. He loved different countries and was in love with Spain ever since he went to Palma de Majorca.
He would tell me how, if he'd see a police car, he'd put on his hat and swerve a bit to make them think he is drunk and they would immediately stop him for questioning, upon which he would be a model citizen with 0 % alcohol in his blood and this would confuse them but be a rich source of fun on a long haul trip.
He would wake up and announce that Prince Maximilian is coming. This would be a cue that day we would have to call him that if we wanted an answer.
Grandma was religiously involved with the local church and on occasion, the nuns would visit her. Granddad would take the piss out of them in such a suave, smart, subtly sarcastic way that they wouldn't even notice. Grandma would because she knew him, and she would be fuming quietly, composed in front of visitors.
There would always be hell to pay after but it was worth it.
On many occasions I witnessed my granddad grope my grandma a little. This would enrage her, especially if it was done in front of me. He found it funny and had a little song for her, which he would sing as he did it. She used a wooden spoon on him on more than few occasions.
Once he took me and my cousin Marin out for the day and we spent our allowance on ice cream and fun fair. Granddad pitched an idea that I should sing in the tram and we would earn some money. Natural exhibitionist, nobody had to plead for me to sing. I once wrestled Santa on stage because he interrupted my song and wanted to take a microphone away from me...
I sang cute songs, Marin looked cute (he was 2 and I was 4) and granddad collected the money.
One year while we were on Hvar, he took us out and I complained I was tired walking and he stuffed me into Marin's pram and we busted the front wheel. Then we needed a wee and granddad ended up knocking on someone's door to let us use the loo and somehow we ended up staying there the whole day, having lunch and god knows what else. It was always like that, manic and fun, spontaneous and impulsive.
He taught me all about Spanish revolution and told me how Lorca died. We'd go to the library and find out about stuff like that.
If he took me to cinema, he would hide me under his raincoat. After a while we had the act of paying for just one ticket perfected.
Every year we would watch Eurovision contest. We would be prepared with pen and paper and would mark each country. One year, this cute German girl won.
My granddad was giving her best scores and was delirious afterwards and sang it for months.Once grandma went away to visit her brother and left us alone. Granddad cooked pasta and scrambled egg and mixed it together. To this day I remember that as the best food I've ever tasted. We were such survivors.
He once removed snails from his garden and threw them over the fence, but suspected that the same ones were coming back. Second time he marked them with red felt tip pen and when they came back, he took a detour of a mile to release them so they wouldn't return to his garden.
There was a scarecrow in the garden made of his old shirt and a football with a face painted on it. Often birds rested on it after eating his lettuce.
He could not pass a skip without salvaging some weird outfit.
He died in December 1995 in his sleep. Grandma died 3 days later. Although she never let on, I think she adored him, how could she not, he was one of a kind, and her life was never short of love or fun.
It was an incredibly sad affair for me, it totally shattered my heart.
posted by Martina Dove at 10:14 pm
1 Comments:
I think this a perfect homage to human being. It reminds me of some of the stories in Paul Auster's
'I Thought My Father Was God: And Other True Tales from NPR's National Story Project'. Truth: stranger, and (ultimately) better than fiction.
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