Exchange with my daughter:
So now you're wondering "What's this all about?".
Well here goes: it's a long story but I won't shorten it as it's about me.
My father's father was a journeyman carpenter but very concerned for the welfare of the "working man" - an Arthur Scargill of his day. Eventually he found work difficult to obtain so he emigrated to the USA in about 1880, taking his wife and child with him. My father grew up as a young american, saluting the flag each day and integrating with the new way of life - went to church regularly, joined the Grace Church choir, and so on. When he reached 21 he decided to come back to his homeland but he continued to visit his parents in the United States every three years; one such was 1912 but, alas, his chosen liner was fully booked. (Geddit? 1912?) - but that's another story.
He didn't go back again because the Great War intervened - that's when he lost his faith, but that's yet another story. He married in 1917 and had 10 children: one died at birth during a zeppelin raid on London but most of the others lived into their 80s or 90s - my sister Margaret will be 96 later this month and another significant member hopes to reach 90 in November. Now where was I? Oh, yes.
In 1930 "Grandpa and Grandma in America" got in touch with Dad to say that as they were now nearing the end of their days they longed to return "home" to die - could Dad put them up? Of course he could! I doubt if he consulted Mother, who already had nine boisterous children to cope with, but home they came. First, though, the Home Office had to approve, so a huge policeman - about 10ft by 5ft - was deputed to inspect our home to see if the accommodation was adequate. NOW WE GET TO IT! At this time, the road outside our house was being resurfaced. First a great tanker went along, spewing out hot tar, followed by a gang with shovels spreading granite chips over it and finally the steam roller came along to flatten it. When the workmen had gone home, my brother Colin and I - we were about 4 and five at the time - went out to inspect the handiwork and discovered little rivers of tar trickling in the gutter. Well, we found little bits of dried grass and played with the tar until we got bored, then put the tarred stalks in the nearby post box and off to bed we went.
Next morning, we were horrified to see a HUGE policeman coming up the drive. Crikey - it didn't take them long to track us down. Colin and I hid under the dining room table until we heard him coming, then threw our weight against the door to stop him. As he thrust open the door, my brother and I slid across the floor and out of sight back under the table. The policeman was not interested though: he was satisfied that Grandpa and Grandma would be well cared for and off he went. Colin and I were spared for further adventures.....
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