Open Writing

“Just an ordinary man” - thus would he have described himself, but to me he was the pinnacle of perfection -- a fountain of knowledge and above all a loving and secure foundation in my young life.

I was nineteen when my grandad died. It was the first close death that I had ever experienced, and it was as if the light had gone out in my life. The kind, gentle being who had played such a great part in my formative years was there no more, and his passing left a great and aching void. Now, with rapidly advancing years, I realise that he never really left me for his principles instilled into me at an early age have guided me through the sunshine and storms of life, and I am eternally grateful for his wise counselling.

My grandad was the eighth child in a family of twelve. All survived, save for Benjamin Abbot, who tragically drowned aged thirteen while sliding on the icy canal at Bradley near Skipton, where the family lived. My great grandma, pregnant with my grandad, named him in memory of her lost son.

From stories told at my granddad’s knee, I learnt that they were a happy family, six daughters and six sons. He used to say that six were dark-haired and six auburn, although I only knew him as grey-haired with auburn hairs on his arms.

He was a talented pianist, playing anything from the classics to popular songs. Although he didn’t have the traditional long tapering fingers associated with piano playing, his strong, gifted hands never had any difficulty in spanning an octave and his playing could charm the heart out of each and every one who heard him. Sad to say, I didn’t inherit his outstanding talent. He tried to teach me, but the temptation to play out rather than practise scales defeated us both. Although his patience was endless, mine wasn’t, so the opportunity was lost. Now much older and wiser (I hope), I wish I had taken it. But his was a natural gift. Mine would never have been that. Neither my dad nor my auntie inherited it either. Both could play but not with the touch that Grandad had. It was magic, absolutely out of this world. He had concertinas too with which he would entertain us now and then.

He loved animals, cats in particular, which he would train to jump over his hands. He was patient and gentle. Never in my whole life did I hear his voice raised in anger. He was a truly remarkable man, respected and admired by all who knew him.

Largely self-educated by his great love of reading (which I happily inherited), he had Harmsworth’s ‘History of the World’ bound into great volumes and could expound on countless subjects with amazing depth. But from my childhood I was brought up on fairy stories told on his knees and listened enchanted for hours.

He told me the true life story of Buffalo Bill bringing his Wild West Show to Longley Park, and of some of the Indians going into a town centre tobacconists and frightening the proprietor, unintentionally of course. When I was ten years old he bought me the book of Buffalo Bill’s life story. (I had a cowboy craze at that stage) and later bought Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights.’ He told me the story of ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ and the horrors of slavery and of Captain Cooke and Australia where he and Grandma had been on a twelvemonth visit to his brother and sister and respective spouses when I was a baby.

Later I treasured the toy kangaroo they brought me,and to this day hold dear the folding wooden chair which Grandad bought for the voyage. The route in those days was round South Africa taking eight weeks, and his description of Capetown and Durban and incidents of the journey and holiday were fascinating to my eager ears as I was growing up.

Lovers of nature, fields, trees and flowers, we spent so many happy hours, the kindly grey-haired man explaining to the little girl the names of the flowers and trees and how not to crush the bluebells by treading them down or prevent them growing again by pulling out the white of their stems from the ground.

Never wealthy in financial terms -- not to be expected from a family of twelve all raised in the textile trade -- but immeasurably rich in human understanding, my grandad had a quality that transcended all worldly gains: a compassionate regard for his fellow men, honesty, concern, consideration, the ability to listen, understand and help wherever he could. He was generous, hardworking and patient to the very core of his being, and above all had a great capacity for loving with which he enveloped me from the day I was born.

I can’t ever thank him enough for all he gave to me. “Just an ordinary man”? No, never in a million years. He was a living legend, an unforgettable character with a great and good influence on countless souls, my adored Grandad.