Fathers and grandfathers
What an odd few days.
Over Christmas, while looking through a lot of Gran's photos and things as we were sorting her flat, Mum and I noticed that my father (Terry) was born three years (1949) before Gran and Grandad were married (1952). OK ... that was interesting. So Mum did a bit of digging and thinking and decided that really the most likely thing was that Grandad must not be Terry's father - corroborated by Terry having Gran's maiden name on his birth certificate with no mention of his father.
We were more intrigued and discuss a bit here and there over January and February. Anyway, Mum has to phone Gran's elder brother the other day to give him the new phone number for Gran's care home, and plucks up courage to ask about Terry.
It turns out that, yes, Grandad wasn't his father. Some soldier guy was. Both Gran and Grandad were employed at COD Donington, an army base in Shropshire, and the soldier guy was seconded there for a while. Terry arrived, and then at some point Gran and Grandad met and fell in love. I don't know whether Grandad knew Gran before her pregnancy, or just afterwards. Anyway, however it happened, they met, and married when Terry was 3.
Then Mum yesterday found a copy of hers and Terry's wedding certificate, and realised that even on that Terry's father / father's occupation is blank, and that his name had been changed by deed poll from Gran's maiden name to their married name.
So I suppose that Grandad never actually formally adopted him. Which I find a bit odd.
Anyway ... this has been rather odd. Not, I hasten to add *immediately*, that it's changed my opinion of Gran in any way, nor has it made me think that Grandad was in any way not my Grandad. He was my Grandad, he made me feel safe and loved all through my life, he was one of the most wonderful people I've ever met, and this has only made me realise that he was even more amazing than I imagined.
It's just - odd. As if my world has shifted ever so slightly away from where I'd always assumed it was. Not in any worse or better way, just a bit different.
Until I was driving home from walking the pup this morning, and just burst into tears on a back road. It took a few moments for me to realise why - because, typical me, I never let that much emotion out, and when Grandad died, I don't think I ever really cried, and now? It's more as if I'm just back there again, and I really do miss him.
Interesting.
Grandad and Mum (looking very brown), and I *think* G&G's wedding:
Over Christmas, while looking through a lot of Gran's photos and things as we were sorting her flat, Mum and I noticed that my father (Terry) was born three years (1949) before Gran and Grandad were married (1952). OK ... that was interesting. So Mum did a bit of digging and thinking and decided that really the most likely thing was that Grandad must not be Terry's father - corroborated by Terry having Gran's maiden name on his birth certificate with no mention of his father.
We were more intrigued and discuss a bit here and there over January and February. Anyway, Mum has to phone Gran's elder brother the other day to give him the new phone number for Gran's care home, and plucks up courage to ask about Terry.
It turns out that, yes, Grandad wasn't his father. Some soldier guy was. Both Gran and Grandad were employed at COD Donington, an army base in Shropshire, and the soldier guy was seconded there for a while. Terry arrived, and then at some point Gran and Grandad met and fell in love. I don't know whether Grandad knew Gran before her pregnancy, or just afterwards. Anyway, however it happened, they met, and married when Terry was 3.
Then Mum yesterday found a copy of hers and Terry's wedding certificate, and realised that even on that Terry's father / father's occupation is blank, and that his name had been changed by deed poll from Gran's maiden name to their married name.
So I suppose that Grandad never actually formally adopted him. Which I find a bit odd.
Anyway ... this has been rather odd. Not, I hasten to add *immediately*, that it's changed my opinion of Gran in any way, nor has it made me think that Grandad was in any way not my Grandad. He was my Grandad, he made me feel safe and loved all through my life, he was one of the most wonderful people I've ever met, and this has only made me realise that he was even more amazing than I imagined.
It's just - odd. As if my world has shifted ever so slightly away from where I'd always assumed it was. Not in any worse or better way, just a bit different.
Until I was driving home from walking the pup this morning, and just burst into tears on a back road. It took a few moments for me to realise why - because, typical me, I never let that much emotion out, and when Grandad died, I don't think I ever really cried, and now? It's more as if I'm just back there again, and I really do miss him.
Interesting.
Grandad and Mum (looking very brown), and I *think* G&G's wedding: