Old+Person+Description

My Grandad

After Grandad died the family was never the same. Mum and I would often go around for visits to see Grandma. She got lonely now that grandad was gone. Being 12 everybody thought I was to young to understand, not mature enough but I knew exactly what was going on.

It was a hot summers afternoon and Mum and Grandma were going on about gardening. This kind of thing bores me. I decided to go for a look around the house i had never been up to the attic but I knew this was were Gran had put a lot of grandads belongings.The first box on the left said ‘michael’. I carefully slid open the top and inside were many treasures. First I picked up a photo of Grandad, I held it in my hands I wanted to cry, I missed him so much. Whether it was his pale wrinkled face or his soft deep voice, or even his incredible tea making skills, he was the rock of the family, keeping us all together.

I scrambled through the box and came across a small brown photo album. I carefully slid open the front cover and inside was only one picture. I grabbed a picture, it was a family photo in the fine print it read ‘The Queen Elizabeth 2’. It was the boat grandad took with his sister 17, and his other brother 13, from england at the age of 7. He was as neat as a pin, wearing pressed shirts and pin striped shorts to match his hat. Its hard to imagine him that young. I cant imagine being on a boat for that long. The next treasure I discovered his birth certificate stating that Michael Robert James was born on the 7/5/1918, it sounds like ages ago, but i suppose it was ages ago. Under a lot of junk i noticed a small wooden box, it was engraved with M.R.J, I took it down stairs to show Grandma. She explained it was his belongings for W.W.2, dog tags, medals, and diary entries that were hard to read because of his different writting that no one else could understand. Gran had said that she was in that box last night.

I went back upstairs and lying on the floor next to the box was four funeral programs from his funeral. It brought back memories of when 3 months ago I was sitting in the hard wooden seats tracing my fingers over his photo, he was wearing that blue jersey he always wore. I can still remember the itchy texture. His eyes were sparkling blue to match the jersey. The very few grey strands of hair he had left we carefully combed over to one side. He would always carry his little red comb in his pocket just in case. I never really got to see grandads wardrobe but it presume it would of just consisted of a few pairs of grey pants, his blue jersey and other coloured jersey but the blue one was his favourite, his weathered old brown slippers and his pair of black pull on shoes.

As sad as his passing was it is great to think of all the great memories my family and I shared with him.