Your Grandparents

Always liked this one.  My great grandmother, with her siblings, mid 1880s.  She's standing, second from left.  She died in 1938 but my Dad talked about her.  Old German gal, still spoke some German.  Strict as hell, but he remembers getting ice cream when they went to her house, she had a soft spot too. 

I'm waiting for a punchline

Why so, Pat?

Only my paternal grandfather has died, and he did before I got to know him.

Edited by Andy Webb - August 07 2012 at 22:24

All gone.......they have travelled this journey before us, so much respect for ancestors regardless of individual flaws, brave souls

My paternal grandfather was a singer with a moderate success (opera and easy listening). He is still surrounded by a veil of mystery. He was also a WWII veteran, pilot, old car collector and what not. He was married four times, my grandma was his third wife - a tailor making costumes in the opera house.

I never met my maternal grandfather - he died when my mother was a little girl. I don't know much about him; I know he was a musician and a womanizer (or so they told me).

My grandma is still alive and well, even able to hike nearby mountains with mum and me. Grandma was quite pretty when young and used to be a photo model.


It's a pity I don't have a scanner here; there are some really interesting photos in my family albums.

All mine are long gone now, sadly..

My Irish grandfather (on my mothers side) died in 1981. He grew up in an around Dublin, and used to work in a factory dying rolls of fabric. He also used to repair radios as a sideline. My Irish grandmother was a nurse and also worked part time in a convent, as some kind of domestic assistent for the nuns.

My grandmother and grandfather on my dads side both died in the 1970's, and I can't really remember much about them. In his younger years, he had worked as a draughtsman for an engineering company. My father followed in his footsteps, in this regard. They lived in a town called Slough, in the south east of England, not far from London. On a side note, just recently I found an old diary, which my dad had kept in 1941, aged 14. Very short entries, but interesting to read about Nazi V1 rockets going overhead!

Blacksword wrote: he had worked as a draughtsman for an engineering company.!

Drafting is a major part of my vocation.  My dad had the drafting kit.  He went in to chemical engineering.  But getting my hands on it led me to it.

My dad is having the time of his life these past two weeks.  Him and my mom are on vacation on the East Coast visiting his roots.  He lived in Coopersville, New York from the ages of 2 to 8, and that was their first stop.  Apparently, my dad ran into a guy in a rest stop near there and started talking about heading to Coopersville to look for his old house and to hopefully meet up with a friend of my grandpas.  As luck would have it, this guy lived in Coopersville and knew exactly what my dad was looking for and new exactly where this friend of my grandpa lived.  I guess that there are only two main streets in the town, so it sounds like an everybody knows everybody kind of place. 

I bever knew my grandparents on my mother's side, only those on my late father's.

My grandfather Rudolf, was the last of the German born Gartens (came over to England from Saxony in 1888), was interned during WW1 & put into a reserved occupation in WW2 as a baker - stayed a baker until he retired following losing his leg to disease & died in 1979.

My grandmother Hilda on the other hand was a proper old-school north London granny - about 4'6" tall, round, always a source of additional pocket money ("don't tell yer dad"), kettle never cold, cakes & sweets always in the cupboard ("don't tell yer mum") & if you crossed her... the quickest back-hand in Enfield - bless'er. Eventually lost her a few years back at the ripe old age of 102.

I have no grandparents left, and have only known one grandmother (my mother's mother) during my life.
At already an old age she was married again to a man who I really considered my grandfather, a typical grandfather for me, who smoked a pipe and told stories. It was only at a later age that I realised that he wasn't my real grandfather. It didn't matter, because he was a grandfather to me anyway.