A Child of the 1950's

Chapter Fourteen

George Henry  – 1891 - 1966

George Henry  was my maternal grandfather. We all called him 'Grampy.' He grew up in a village called Gorleston-On-Sea near Great Yarmouth and his family were fishermen. He had four brothers, Bert, Harold, Fred and Walt and a sister called Kitty. We think, perhaps, he came from a rough family, but he once remarked that his sister was 'posh.' Perhaps she tried to rise above her station in life and who can blame her?

George was physically very strong. He hated fishing and when he was old enough he joined the army. I think the life suited him and he became a boxer for the army. I can't quite imagine him in red silky shorts and red boxing gloves, but he would have been a lot younger, of course! I wonder how many fights he won, or lost? I think he had signs of having had a broken nose. My mother once remarked that he had a nice pair of legs for a man! My mother certainly had a lovely pair of legs.

He spent some time in India whilst in the army and there was once a sharp black and white photograph of him outside of the Taj Mahal. Whilst looking at this one day he promised my cousin he would take her there some time. Obviously, this never materialised.

George told my mother that his mother had been a gypsy. We know nothing more than this information, sadly. I like to think of her as Spanish, his swarthy looks certainly pointed in that direction. Of course she could have been Irish with a gypsy connection, but my cousin Julie took a DNA test and there was no Spanish or Irish DNA there, mostly Scottish. DNA doesn't lie.

When the First World War was declared, George was sent to the trenches, in France. He was shot in the shoulder and the bullet went through him and killed the soldier behind him. Relating this tale did not disturb him in any way as he was not a sensitive man at all. After being injured he was sent to Bristol to re-cooperate. An army hospital had been set up in a local Park and he met Daisy and he fell in love with her. She was about eight years older than him and perhaps she fell for his dark looks. He was quite olive skinned with black hair and very black eyes, although he was quite short and stocky. I think she was about thirty six when they married and he about twenty eight.  After his re-cooperation, he was sent back to the trenches and miraculously lived through the nightmarish experience and came home alive when the war was over.

I don't suppose many people are alive now who can say they had a family member who survived WW1 as millions of soldiers died during that time and not so many came home in one piece. That's not to say that these awful wartime experiences did not have a negative effect upon him.

George and Daisy set up home with Daisy's mother, my great grandmother, Ellen and sister Alice, who never married (she was also a tailoress, like her sister Daisy). Whilst there was work around, George worked in a factory and was one of their hardest workers. He was not a popular man, either because of his nature or because he worked so hard, the others didn't like it.

Unfortunately, George took to drink after the war, probably related to his nightmare experiences in the trenches. He became a drunk, rolling home swearing and cursing after having downed seventeen pints at the local pub.  His behaviour did not go down well with the ladies of the house and after a while he was relegated to sleeping downstairs whilst the rest of the family slept upstairs. As he had four girls there were seven females in the house and he was outnumbered.

The local pub often organised a day out to the seaside and I have a picture of the family, George, Daisy, grandmother Ellen and Alice and the four girls ranging from 10 years up, all sitting in a charabanc which is an early coach with no roof. It doesn't look at all safe to me, but I suppose they only travelled slowly.

Even though he drank, George always gave some housekeeping money to Daisy, but it was an uphill struggle for Daisy to keep four girls and herself on a pittance. My mother always thought he was the worse father going, I suppose comparing him to my dad's father, but on reflection she said he never touched anything that belonged to them or hurt them in any way, it was just his loud nature and his drunkenness which was hard to live with. Whilst he was working, George could stay away from the drink and worked hard. He was not an alcoholic. I think his behaviour put my mother and her sisters off of drink for life! I think I feel the same, the world would be a better place without it.

George was very musical. He could play the mandolin, the violin, the banjo and the ukulele. During the Great Depression when there was no work to be found, he took to the streets and busked, playing his music for money. When times were particularly hard, he had to go the an organisation called 'The Guardians' to get shoes for his four children. Whether they fitted or not didn't seem to matter. Apparently, the children weren't given the chance to 'try on' the shoes, which often caused blisters or pinched toes, but I suppose it was better than going bare foot. The Great Depression was one of the hardest eras in the history of Great Britian.

George gave the mandolin to my dad as he was also musical, but dad could never play it. It was at our house for many years. My cousin was allowed to use his violin and had lessons at Bannerman Road school. After each lesson, she had to carefully put the violin back into the case.

Geroge always called my mother 'Blackie' as she had black hair and dark eyes, very like him really.  George had very black bushy eyebrows!

One of my mother's first memories is of herself as a four year old, being taken to the Cinema by her father George to see a war film. I am surprised they let her in through the door! The film was most unsuitable and as she suffered from migraine the noise brought on an attack and she walked home holding her father's hand, blind in one eye. She was promptly put to bed by her mother and a vinegar pad was pressed to her forehead to help alleviate the pain. You can tell by this episode that George was not really a 'child' person. What a thing to do!

My aunt Betty told me that as children they were not encouraged to have a relationship with their father and she felt that this was wrong. My experience of him was that he never reached out to me. I can't remember him even speaking to me. Surely a Grandad would have sweets in their pocket to give to their grandchildren, at least, to encourage some interaction? He never did that, however, and I think it's really sad. His children missed out and I think his grandchildren did too. However, I can always remember his smiling face, he didn't come across as a miserable man to me, but then I didn't have to live with him.

My mother started work at the age of fourteen and she needed a bicycle to get to work. She asked her father, George, if he would sign a document saying he would make the payments for the bicycle if she could not, it is called 'being a guarantor' in the UK. If something happened and mum could not make the payments then George would and the bicycle seller would not lose out. George refused to do this and my mum, determined to buy her bicycle, forged his signature herself. She never had any trouble making the payments and soon the bicycle was hers.

George loved boxing matches on the radio and used to chew his fingernails in anticipation of the results as he listened to the fights, mimicking the boxing moves with his big fists.

As time went by, Daisy's mother and sister died. My Aunt Kathleen and her husband Uncle Bob came to live with Grampy and Nanny in the house they were renting. Later, Uncle Bob bought the house and my grandparents continued to live with them until Daisy died.

George showed my cousins the scar on his shoulder from when he was shot in the trenches. He said the bullet passed through him and killed the soldier behind him.

George had a job painting red lead onto steel to stop it from rusting, somewhere in Bristol. My cousin can remember him going off on his bicycle with his army bag slung over his shoulder. George retired around 1956 and he used to go to the Assize Courts and listen to the cases which were brought there.

When Daisy was ill, she said to the family 'When I die don't put him out, will you?' Daisy died when I was six years' old in 1958. Apparently, as tough as he was and he was tough, George cried when Daisy died.

A year after Daisy's death, George moved out of the house. He had advertised for a wife in the newspaper and later married a widow who owned a house in Hanham. He lived there with her and her son. I don't think I ever saw him after that. I have often wondered what he was like with her? Did he still drink? Did she regret marrying him?

He took to drawing, possibly just copying pictures drawn by others and in his early 70's, several of his art works were exhibited in a local exhibition. There was a piece about it in the local newspaper, The Bristol Evening Post. He drew a picture of Princess Margaret apparently, which my cousin said didn't really look like her at all. Perhaps the widow encouraged him to do this and it helped him? Who can say, but I believe it shows his spirit and strength of character. He died of kidney failure in 1966 at the age of 75, having probably dissolved his kidneys with too much rough cider!

I feel very sad writing about George, but I nevertheless feel proud of him. He fought for his country in the trenches and overcame horrendous times. Unfortunately, he did not take very good care of his family, but what a colourful character he was! And certainly, not without talent.

I wonder what Daisy would say? I think she would certainly say she married the wrong man as he was not at all pleasant, but love is a strange thing. Even when people cause us great stress and difficulties, we can still care for them can't we?