I wrote in a previous post about my Little Granddad, who was in fact my Great Granddad. He was very, very special to me, I remember that he bought me a Harmonica (much to my Mum and Dads delight
) which I adored. I played it all the time, in my head I was a fantastic player. In reality it must have been a terrible din!
I once (I think I was around 4) ran away from home…well I ran all the way around the corner to his house anyway. That seems so young, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine how worried everyone must have been. I’m not even sure why I did it.
My Mum always describes all of his kitchen cupboards as being full of sugar and condensed milk. I think a reminder of days of rationing and so condensed milk always reminds me of him.
I was still very young, just 5 when he died. Though I remember that I was upset, I have a vague memory of having a special photograph of him in my bed at night. What I don’t remember, is that I lost some of my hair. A small patch of it, I suppose through the stress of it all.

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