My granddad died in 1983. For the previous 20 years, he kept a diary, recording his day as a farm worker and then through his retirement. We are lucky enough to have his notebooks, all the entries in block capitals, often in pencil. He always tells us about the weather, sometimes about what is going well at the allotment. We get updates of how Liverpool are doing and the occasional political thought. He suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, was always in pain, but you would never know from these entries. My mum once described him as a contented man. Who knows, really, but certainly, there is something soothing about these entries. So I thought I would share them with you. We have a few years to cover so buckle up.
Not so cold today but cloudy. A lot to burn from Hans Hall. Young Peter* came to see me. Cleaned both the jets. Had a leak on one of the oil pipes. Got Bernard to help me to fix it.
(I think this might be my mum’s cousin, generally a bit of a ne’er do well.)
My Granddad is Keeping Busy 