Yes, well... Grandpa the war hero
Or so we all thought, especially my uncle and cousins who proudly wore his medals and marched on ANZAC day ever since grandpa died.
He fought in New Guinea and was there when the Japanese surrendered, there are even pics to prove it.
Then a couple of years ago I was surfing the web and came across the Australian army's records request page. I dutifully filled out the form, paid my fee and waited for his war records to show up.
Interesting stuff it was. It seems Grandpa didn't leave Australia at all, driving trucks and generally causing trouble at various Australian army bases during WWII instead. There's a few drunk and disorderly charges on his record and even an AWOL one time, after which he was eventually found (predictably) pissed and was once again thrown in the clink.
No idea AT ALL where he got those jungle pics my relatives have been showing off.
Speaking of which, they still think I photoshopped the whole lot for some reason and choose to believe the hero story.
From the record of ratbaggery he left, I think Grandpa's probably laughing from the grave at their gullibility.
( difficultchild, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 1:25, Reply)

My grandad grows his own tobacco and brews his own beer
I am rapidly turning into him
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 0:54, Reply)

Ah Grandad!
Ol' Grandad used to buy chocolate covered peanuts and, being the funny bugger that he was, would suck all the chocolate from the peanut then place said peanut into a small dish next to his armchair. Dont know why he diddn't just eat them. Wasn't like he had an allergy to them. Wierdo.

Equally as wierd was that he diddn't inform me of that little piece of information untill after i'd helped myself to a couple of handfuls.

Oh how we laughed/vomited.
(subatomicelephant Fun Times, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 0:32, Reply)

Gran and sex
I was with gran in town one day and she was booking a coach trip. The girl on the counter asked is she wanted a double bed or two singles. Gran turned around and said 'A double bed please dear, my Albert can still get the job done'.

Me and the counter lass both blushed massive shades of red.
(nolongernuts, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 0:29, 2 replies)

My grandad (papa)
My paternal grandad, papa, is brilliant.
He was a boxer of some kind from when he was in his late teens up until his mid 20s (1948-1955 ish) when he met my nan.
He and her for some reason unknown to me decided to join the sally army and become missionaries over in India.
Anyway, the thing that stands out about my papa is the photo above my nans chair.
In the photo he's meeting the pope, the last one not the nazi, and he has never explained how it came about until recently.
He told me that the pope was visiting somewhere in India near to where they were stationed and had requested to meet the highest ranked members of the different religions that were in the area, my papa being a Colonel in the sally army was the highest ranked there at the time so got to meet him.
Anyway, I asked why the photo is in a basic frame above nans chair and it's because he didn't want the photo up, but nan is proud of it.
His reason for not wanting the photo up - "I didn't want to meet the man, I don't like him and have no time or space for him I was forced to because of my rank."
I love my papa, I dunno why he didn't like that pope and have never had that question answered.
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 0:16, Reply)

My Granddad was a legend to be very proud of
He obviously had a bit of problem with people into fascism, given he went off to Spain to fight them as one of the Brigadas Internacionales, prior to WW2. He was captured at one point and quite badly beaten up, but survived home to join in the army as an officer. He fought under Montgomery in North Africa, went on to fight in Italy, and ended up in Germany; where he fell in love with a German woman who's family had literally ran from the Red Army, he subsequently married.

I have all the medals he got from going through all of that, and photos with various generals around the house; but for shear pride I cannot knock what he put himself though as a young man. He was apparently the last Yorkshireman on those International Brigades, and was amazed at the complete strangers at his funeral. I am immensely proud of him.

Though, as a child, he would never let me play football in Bishops Park on a Sunday.

Still, a marvellous man
( Jahled Three shades of black, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 0:11, 1 reply)

Macho Man Of The Old West
I was doing some genealogical work on the grandfather of my grandmother, who moved to the American West in 1854, before the Old West really became the Old West we see in the movies. Those were dangerous times - grizzly bears, Indian attacks, prairie fires, pestilence! Men (and women) had to be tough, tough, tough!

What was my grandmother's grandfather's occupation? I was flabbergasted to discover he was a Candymaker. Candymaker of the Old West, he was.

Well, beats cowpunching....
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:37, Reply)

Mrs Malaprop
me "do you want a coffee nan?"
nan "ooh yes please but not that decapitated rubbish it aint ever right"
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:35, 1 reply)

My grandfather is that dude from the Werther's Original adverts on TV.

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:19, 6 replies)

My grandfather avoided pretty much all of the combat in WW2.
He was safely ensconced in his bunker under Berlin at the most exciting part. Lost his head a bit.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:09, Reply)

My wifes grandfather
was a pilot for the polish army. Her dad still tells us stories of how they all used to fly pissed. Their favorite game was to fly as far into Czechoslovakian airspace as possible and get back without being shot down.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:03, Reply)

I just thought I'd get those two out of the way early on.
Richard III lols.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 23:02, Reply)

When I die, I want to go peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather.
Not screaming in blind terror like his passengers.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:58, 2 replies)

My Grandfather died in a Nazi concentration camp.
HE VAS PISSED, JA, AND HE FELL OUT OF ZE VATCHTOWER!
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:57, 1 reply)

My Grandad managed to escape much of the war
by having a brick on a bit of string and claiming it was a dog.
They weren't sure if he was actually nuts or not.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:55, Reply)

My grandparents are all dead
You insensitive bastard.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:52, 1 reply)

My grandmother was a lovely, lovely lady
She was strong, intelligent, loving, pioneering (played team basketball in a day where women had only recently won the right to vote), skilled in so many ways, and I miss her terribly. That said, instead of getting maudlin and sentimental, I'll share a funny one:

My grandmother and my then-boyfriend/now-husband had only recently met, and she was coming over to Sunday supper at my mother's house along with the two of us. My mother and grandmother got on very well, but the one bone of contention was her cats; Nana never did much like cats. In an effort to placate her, my mother had moved the cat box from the bathroom and put it out in the garage. So there it is, Sunday, the table neatly set, the fellow and I neatly attired, and my grandmother pulls up. As a gentleman should, the now-spouse went out to meet her and escorted her in through the garage into the house. Halfway, she paused, smoothed her immaculately pressed dress, and in a most ladylike tone opined, 'This garage smells like cat shit' before continuing on into the house, leaving him in her wake, slightly befuddled and trying desperately not to laugh.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:50, Reply)

My grandparents
Are now both in their 70s, and I love them both dearly. They both grew up in a fairly rough area of Glasgow, Govan, but back in those days it wasn't so bad as it is now.

My Gran's father was Italian, and he was a raging, alcoholic wifebeater. My poor great gran suffered many years at his hands, but he would never touch the kids. They were reasonably well off for the times; they used to get hot soup and bread and butter from home brought into school for them each day. My gran was a mischevious child - she once threw a cat off a nine story building because she wanted to see if it had nine lives. She also once pushed her aunt into a bucket of wet cement, and on another occasion pushed the aforementioned aunt into the snow, and shovelled snow up her skirt. She left school young, 15 or so, and worked up till about five years ago.

My grandad was one of twelve kids - four of which died young, so he was one of eight really. In contrast to my gran, they were dirt poor - certainly no hot soup for them, it was whatever they could salvage. My grandad also left school young, and worked as a pipe-fitter for decades.

They both met for the first time at a wedding, aged around 17 - he was the best man and she was the maid of honour. The night before the wedding, all members of the wedding party were sat around in my grandads mums house, playing cards. My grandad make a joke at my grans expense, and she responded by giving him what she swears to this day was a slight push on the shoulder. He says it was a shove, as he fell off the chair, and the chair broke on his way down. He said that right then, in that moment, he knew he was going to marry her one day.

And he did! They married one year later, and had my uncle another year later, when they were 19. My uncles birth was a traumatic one - my gran was kept in hospital for seven weeks afterwards. Immediately after he was born, the doctors took my grandad aside and told him to start planning a funeral, as his son was going to die. Thankfully he held on, the fat bastards alive and kicking today. The whole experience was that traumatic for my gran, she swore she would ever have children again. Thank heavens for accidents, as she gave birth to my mum three years later, and without her I wouldn't be here ( and wouldn't that be a massive shame...!)

My granparents were grafters, they worked hard their entire lives. My grandad worked as a pipe fitter, working all hours and travelling all over the country. My gran worked as a cleaner, in a bakers, whatever was available. My mum remembers her childhood as being filled with laughter, food, and love. My gran makes the best home made soup you've ever had. They are the most sociable people you will ever meet- walking down the street with them, they always bump into someone - they seem to know everyone in Glasgow. I remember being wee and forever being taken on trips with them, or playing with them in the park, or even just going round to theirs for tea and a 'piece and jam'. Gran would sing us daft scottish songs and make us giggle all night.

The years went on, as they do, with them retiring with a nice wee lump of money, and they used to take holidays about six times a year. Until drama unfolded when my grandad has a massive heart attack. He was a smoker, and it had finally caught up with him. He needed a triple bypass, and it was touch and go whether or not he was going to make it. He pulled through, and quit the fags. Five years later though - lung cancer. Advanced enough that they had to just take his whole lung out. The scar is a fucking monster - starts underneath his ribs and travels all round his shoulder to the top of his neck. Obviously only having one lung reduces his ability to do everyday tasks, and he cant jet off on a plane like he used to, but doctors are amazed by his recovery. My gran still has him bringing her breakfast in bed every morning! And three years ago, they hired a massive camper van with two friends and drove it all over Europe - how many people in their lives have ever done that, never mind doing it in their 70s?

But obviously now, my grandparents are getting older. It might sound stupid to say but to me my grandparents have always been young - my gran was only 45 when I was born, so they've always been young and fit and able in my head, not white haired wizened oldies. Watching them get older, iller and less able is heartbreaking to me.

My grandparents are amazing role models to me. They never let the bad stuff get them down, they worked through it and came out wiser and stronger and happier. They are both still incredibly positive people. They both worked so fucking hard, raised a wonderful family, all while being two of the most kindhearted, loving, funny, wonderful people to be around. They're incredibly accepting, non judgemental people - I'd feel happier introducing a new boyfriend to them than I would to my own mum. They've always been blissfully in love - they've been together for 50 years and still tell each other they love each other every day. They are a definition of soulmates.

My grandparents fucking rock.
(RozDoyle, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:33, 1 reply)

none left now
my maternal grandparents raised 12 children on a pittance. 6 in a bed was normal for them. they didn't have much, but they were always well-fed.
grandad was a sensible man when it came to sorting out problems. one story i remember was from when my parents were first courting. mum brought dad home to meet her folks for the first time and, like the polite girl she was, showed him into the parlour. as quite a few of her siblings were at home, chairs were limited, so dad sat on the piano stool.
dad was nervous about meeting grandad for the first time, but not as nervous as he was 5 minutes later, when grandad walked into the room, carrying an axe.
"alright, lad," he says. "jump up off that stool, will you?"
as my dad, shitting himself now, scurried over to stand by my mum, grandad swung the axe.
he chopped the piano to pieces, before turning to my parents and saying "we've run out of coal."
then, he scooped up chunks of mangled piano and threw them onto the fire.
the man was nuts, but by god, i loved him!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:29, Reply)

Grandma
was born in 1895, the daughter of a telegraph operator in Nebraska. Her father wasn't rich, but he made sure that his daughters were educated- a very rare thing in those days.

Grandma got a degree in geology, but when she graduated she found that a woman would make about a third of what a man would make. Infuriated, she cast about for a profession where a woman could earn as much as a man, and decided to become a doctor.

I have her diploma on my wall.

She married a hotshot pathologist who achieved some small fame in isolating the first known virus. They lived in New York City, where she had a private practice while Grandpa worked for one of the hospitals. Grandma also worked for Margaret Sanger when she ran the American Birth Control League, later known as Planned Parenthood. She was an ardent feminist who refused to wear a wedding ring, declaring "I'd sooner wear a ring through my nose."

I know for a fact that she worked on the London War Orphan effort, giving physical examinations to kids brought over here during WWII. As such she got to know Eleanor Roosevelt quite well. But past that I can't verify any further the truth of her favorite tale:

Eleanor had a convertible that she was very fond of. She also happened to be a terrible driver, as she would focus more on the conversation she was having with a passenger than on the road. During one such exchange with Grandma as they drove, Eleanor was so intent on making her point that she ran off the road and into a ditch, and knocked out her front teeth on the steering wheel. She had to have dentures made, but of course rather than making them look like her bucktooth snaggled originals, they gave her straight teeth. Her commentary on this was "I've done my part for the beautification of America."
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:21, 1 reply)

I'm aiming for 63...
Do I have some funny stories for you!
Oh wait, no I don't, My paternal grandparents both died aged 62 and so did my Maternal Grandmother. I didn't have Grandparents past the age of 8.
My Maternal Grandad is still going strong. Shame, he's the bastard with all the money.
(Bababoon, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:16, Reply)

My grandad was stationed in North Africa in the Polish army in WW2
Him and his comrades were out in the sticks guarding some sodding huge artillery installations. One evening, sitting round the campfire, he notices one of the barrels of the artillery guns drifting slowly along behind the sand dune. Heading up the dune to investigate, he found a bedouin towing the gun away, having hitched up a dozen camels to it.

Unable to quiet believe it, he called his mates up to have a look too. Looking round to find himself somewhat of a spectacle, the bedouin apparently then slowly unhitched the camels, probably looking somewhat sheepish, and wandered off.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:08, Reply)

My Norn Irish Grandad
I'll never forget that day. I was playing for my Sunday League team, scored the winning goal, came home on a high. And there was my wife at the door.

"Your grandad died last night. He got out of bed, had a heart attack and ..."

Like a sledgehammer, and I vowed never to forget him.

Not difficult - when ever I go up to London, I make a point of going to see this:



My old grandad, you see, worked in a reserved occupation during WWII, and played no small part in building this beauty at the Harland & Woolf yard in Belfast.

Hell of a memorial.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 22:07, 3 replies)

5th
I don't even know what the question is.

Right. When I were younger...
My Grandfather (Taid) and my Grandmother (Nanny) lived in Wales. We stay in the arse end of Scotland so we would travel down every summer for a week or two and spend fantastic summers down there. I loved every minute.

My Taid was a proper grandad, walked funny, smoked a pipe, played Dominoes in the pub, helped with the evacuation at Dunkirk (There are medals somewhere) etc. He also had a fairly substantial vegetable patch and when I was there I was always out helping him with watering, digging up, shelling peas etc.
This particular summer I asked if I could dig up the potatoes for tea. "Give me five minutes boyo" and off he toddled. Gives me a shout a few minutes later so I run out and start digging.
"Try here" - No luck
"here" - Not a tattie in sight
"Alright boyo, try this bit" - PAYDIRT!
I dug up a carrier bag full of potatoes and went running in quite the man to my nan who was watching from the kitchen. He stood outside, probably pissing himself laughing (I like to think he lit up his pipe like a hero). He'd not planted any that year and I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Another year I went down and he took me, my mum and my mums boyfriend at the time out to Mona airfield. He took me up to speak to this pilot of a little 2 seater plane. They guy showed me all around it then told me to get in. Taid had arranged for one of his old war buddies to take me up for a flying lesson. I got to pilot it, bank around, wear FUCKING MASSIVE HEADPHONES and it was fantastic. I was about 7 I think. Maybe 8.

Best grandad ever. I fucking miss him though. He died in Hospital in 1995 (I was about 13). Luckily we were down there as we knew he was ill.
My nan was 95 this year too.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:57, 1 reply)

Farkin ell, 4th
ish...
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:54, Reply)

77th
I have a couple of sets of Grandparents. One pair was lovely but are dead. The other pair are shit but still alive.
( girlinthehole, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:54, Reply)

Gentlemen always come
second.

My sister once cleaned our grandad's house from top to bottom. It was disgusting apparently. But worse was finding the photo of him wearing nothing and holding his boabie with a creepy ear to ear grin.

She was given £100 for her trouble however joy was short-lived... so was I. For doing absolutely nothing. I didn't even have to administer mind bleach.

I thanked my perverted old grandad and bought a Megadrive :D
( djtrialprice, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:53, 9 replies)

1ST
Soz not my own story but Sir Itchalot's grandad (both of them as it turns out) used to stick their hands down his pants; at first the sweets used to shut him up, but after a while he grew to love it. Now one's dead and the other is fucked from a stroke, but he still remembers those days fondly, and is looking forward to practicing on his own kids.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:53, 11 replies)