My father-in-law started copying his father’s diary into Word some time ago, but circumstances have made it difficult for him to continue, so my oldest son has taken over.
My grandad-in-law was a lovely man. I know I say a lot of things are lovely, but he and Nanna were very special to me. My grandmothers died before I was born so I grew up without, but I had two wonderful nanna’s in law.
My grandad-in-law cycled to Lambeth every day to work and every night he wrote in his diary, usually in the air raid shelter.
My mum often spoke of WWII – my grandfather had the family moved to West Ham because he thought they’d be safer there than here and they lived through the Blitz - until they came out of the air raid shelter to find their house had been flattened so back they came.
But nothing has brought home what it must have been like more than reading my grandfather-in-law’s diaries. Night after night of sirens blaring and planes going over and bombs dropping. I must admit there were tears as I read as I thought about what it must have been like, never knowing when it would end.
But one thing that shines through his words is that he never complains. Not once!
So I had a look at my diaries. Oh dear. Moan, moan, moan! I dread to think what future generations will think of me if they read them. “What a moany old bag,” they’ll say. So, inspired by my late grandad-in-law, I am going to try to up my game when it comes to keeping a diary.
So now to put a positive spin on snow in March! Who’d have thunk it?