Tonight, my son posted a photo of my father and said "This was his only memory of his Grandfather," this got me thinking of what I remembered of my Grandfather.
I have vague memories of an old man in a flat cap and a ragged fisherman's jumper, trousers held up by a sturdy belt. His face always smiling, even though he had few teeth.
My memories of my Grandmother are even scarcer, I was told she was a lovely lady and adored me. I cannot remember much as she died when I was 3.
My parents brought me to Clevedon in 1963 when I was 8 and that was the last I heard of my Grandfather until I heard he died when I was about 18. There were so many things I wished I could have asked him.
Imagine moving 400 miles from your family, having to start a life with no roots and no friends from school; that was what I had to do.