My maternal grandfather died quite young. He was only around 65 years old. I heard the news of course, and despite being only 12 years old myself, I took it quite well, without getting too upset. As was tradition, he was ‘laid out’ in a coffin in the parlour of the house, and every member of the family was taken to see him. It was the first time I had seen a dead body, and to me he seemed to just be sleeping. He had a short funeral, followed by a burial in Nunhead Cemetery, South London.
Many years later, quite recently in fact, I learned the true circumstances of his death, and how the family ‘brought granddad home’.
He died in Essex, at a place called Heybridge, near the town of Maldon. It was just over fifty miles from his home in the London district of Bermondsey. He and my nan had been enjoying a short holiday in a caravan they had bought some years earlier, to enjoy their retirement weekends and summer breaks. My nan had woken up that morning to find him dead beside her. He was cold, and very white. She had seen enough dead people to know nothing could be done. For many years, he had been receiving treatment for Angina, so it seemed likely a heart attack had taken him during the night.
Back then (1965) it wasn’t usual to ring for an ambulance when someone died. But a death did have to be officially confirmed, usually by the family doctor. It then had to be reported to the Police too. But my nan was fifty miles away from home, so she did something different. She walked to a nearby telephone box, and rang her eldest daughter, my aunt Edie. Edie in turn rang my mum, and then the younger sister, Betty. All three were married, and it was decided that the brothers-in-law would be enlisted to deal with the situation.
Edie’s husband was called Albert, and he had the biggest car. He picked up my dad, and then went to get Betty’s husband, Benjamin. They drove the fifty miles to the caravan through heavy Sunday traffic in east London and the Essex suburbs. When they arrived, they packed up my grandparents’ things, and dressed my dead granddad in his overcoat, to cover his pyjamas. Then they propped him up in the back seat of the car, his head against the window. My dad and Benjamin sat in the back with him, to make sure he stayed upright, and didn’t slip down. With my nan in the front, and Albert driving, they set off for the house in Bermondsey.
Despite encountering some heavy traffic on the return journey, nobody outside the car appeared to notice that anything was amiss. Once back at my nan’s house, they quickly carried granddad inside, then put him into bed in his pyjamas as my nan was telephoning for the doctor. The doctor arrived, and immediately pronounced my granddad dead, knowing nothing of the fiasco surrounding his return from Essex. He was prepared to issue a death certificate with Angina as the cause, and he also notified the Police. Undertakers were called to bring a coffin, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.
It seems my nan was afraid that if she rang for help in Essex, granddad’s body would be taken to the mortuary at Colchester Hospital. That might involve a post-mortem examination too. Instead, she relied on her family to do the right thing, and get her husband back home.
It’s one of those, ‘you couldn’t make it up’, stories, and is now a source of great amusement to many of our family members.
Times were different then. They certainly were.
There is something to be said for ‘doing the right thing’ for otherwise your Nan would have suffered even more with all that would have followed otherwise. Besides the circumstances, what a great family legacy story.
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Thanks, Maggie. I wish I had known about that story when everyone involved was still alive. It would have been great to hear them tell it.
Best wishes, Pete.
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It is a shame what we learn as adults and did not even know to ask when we were younger and our family still alive.
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According to my cousin, her dad said he had been sworn to secrecy. He only told her when he was terminally ill.
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And to think of all the silly reasons people called for an ambulance when you were working there. I love the resourceful approach of your family.
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They didn’t hesitate. That was them all over, just get the job done. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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I miss those kind of people.
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What an amazing story! 😉 Times are so different, and why should one need a coroner examination, when there is no reason whatsoever.
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Thanks, Michael. It is a fascinating ‘family secret’.
Best wishes, Pete.
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For sure, Pete! There are a lot of similar things in my family too. Some i cant tell about it, because they are much more horrible. Michael
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Ahhhh…the good old days of family you couldn’t make that one up…x
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Couldn’t see hat happening now, Carol.
Best wishes, Pete. x
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That’s a definite, Pete but a lovely family memory x
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What a great story, Pete. This is keeper for family stories. And of course, she did what she thought was best. I miss those times!
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They just got on with things. That seems to be a ‘lost art’ now.
Best wishes, Pete.
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They did, Pete. Therefore people weren’t needy or as self centered as many people are today. I hope that doesn’t sound terrible. Best to you, Pete.
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Not terrible at all. The plain truth. 🙂
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🙂
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That is a great story, Pete. You could never do something like that now. They would know somehow or the other.
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It makes you wonder though. If you did it at night, and didn’t tell anyone… 🙂
The time of death would be wrong of course. That old family doctor probably didn’t mind, even if he realised.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Yes, there is that, but there is also infrared film footage. In rural places though, it might just be possible.
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Yes indeed. No CCTV back then. 🙂
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A great story…..my family has never been that concerned about the others…..glad to see that I am not the ‘norm’. chuq
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At the time, we all lived near each other, and the family was very ‘tight’.
Best wishes, Pete.
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A great story. The family to the rescue.
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The family was very close back then, Lauren.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Wow! What a story. 🕊
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Thanks, Snap. Another example of truth being stranger than fiction! 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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For sure! 🙃
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It’s a good thing they weren’t stopped on the drive home – there’d have been some explaining to do! On the other hand it makes sense. Why wouldn’t grandma call the kids for their help to bring grandpa back home. I rather like that everything was handled by the family.
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I like that family aspect of it too. Unless they had an accident, or were speeding, they were unlikely to have been stopped. But I suppose they could have said he had died in the car! 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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That works too!
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Yikes! I can definitely see this as a British comedy skit.
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It certainly has all the ingredients for an hilarious short TV episode, Kim.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oh, goodness, what a real life story
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I was equally amazed when I heard it, Sue. It wasn’t until Benjamin was dying that any of them ever revealed their ‘secret’.
Best wishes, Pete.
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What a great story… your Nan obviously didn’t want Inspector Lynley, or any of the other famous inspectors, poking around to disturb your grandfather’s peace. I think I love the lot of them.
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Thanks, Angela. They had all been through WW2, so i suspect this was a walk in the park for them by 1965. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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What an interesting lot! You come from “good stock” ! They were resourceful folks-and your <nana, might have been right.
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They did what they had to do, Michele. It was always ‘Family first’ back then.
Best wishes, Pete.
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That would be good fodder for a comedy sketch!
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Yes, I can imagine it making a decent episode of a comedy/drama. It put me in mind of ‘Open All Hours’, though that is set up north of course.
Best wishes, Pete.
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What a story! I could visualize the entire sequence, you tell it so well! Amazing how different life was for the generation just before us! C
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They really did just ‘get on’ with anything, Cheryl. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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You really couldn’t make this up!
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I was just amazed that it stayed a secret for so long. When Benjamin was dying, he ‘confessed all’ to his daughter, my cousin. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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It makes you wonder what other secrets that generation took to the grave with them.
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Since this story is “a source of great amusement”…
(1) Nunhead Cemetery—Where are the heads?
(2) Heybridge—Does the bridge every reply?
(3) Edie’s husband was called Albert—Reminds me of Eddie Albert, who went on a Roman Holiday before marrying Eva Gabor and moving to Green Acres.
(4) Did they rehearse the drive to Bermondsey?
(5) The doctor was prepared to issue a death certificate with Angina Jolie as the cause. Your granddad should not have stayed up late watching “The Bone Collector.”
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You did very well with these, considering your unfamiliarity with the places concerned. 🙂
Now I am trying not to hear the theme tune to ‘Green Acres’ in my head!
Best wishes, Pete.
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As you said, things were different. Back then babies were often /routinely born at home, too.
This could have been my family. One of my grandfathers was found sitting with his back against an oak tree on a bluff as if he was looking out over his farm and Lake Travis. It was far from roads and quite rural. He was fairly young.
While I certainly can see the humor/comedy, somehow this seems also like a very warm story of family and the era
(Darn if they often hid all the family tales from kids!)
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Yes, it was all about family looking after each other. And quite fuuny too. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Don Ostertag is right, I can see a Don Knots genre film here. Warmest regards, Theo
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I had to look him up. Andy Griffith. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Goodness me! What a story. I can’t see that happening today. People are generally more squeamish about death, I think.
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That lot had been all through WW2, Stevie. A peaceful death in bed was considered to be a blessing.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oh the stuff that movies are made of
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I should really write this up as a short story. It would make a great episode of a TV Comedy /Drama.
Best wishes, Pete.
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I know you don’t care for Hitchcock, but I enjoy “The Trouble with Harry.”
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Oh my. As they say, you can’t make these things up. A good story in its own right.
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I can’t believe they kept it a secret for so long, Darlene. I only found out a couple of years ago, when everyone involved was already dead.
Best wishes, Pete.
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What a story to keep hold of 🙂
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