My grandfather, Bill Armstrong, was born in 1909 in Glenealy, Co Wicklow, into a family of 10. As was typical of the time, they grew up simply fed, plainly clothed, hard-worked and offered little affection, playtime or interest in their emotional development.
He met my grandmother, Frances (or Darby) and proceeded to court her by cycling from Glenealy to Dublin, a distance of 50km, every second Sunday for 10 years, before they could afford to marry. To my great amusement they were then known to their acquaintances and friends as, “Bill and Mrs Armstrong”, a method of address for all the couples in their social circle.
Work was scarce and arduous, money was stretched. If you couldn’t work, you didn’t earn.
There were no credit cards, overdrafts or social welfare. They had four children, including my mother, Violet. By all accounts and despite his own harsh upbringing, my grandfather was loving, fair, devoted and respected as a husband and father. He shouldered his responsibility and provided for his family unfailingly in such an economically unstable time.
His few indulgences were a cup of tea with well-stirred sugar, a Polo biscuit and a cigarette.
Occasionally he had half a pint in Kanes of Glenealy. He told questionable jokes and riddles and loved a bit of music. He went to church every Sunday. I remember him always grinning but, also, always old.
In 1977 my family rented a house in Killarney and went on holiday. Bill Armstrong was made up. He kept a record of every town he passed through. His entire travel experience was confined to Britain and Ireland but he considered that a privilege and an adventure.
One evening we three girls were trying out our gymnastics in the garden of our rented house. Grandad was enjoying himself so much on this holiday that nothing would do him but to perform a handstand– really a head stand – to prove he could do one. My grandmother was horrified and we were enchanted. It proved you are never too old to surprise your grandchildren.
For a man for whom little came easy, he proved that it really is how you view the hand that life has dealt you that matters.
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