Edinburgh, Portobello High School
Grandpa
I miss my Grandpa.
He was called Frank Troup and was my dad’s dad. Grandpa was tall and thin. He had a stroke before I was born so the right side of his body was unable to move.
He always wore a jumper over a shirt and trousers, and because he was tall, he had large feet and larger shoes!
I loved how he was always cheery. He was clever too, and my dad looked up to him.
Of course there was nothing I disliked. I just wish he had been more able and didn’t have the stroke.
I enjoyed it when we went to my grandparent’s house for Christmas, and everyone would open presents and his face would light up as he opened ones from us.
Even though I was less that two years old, I still remember when he was holding a Winnie the Pooh balloon that was mine. My dad took a picture of us like that with my Grandma and I still have it framed.
He always adored classical music and listened to it in his big, cosy armchair, or while he ate breakfast.
If I could speak to him one more time, it would take hours because I’d have so, so much to say.
Clyde the dog
My granddads dog Clyde was a fighting one fellow who lived his life to the full. He lived a powering sum of fourteen years. In our case, for a dog, that is long. Clyde had a lovely coat of armour standing out with a big, shaggy stream of silver and a waterfall of grey fluff.
His personality was full of fun, fear and frolicking. But his one great fear and nemesis was in fact the pigeon. Hours of chasing pigeons of a long stretch of grass and foliage. Constant snapping his jaws at them, dreaming of the moment he had feathers all over the grass planes and a pigeon crunched between crocodile jaws.
But all of that happiness and fun and cuteness of that dog faded away. Clyde got old and the lovely dog turned into a grouchy dog as he entered his older years. He started to bark at people which he never did and his happiness dropped. He got slower when on walks, not as much effort now to fetch a stick or to fetch a ball.
The days went on, Clyde got older and his strength went down. He could not jump into the boot which he used to be able to do. But on the night my granny and granddad came over for dinner, we knew something was not right. I sat with him in the porch hugging him and comforting him he calmed down.
When my granny and granddad got home, he finished his pain and struggle. He slept and drifted away in his sleep, making peace with himself, so subtle and peaceful.
My Uncle Mark
My Uncle Mark liked bugs and beetles.
I too like bugs and beetles.
I wish he could see my collection.
My Uncle Mark played clarinet.
I love to play this too.
I wish he knew I play his clarinet.
My Uncle Mark loved to climb.
I too like climbing cliffs,
But I never climbed with him.
My Uncle Mark is my mum’s big brother
He died
When she was twenty one.
When I am at my granny’s house
I remember my Uncle Mark
His memory is all around.
My Uncle Mark I only know
From other’s memories.
I never met my Uncle Mark.
I wish Uncle Mark knew me.
Ben
I miss my best friend Ben. He was tall with brown hair and always had a smile on his face. He always wore a tracksuit because he was a keen sportsman. He still runs as I have actually run the EMF with him within the past two years. That was the last time I saw him.
I loved his determination, fighting spirit and the fact that we had so much in common. The one thing I didn’t like was that whenever he came round to ours for tea, he would always steal the sausages. We loved going to the Figgate Park with our parents to play tig because it was our favourite game. The best memories I have of him are when we all went to Blinkbonnie for camping and he went off to the compost cubicle and came back only to face-plant in mud! SPLAT!
I also remember when we made a trap for our siblings by tying a rope hovering across the floor and a disco ball on the ceiling so when they looked up at the disco ball on the ceiling they would trip over the rope.
The other thing that I remember about him is that I was the boy in the gigantic turnip and I didn’t want to be so he very kindly volunteered to switch places in the play.
If I were to see him again I would say I’m looking forward to this weekend! Because we’re going camping with them and I can’t wait!
Wattie and the Little Brass Frog
The best memory I have of Wattie, my great granddad, is a little brass frog that he would try to give me every time I saw him. As soon as I was old enough to crawl, I would play with it. I would make it jump across people’s shoes and by the time I could walk, I could make it jump on their faces!
I know the frog isn’t a memory of Wattie, but it’s something of him that is really important to me. I have the frog in my room and I have done since Wattie passed away. The frog has a big grin on its face and when I see it, I remember that I am never actually alone.
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