This is my grandad in Fishtown, part of Brixham where I live now. He was the father of my dad, a well loved man in his lifetime. He’s been dead awhile now, since the late ’70s. If he were alive he’d be nearly 120 which would be pretty good going for someone with a serious Golden Virginia habit. And yes, it was probably the tobacco that saw him off.
He was a rum old dude who, as a relic of his Navy days, had a rather striking likeness of Edith Cavell on his chest. ‘Show us your nurse, Grandad!’ was a frequent cry among us young’uns. Any mistaken idea that I’m from posh stock will now be firmly blown out of the water. I’m sure that members of the aristocracy are not in the habit of baring their tattooed torsos over Sunday tea.
Dad gave me this picture of grandad in Fishtown. He’s accompanied by a conger eel that he caught himself somewhere around these parts. I shared the photo on a local social media page to see if anyone knew the exact location where it was taken. It turns out the little tin roofed shack is still standing. It’s in the car park down by the Breakwater.