This is My Grandad, John-Joe. He died in 1998 when I was 9. I love hearing people talk about him, although it doesn't happen that often, probably because it's too painful.
I remember him dancing down the yard, while holding my brothers hand, and whistling to the tune on the local Radio Station which was blaring out from the warm kitchen.
I also remember him washing his feet in the kitchen sink.
He was a great funeral attender. If anybody in the vicinity died, he'd be at the funeral, on his own, just the mass though. He only had one suit. A suit he wore to every occasion, be it funeral or wedding. It was grey. It was unlike other mens suits, because it was a sort of light grey. It had a matching grey tie and fantastic leather-look, probably plastic shoes.
Susie, my grandmother, rarely talks about him. She did love him though, and admired him. Last year, she told us a story about how John-Joe would always get up first, light the fire, and put on the kettle. He used to say that when Susie smelled the tea she would wake up, because whenever she'd come downstairs, he'd have a cup of tea waiting for her.
They used to go to all the weddings together, she hasn't attended a single one since he died.
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