The story starts when I was only four years old, so I am relying mainly on the memory of other people for this period. During the first few years I was on this planet, we went on our family summer vacation to Boscombe, on the south coast of England, near Bournemouth. We used to stay at a small hotel along the waterfront. This one year, on our first night at the hotel, my parents had put my sister and I to bed and were going to bed themselves. My mother was already in bed and my father was turning the light off at the switch by the bedroom door. Then, without warning, he yelled "yippee" and took a flying leap from the door onto the bed, which promptly collapsed as two legs of the metal frame folded up. They thus had to sleep on a bed with a 20 degree list to starboard. The next morning, after breakfast, we were ordered to leave by the management. They had heard the crash in the night. So, we spent the first day of our vacation walking the streets with our bags like a family of refugees, looking for another hotel room in this overbooked town.
My father loved children and they loved him as he was always playing with them on the beach. On the last morning of our vacation, he apparently used to come to the beach shortly before lunch dressed in a business suit and tie, black shoes and a bowler hat. He would then walk around saying goodbye to all the kids and their parents and then walk into the sea and keep on going until his hat floated off his head and he disappeared, until he popped up somewhere else. This apparently became a ritual. Each year, the kids waited for it. This was typical of Uncle Stanley.
Pop, as I always called him, was at his most devilish, when food was being served with guests at the house, either family or close friends. My mother was grateful at least for this last part, he normally did not behave like this when comparative strangers were eating with us. Pop was a master at carving meat. Whatever the animal or the particular joint, he carved it beautifully. He always used to carve at the head of the table, and then the plates were passed around. Oftentimes, some people would have seconds. So, Pop would stand up and say "would you like another slice of beef, Grandma?" If Grandma said "yes", he would then carve a slice very quickly, before her plate was passed, and then he would flick the slice with the end of the carving blade so that it flew across the table onto her plate, or so he hoped. He became quite good at this and sometimes hit the target. Grandma also had a hell of a sense of humor and always laughed at his antics.
He was at his wildest when serving desserts. If there was some sort of non solid pudding or something in a bowl, he used to love to demonstrate his prowess at spinning the bowl between his fingertps through 360 degrees vertically. My mother would try to stop him but, the more she tried, the more determined he became. He was very good at it and I can only remember one occasion when a rice pudding was spread along the length of the table. I remember one particular time when, amongst the desserts being served was a large bowl of orange jelly. He said "Who would like some jelly?" He got some replies so he then said "Well, would everyone like some jelly" He then picked up a large serving spoon and slapped it into the top of the jelly as hard as he could. The bowl disgorged its contents in all directions, so it seemed like everyone was going to get some. My mother was not at all pleased, she had not wanted any jelly.
My mother used to invite people to tea on Sundays. These used to be quite formal events with one or two different types of sandwich, with the crusts cut off, of course, scones with clotted cream and jam, fruit cake or rock cakes and some sort of cream cake. The tea was poured by mother out of a big silver teapot. The cups and saucers and the sandwiches were wheeled in on a tea trolley and the cakes on a portable cake stand. While all this was being brought in, Pop would get in on the act and might bring in a plate of muddy potatoes straight out of the garden and maybe a few small lumps of coal on a plate and just put them on the trolley without saying a word, until my mother saw them. She had a lot to put up with.
With so much food in front of them at these teas, people seemed to eat quite generously. If someone had an empty plate, Pop would frequently say "Can I pass you a scone Mrs G?" If Mrs G said "Yes", he would say "here, catch!", then quickly throw one at her. If my mother criticized him for this behavior, he would look all hurt and sulky.
Pop had watched some comedians remove the tablecloth from a totally set table without spilling or breaking anything. He was convinced he could do this and he explained to me how it was possible. All you had to do was give the tablecloth a sharp pull and continue the pull at the same speed until the whole cloth had cleared the table. But, he had never done it, yet. Frequently, as we were ending a meal with guests present, he would stand up, move his chair back out of the way, grab two handfulls of tablecloth and announce that nobody should move and he was going to remove the tablecloth. Of course, all of us kids would egg him on but Mum would plead "No, Stanley, no, please no." Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he never did it. But, it would have been interesting to see what would have happened if he had done.
Another thing Pop used to love doing was to dress up for the kids. Sometimes, if the family was ready to go out and maybe already seated in the car, he would suddenly appear in the most ridiculous outfit. My mother would have to get out of the car and go back in the house to stop him going like that. Other times, he would appear in such an outfit just as guests were arriving for lunch. He particularly loved dressing up as a priest, by wearing a white dress shirt back to front with a dark blue sweater, also back to front. He would also part his hair in the middle. He really looked the part.
Pop also enjoyed spinning tales with the young children. He had a set of fictitious characters around which he would spin the tales. There was Og Noble, Harry Fanackapan, Squadron Leader Farnes Barnes, Fred Bloggs, Sam Lonk and others. I remember hearing him talking to my nephew and niece, Tim and Caroline about these characters and what they had been up to. He also used to show the children how to dig holes and then move these holes around the garden. Sometimes, I would see Pop and Tim, struggling between them to lift a very large hole out of the ground and put it into the wheelbarrow to carry it up to the house. Or, I might see all three of them walking up from the bottom of the garden with their arms outstretched as they each carried their own pretend hole. If they had too many holes, they used to lean some of them against the garage wall until they needed them. I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that some of these spare holes are still there unless somebody else has found a use for them.
Pop seemed to go through life without a care in the world and always was in a good mood. I know he really enjoyed life and he made life fun for all those around him. I am enraged when I think that a man who was such a pleasure to everyone should pass away in such an unfortunate and disagreeable manner. He died having become almost a vegetable for a few years after a stroke caused by being beaten and kicked by a team of burglars who broke into the family home. I think he was cheated out of an honorable end to a great life. He was, I believe, 84 years old when he left us.
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