Granddad's Babies

By Judy Prescott

In Granddad’s Babies, readers embark on a heartfelt journey through the life of Peter, a devoted husband, father, and doting grandfather. With unwavering love and boundless joy, Peter cherishes every moment spent with his growing family, especially his beloved grandsons. This touching book takes us on a nostalgic ride, delving into cherished memories that span across the years, each one filled with laughter, love, and the indomitable spirit of family bonds. As we navigate through the pages, we witness Peter’s unwavering presence and support for his children as they navigate the trials and triumphs of life. However, the narrative takes a poignant turn as it leads us to the year 2019, where the inevitable departure of this remarkable man leaves a void that echoes through the hearts of all who knew and loved him.

Granddad’s Babies serves as a poignant tribute, celebrating the enduring legacy of Peter and the profound impact he had on his family’s lives, reminding us of the immeasurable power of love and the timeless connections that transcend even the boundaries of mortality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398499546

Judy Prescott

Judy Prescott was born and raised in the busy city of Bristol, the eldest of five children and a daughter to a gentleman’s barber shop father and a mother who worked part-time, working around the family commitments. Moving to South Wales with her husband and two young children over thirty years ago, her grandmother’s territory, she hasn’t looked back. Writing has occupied her time since ill health halted being able to work a full-time job. Judy, now a widow and a grandmother to six grandsons, continues to write about life in her novels.

Book preview

About the Author

Judy Prescott was born and raised in the busy city of Bristol, the eldest of five children and a daughter to a gentleman’s barber shop father and a mother who worked part-time, working around the family commitments.

Moving to South Wales with her husband and two young children over 30 years ago, her grandmother’s territory, she hasn’t looked back. Writing has occupied her time since ill health halted being able to work a full-time job. Now a widow and a grandmother to five grandsons, she continues to write about life in her novels.

Dedication

To Peter, we had forty-five years together and wished for so many more.

We didn’t manage to grow old gracefully, but thank you for all the memories we created along the way.

Copyright Information ©

Judy Prescott 2023

The right of Judy Prescott to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398499539 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398499546 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

My thanks go to my sister and sister-in law for reading my novels as I finished them.

Chapter One

Little Ben was looking for his granddad, searching here, there and everywhere, in places inside the house and the good-sized garden outside. He had been well aware of not opening the gate leading to the main road, where the house was situated and hadn’t crossed the line, not once. At just three years of age at the time, he had definitely kept his grandparents’ active and on their toes. Their aged bodies managed as best they could, all to please the little darlings.

Hide and seek was his favourite pastime at the time and Ben had everyone included. Grandma had somehow agreed to hide but couldn’t run quickly. Ben’s answer had summed him up completely.

I can count slowly Grandma—one—two—three, etc. He was drawling the words out at a snail’s pace, so comical. His young mind had all the answers. Grandma hadn’t gotten out of the game that easily and had reluctantly contributed by finding places suitable to become invisible to the naked eye. Family members had all followed suit.

Unlike their youngest grandson’s tiny stature, size had made it much more difficult to achieve, becoming invisible that was. Ben was counting, he could count to ten easily enough, though on occasion missing the odd number out; so hiding places required locating quickly. In Ben’s case, just lifting and removing the towels from the ottoman at the bottom of the bed and curling his body into it or sliding himself under the bed itself, was not an issue. The adults present couldn’t contemplate similar small spaces due to their physical disabilities and not disregarding their height and weight in their quandary. Now where could everyone hide?

Granddad or Peter to all except the grandchildren, would somehow wriggle his five foot and ten inch body under the kitchen table; the tablecloth hiding some, well, most of him. Others had climbed onto the windowsills before pulling the curtains shut. Outside, there was the garage and shed, as well as dodging themselves out of sight behind the family car. Ben had loved finding each and every one of them. Such innocence, Melinda, his grandma, could have frozen him at the age he was, never to grow up any further.

The eldest grandson, eight years older than Ben, had done exactly the same when he was younger, maybe a little earlier than Ben; Melinda couldn’t quite remember, it had seemed so long ago. Peter’s eyes would light up on returning home from work, seeing the gorgeous terrors (they weren’t really) at their house. Becoming a mad house whilst Melinda had tried to prepare an evening meal for them all, including the boys’ parents, was indeed a noisy affair. Peter had loved them to pieces and vice versa, teasing and tantalizing and increasing their vocal cords with continuous children’s laughter. A home it was, opposed to a pristine house never to dirty or disarrange. The youngsters had made it just that. Tidying up afterwards wasn’t that time consuming, not really.

Having such a busy schedule, almost every day, when both grandparents had been working, that was. Their lifestyle had included a working rota and a do-it-yourself activity around the house or houses, if the grandchildren’s parents were to be included in the regular pandemonium of life. Busy, busy, busy, was normal. Relaxing and watching the television had come after everything else had been completed, all sorted for the next day and to everyone’s satisfaction. In time to see the ten o’clock news as a rule. There was no rest for the wicked, well not much any roads.

Leaving the house early in the morning to pick Connor up and deposit him to the privately run crèche, then driving to work for a twelve-hour shift, followed by a short stop in the twenty-four-hour Tesco establishment before arriving home at ten o’clock in the evening, if Melinda was lucky. Peter would have already eaten, usually bacon or sausage sandwiches. Sometimes egg and chips, a tin of tomato soup with several pieces of white bread and at times waiting for his wife to arrive home from work. Beans on toast or Welsh rarebit, would be the eaten meal then, something quick and simple. Melinda’s daily regime prior to finishing work on health grounds was indeed chaotic.

Neither of them had starved and on her days off, a more than decent meal would be prepared. Melinda wasn’t the best cook around but she had muddled through. Nobody had been poisoned as yet, all good there. Simple menus were a favourite where Peter was concerned, sausage and chips or cottage pie, yellow haddock with mashed potato and peas; solid foods to fill his stomach.

Listing everything Peter had done, almost each and every day, was near impossible. He was a body in an ever-working environment, unable to sit still and relax. Once settled on the sofa though or the chair, he would nod off almost immediately; his own snoring waking him up before climbing the stairs to bed. Melinda, on the other hand, required little sleep and remained watching the television or reading. Sometimes making lists for the future, things that could easily have been forgotten in the everyday haste called life!

Life for the adults appeared to be a roundabout of work, sleep and childminding; Melinda hadn’t minded though and Peter adored seeing his grandchildren. He never tired of their company, ever. The child within would appear on just seeing their gorgeous, adorable faces. Family life was hectic virtually every single day but neither Melinda nor Peter would have had it any other way.

They hadn’t complained.

Five minutes was all Melinda had required to herself daily, well maybe enough time to have a soak in the bath or a quick shower. Company had always been preferable to solitude where she was concerned. Peter, on the other hand, would carry on relentlessly until he literally dropped onto the sofa and fell asleep, his eyes closing instantly. Work and play would always come before relaxation and peace.

With a marriage spanning over forty years, as a couple they both coped and worked well with everything put in front of them. Granddad’s babies were well worth the turbulent, non-stop lifestyle they had lived and would continue to do so for as long as both were able to accommodate their needs. They were so precious.

Connor was Peter and Melinda’s first grandson, their daughter’s son (as was Ben). He was adorable as a baby, even more so now but at reaching the tender age of thirteen (almost fourteen), he wouldn’t have wanted a sentimental word to be repeated to all and sundry. An intelligent child albeit being a little on the shy side, his handsome looks would redden with embarrassment. Melinda had recalled taking him to the crèche as a toddler and feeling so guilty for leaving him; his tears and tight hold on his grandma so upsetting her.

The crèche staff had, one morning, asked her to wait outside the door on leaving him, to see how long he had actually continued the weeping emotion. Within a few minutes of Melinda walking away, Connor’s tears had stopped, dried up and he was happily playing with the other children from the crèche. Children, at whatever age, had a way of making adults feel guilty, even when those children had become adults themselves.

Ben was now a five-year-old boy, full of character and Connor’s baby brother. He was, without a doubt, a loveable cheeky monkey. Ben would light up the room on entry with his Hello Granddad, hello Grandma and his cuddles as he returned home to his parents’ house. He was infectious, so much so that Melinda and Peter had wanted to see him and his brother much more than they possibly could. Children always brought out the best in parents, grandparents and great grandparents. The love bestowed on younger beings would always be given freely, without any conditions, of course.

Connor and Ben would play happily together, most of the time; small matchbox cars being a firm favourite. The tiny vehicles would be pushed up and down the lounge and dining area, lifted high into the sky with Ben’s nimble hands. With Connor smashing into his brother’s model vehicle, the sounds of the crash had echoed throughout the space around it. Crash, Bang, Wallop! Children’s imaginations when engaging in play was a delight to see, not a care in the world. How lucky they were, so innocent and yet so new to the globe, a place called Earth. Life at its best!

Melinda had recalled Connor, when the same age as his brother. The matchbox cars would all be set out around the dining table, in a uniformed line so perfectly placed. The concentration put into the jigsaw of matchbox vehicles, all with thought provoking precision, was wonderful to see. A perfectionist at such a young age.

Setting her mind back even further in time, to Melinda’s brother Colin, the baby of the family, had instilled the same perfect precision to detail as a youngster; Colin’s weren’t with toy cars though but with tiny plastic soldiers. Hundreds of tiny plastic pieces placed out on the carpet, some with guns directed at the opposition, the other side. Pow! Pow! Pow! The sound of the firearms shooting at the enemy; his joy at hitting his target and the deceased soldier was laid on its side, no longer in the game. Colin’s war game conducted happily on his own. No siblings required.

The living room floor was almost full of the play soldiers, leaving his siblings and his parents to tip toe over them without stamping on any, a hard task to achieve without a good balance. Colin had known exactly where the pieces were and woe betide anyone who had accidentally put a foot on even one of them! Today, it was something to laugh humorously about but in retrospect it was an imaginative play that had kept Melinda’s baby brother enthralled for hours. He had loved them, so who was to argue?

Melinda had loved the paper dolls and paper dressing up clothes, cut out from a comic called Bunty, she had recalled. A weekly printed magazine that had added more dressing up clothes to put in Bunty’s paper wardrobe. She had played for hours with it, as Colin had with the plastic soldiers. Entertaining their little minds alone, siblings and adults weren’t always required.

Granddad had become the child at heart whenever the grandbabies were around. He couldn’t change their nappies or feed them but Peter had instilled his energy into playing with the mischievous little imps. He loved it, being the clown and joining in with everything they had wanted to do, within reason that was. As the years passed, both Connor and Ben were paramount in keeping him