Part of the pleasure of visiting family, if you can wade through the rage and resentment that tends to ensue, are the stories you hear (to be fair, there hasn’t been much rage or resentment, but there’s still a week left – it’s not too late).
Recent stories (I live a long way away; there are some tellings of events that don’t make the intercontinental journey) and older stories. Accounts that I’ve heard many times, and then some that’re completely new to me.
Although it’s my maternal grandmother who recently died, it was my mother’s father’s family that we talked about a lot. The stories are plentiful. I figured I could blog about something important going on in the world, or I could tell you a funny family story. I’ve chosen to go with the latter.
I’ll just let my mother tell the story. In her words and all that.
‘Aunt Helen (my grandfather’s oldest sister) married Roger (name redacted). He would later go into the navy, but at that time he had no job.
As a result, the newlyweds lived with her parents, who still had four younger sons living at home.
So here was the deal: Grandpa loathed Roger (name redacted) so much (thought he was no good) that he called him ‘Cedric‘.
Because it was the worst name he could think of.’
Apologies to anyone called Cedric.