The show must go on
Each month, a reader writes to a loved one in the afterlife and Mandy Masters tunes in to share their reply. This month Laura Lines writes to her grandad John
Dear Gramps,
Your fingers danced over the keyboard keys as I twirled around the living room in the funny blonde wig that Mum had brought home from work.
‘The phantom of the opera is there, inside my mind,’ you sang, putting your all into the song.
Your word-perfect rendition of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s classic musical was all the more impressive, considering you couldn’t read a single note of music!
But when Mum — who worked as a backstage dresser at the theatre — had invited us along to the show, you were so entranced by the music that you bought a keyboard and taught yourself all the songs.
As your number-one fan, I was more than happy to play the part of Christine, the lead character, and dance along to your music.
‘What are you two up to?’ Nan laughed, walking in on us both.
Mum’s job meant she worked nights and my dad was never on the scene, so it was you guys that I mostly lived with.
That’s why I have so many great memories of you, Gramps. You worked as hard as you played. You’d done a variety of jobs over the years, starting off as a baker at your parents’ shop in Tottenham, North London, when you were a boy.
You and Nan met as teenagers at a gymnastics club and fell in love. You married young and soon had my mum, Jan.
After that, you set up your own shoe repair shop, and my early memories were of the smell of leather and shoe polish when Nan took me in to see you.
Later, you sold your shop and worked for a friend making wooden chopping boards and salt and pepper mills. And something else too…
‘Look, Gramps, you made that!’ I’d squeal every time we sat round to watch Blankety Blank.
Yes, that’s right. The little wooden stand that the chequebook and pen sat on had been crafted by you!
That job hadn’t come without its pitfalls, though.
Remember that day when I came home from school and burst into tears, because your thumb was wrapped in a massive bandage?
‘Gramps chopped off the end of his finger,’ Mum explained.
You’d been feeding a piece of wood through the bandsaw and slipped.
‘It’s OK, Lollipop,’ you said — your nickname for me. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’
Well, it was!
Your next job was less perilous as you worked as an usher at Wood Green Crown Court, which was a stone’s throw from your house. In fact, it was so convenient that Nan ended up working there too! As retirement becko
