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Showing posts with label gramps. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gramps. Show all posts

March 31, 2026

Attention is love

In many ways, Gran and Gramps could not have been more different. To my young eyes, Gramps was the undisputed hero—an extroverted, charismatic powerhouse who had been a respected amateur actor in his youth. He was the man who held sway as the MC at the annual bowls club, a storyteller who lived for the spotlight and the punchline. He was physically effusive, showering us with praise and affection. As a shy, introverted boy, I idolized him. I wanted to be that eloquent, that funny, and that confident.

In many ways, I took on his mantle. I found myself in school plays, losing myself in roles, and eventually becoming a skilled public speaker—though, unlike Gramps, my "performance" always came with a side of anxiety. I learned from him how to express admiration and how to hold a room with a well-timed story.

Gran, however, was the steady, background presence. She was never the center of attention and far less demonstrative with her affection. But if you got her into a one-on-one conversation, the world shifted.

Gran was an incredible listener. She didn't just hear you; she held what you said. She had a memory like a carefully curated archive; if you mentioned a small detail in passing, months later she would present you with a newspaper clipping perfectly relevant to that thought. Her love wasn't a loud performance; it was a quiet, non-judgmental space.

I’ve realized as I’ve grown older that love, in its purest form, is exactly that: spacious, affirming, and attentive. Attention is love.

While I idolized the "Toucher Tony" version of life when I was young, my appreciation for Gran has grown until she stands as a role model equal to Gramps. She is the bar I set for my own relationships. If I can show a genuine, loving interest in others the way she did, I know I’m offering something truly special.

I was remarkably lucky to have them both. They represent the two halves of my personality: the part of me that wants to tell a great story to a crowd, and the part of me that knows the most important thing I can ever give someone is my undivided, loving attention.

March 30, 2026

Family stories: Toucher Tony

Later in life, well after Gran and Gramps had emigrated from the UK to Cape Town to be with us, Gramps took up bowls. It wasn't just a hobby; he had found his true calling. While Gran played and enjoyed the social aspect, for Gramps, the green was sacred ground.

He was famously gregarious, a frustrated actor at heart who finally found his stage. Every year at the Annual Bowls Christmas party, he would hold sway as the MC, regaling the club with stories and jokes he had meticulously collected throughout the year. He was the lifeblood of the club, a man whose energy and humor could turn a simple game into a theatrical performance.

Gramps even had a specific, cinematic dream for how his life would conclude. In his mind’s eye, he would sidle up to the edge of the green, supported by his zimmerframe. He would take aim, throw his final "wood," and as it rolled toward the jack, he would suffer a swift, painless heart attack. As the world faded to black, the last sound he would hear—the ultimate validation of a life well-played—would be the cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher! Well done!"

In the physical world, reality was less poetic. Peripheral neuropathy eventually claimed the strength in his legs, forcing him to give up his beloved sport. He spent his final year in a care home, passing away exactly one year after his "darling" had come to get him.

But in my mind, the physical ending doesn't count. When I think of him now, I see him on a super-vivid, ethereal celestial bowling green. He isn't hobbling; he is galloping along with vital abandon, throwing his woods with perfect precision. Gran is there, watching with that sixty-year-old look of love, the clubmates are roaring at his latest story, and the air is filled with the constant, triumphant cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher!"

March 29, 2026

Memorable moments: Thick as Tina

Growing up, we had a beloved dog named Tina. I have never, in all my years, seen a dog who could wag her tail with such violent, sustained joy. It didn't matter if you’d been gone for two years or two minutes; Tina’s tail was her primary mode of communication.

Eventually, her enthusiasm became her undoing. She wagged so hard and so often against the walls that her tail was constantly injured, the scabs breaking open and spraying blood everywhere in a rhythmic, joyful massacre. It lasted for months until it became untenable. With heavy hearts, my parents had the vet remove it.

Tina returned home wearing a pair of female panties for a few weeks to protect the healing stump. But the loss of the tail didn't dampen her spirit; it just forced her to find a new medium for her delight. From that day on, when she saw you, she would emit a low, rumbling hum of pleasure through her nose while her entire hindquarters swung from side to side in a rhythmic "butt-wag." If the excitement reached a certain threshold, she’d punctuate the moment by widdling with pure joy.

Tina lived for the driveway ball-toss. We had another dog, Meg, and the competition between them was nothing short of existential. For Tina, getting to the ball before Meg wasn't just a game—it was her life’s work. If Meg won, the heartbreak was visible.

When she wasn't competing for tennis balls, Tina was hunting shadows. She was particularly obsessed with the moving silhouettes of butterflies, chasing them across the grass for hours, barking at the ground, and occasionally stubbing her nose on the dirt in her pursuit of a dark spot. At night, she’d transfer that intensity to torchlight, sprinting after a beam of light as if it were a tangible prize.

My grandfather, never one to mince words, used to use her as the family benchmark for intelligence. If my sister or I did or said something particularly dim-witted, he’d shake his head and say, "Don’t be as thick as Tina."

He wasn't entirely wrong about her IQ, but I loved her with all my heart. She was the kinetic, shadow-chasing soundtrack to my childhood and teens—a dog who might not have understood how light worked, but who understood exactly how to love a family with every fiber of her (short-tailed) being.

March 27, 2026

Memorable moments: The lone tooth legend

My Gramps was a world-class flirt, a trait he carried with effortless grace well into his later years. It was entirely harmless, and Gran never really minded; it was simply a part of his nature—he just couldn't help himself.

One evening, Ally and I took him to the Spur in Cape Town. He loved the place, particularly the steaks. As soon as we sat down, he was in top form, grinning at our waitress, teasing her with practiced ease, and offering charming compliments that had her beaming. He was the undisputed king of the table.

He was midway through enjoying his steak when disaster—of a very specific, mechanical nature—struck.

Gramps suddenly began to choke. Before we could even react, a rogue piece of steak went flying out of his mouth, followed immediately by his entire set of dentures. They hit his plate with a clatter and began to bounce up and down like a pair of porcelain castanets.

He scrambled to retrieve them, but the physics of the moment were against him. He couldn't get them back in. He was left sitting there with exactly one solitary tooth remaining in the front of his mouth.

Most men would have signaled for the check and buried their face in a napkin. But Gramps was made of sterner stuff.

When the waitress returned to the table a moment later, he didn't flinch. He leaned back and gave her a brilliant, confident grin, his single remaining tooth gleaming under the Spur’s warm lighting. He picked up the conversation exactly where he had left off, as charming and self-assured as if he were a Hollywood lead.

He proved that night that true charisma doesn't require a Hollywood smile. It just requires the guts to keep flirting even when your teeth are still vibrating on the dinner plate. I looked at Ally and realized I was watching a master at work; the dentures were gone, but the legend was very much intact.

January 05, 2025

Henry and Mary Webber (Gramp's grandparents on his mum's side)

This is part of my family research.


Henry John Webber

  • 1866 - 1934
  • Date of birth: Oct 1866  
  • Place of birth: Colchester, Essex
  • Married to Mary S Webber on Oct 1885 (He was 20, she was 19)
  • Date of death:  12 Jan 1934 (Aged 68)
  • Place of death: Clacton-On-Sea, Essex, England  


Mary Susannah Clements

  • 1966 - 1945
  • Date of birth:  April 1866
  • Place of birth: Colchester, Essex, England
  • Date of death: March 3, 1945   (Aged 78)
  • Place of death:  Colchester, Essex, England


Children

  • Winifred Mary (1891–1966)  (Gramp's mum)
  • Annie Amelia (1887–1954)
  • Arthur Henry (1892–1955)


Relationship to me

  • Great Great Grandparents


Documents


Marriage registry: Oct 1885



Death registry: Mary Clements 1945


January 04, 2025

George and Annie Sorrell (Gramp's grandparents on his dad's side)

This is part of my family research.


George Frederick Sorrell

  • 1858–1920
  • Place of birth: Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. 
  • Parents: George and Elizabeth Sorrell
  • Occupation: Policeman
  • Married to Annie Emma Rowles in 1881
  • Died:  24 January 1920 (Aged 62)
  • Place of death: Bournemouth, Hampshire


Annie Emma Rowles

  • Born: 1859 
  • Place of birth: Witney, Oxfordshire


Children



Relationship to me

  • Great Great Grandparents


Registries

 

George Frederick's birth registry 1858



George Frederick's baptism

  • 26 Dec 1858 at Bledington, Gloucestershire, England



George Sorrel Marriage registry: 1881



The Police Gazette, Friday 4 May 1900

  • Article mentioning George F. Sorrell in his capacity as policeman





Annie Emma Rowles birth registry 1859



Annie Emma marriage registry 1881



January 03, 2025

George and Winifred Sorrell (Gramp's parents)

Some awesome timelines for Gramp's parents on Ancestry.com.  I so wish I could have met them.


George Frederick Sorrell (aka Poppa George)

  • 1887 - 1962
  • Born: March 1887
  • Place of birth: Summertown, Oxfordshire, England
  • Father: George Frederick Sorrell (1858 - 1920)
  • Mother: Annie Emma Rowles (1859 –) 
  • Bothers:  Frank Herbert Sorrell (1889 - 1940), Hydra Henry Sorrell (1893–1958), Edward Arthur Sorrell (1901–1986)
  • Sister: Bertha Alice Sorell (Born 1885)  (?)
  • School: A boarder at Lord William's Grammar School, Thame, Oxfordshire, England
  • Occupation: Policeman
  • Married to Winifred: 1916
  • Died:  23 Jul 1962 (Aged 75) 
  • Place of death: Winslow, Cheam Road, Rustington, Worthing, Sussex, England



Winifred Mary Webber (aka Nana Win)

  • 1891 - 1966
  • Place of birth: Colchester, Essex, England
  • Father: Henry John Webber (1865 - 1934)
  • Mother: Mary Susannah Clements (1866 - 1945)
  • Brother: Arthur Henry Webber (1892 - 1955)
  • Died: Dec 1966 (Aged 75)


Children



Relationship to me

  • Great grandparents on my mother's side


Timelines


George Sorrell timeline

When George Frederick Sorrell was born in March 1887 in Summertown, Oxfordshire, his father, George, was 29 and his mother, Annie, was 28. He had one son with Winifred Mary Webber. He died on 23 July 1962 at the age of 75.





Winifred Mary Webber timeline

When Winifred Mary Webber was born in 1891 in Colchester, Essex, her father, Henry, was 26, and her mother, Mary, was 25. She married George Frederick Sorrell in September 1916 in Maidenhead, Berkshire. They had one child during their marriage, namely Gramps. She died in December 1966 in Worthing, Sussex, at the age of 75.








Documents


George Sorrell Birth Registry: 1962



George Sorrell Death Registry: 1962



Related link



December 29, 2024

Tony and Dorothy Sorrell (Gran and Gramps)

On familysearch.org and ancestry.com , I also found some of Gran and Gramp's registries.  This is part of my family research.



Gramps

  • Full name: Anthony George Sorrell 
  • Lived: 1919 - 2003
  • Born: 25 April 1919
  • Place of birth: England
  • Father: George Sorrell   (1887 - 1962)
  • Mother: Winifred Mary Sorrell  (1891 - 1966)
  • Married Ellen Amy Dorothy Bishop in 1941
  • Occupation: Bank manager
  • Passed away: 16 Sep 2003  (Aged 84)
  • Place of death: Woodside Village Health Care, Rondebosch


Gran

  • Full name: Ellen Amy Dorothy Bishop
  • Lived: 1920 - 2002
  • Date of birth: 25 January 1920
  • Place of birth: England
  • Father: Charles Sydney Bishop (1873 - 1952)
  • Mother: Amy Bishop (1882 - 1920)
  • Brother: David Bishop
  • Passed away: 16 September 2002 (Aged 82)
  • Place of death: Woodside Village Aged Care, Rondebosch


Children



Relationship to me

  • Grandparents on my mother's side



Gramp's birth certificate: 1919




Gramp's birth register: 1919



Gran's birth certificate




Gran's baptism: 1920





Gran's death certificate: 2002




Gramps's death certificate: 2003





Gran's brother and his family

  • Gran had a brother, David Bishop.  He was a successful civil servant and played a "secret role" during World War 2.
  • David married Tidd later in life. She had been married before with a child.  She was older than him and he met her while boarding.
  • David and Tidd had two children. Michael is a doctor and has travelled to far away places to do charity work. Jean is a piano teacher who teaches adults.
  • Michael and Jean have 3 children. Charlotte is very musical and has twins. Lucy lives in Tasmania. Nicholas is a prosthetics engineer.


Related links



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