In bygone years my mother would have lit the memorial candle to commemorate the anniversary of her father’s passing. Now that mum is 93 years old and being cared for in a Home, I light the candle to remember and honour my grandpa Charles.

Charles’ parents arrived on these shores from Vilnius, Lithuania in 1896. One baby daughter in arms was with them and was soon followed by another girl and in 1900 a son, my grandpa. They joined family who had begun small businesses, one relative lived above his jewellery repair shop and another ran a hairdressing shop in the Edgware Road. My great grandparents opened a barber shop in Cable Street near the docks in the East End of London and they lived there with their three children Cissie, Bertha and Charles. Charles’ sister, Cissie, was an excellent piano player who used to accompany silent movies at the cinema. She married a “wrong ‘un” who was a drunkard, always losing jobs and disappearing for long periods without explanation. Eventually Cissie and her only child returned to live with Charles’ mother and Cissie’s husband was never heard from again.

At age 17 Charles enlisted in the army but, luckily, this coincided with the end of the Great War and he did not have to fight.

Charles was introduced to my grandma Anne by mutual friends of their parents. It was an immediate love match and they supported each other through hard times and good with complete devotion.

Grandpa Charles was too sweet natured to succeed in business and the small dowry that was gifted to him when he married Anne was soon gone. Both Charles and Anne worked whilst bringing up their only child, my mother, and throughout my childhood they worked together running a cousin’s wholesale business until she sold the premises and they took retirement.

My mother was evacuated to Oxford during the first part of the Second World War. When she returned to live with her parents Charles and his daughter “dug for victory” and planted tomatoes and other vegetables in the garden of their rented rooms. Charles also joined the home guards and patrolled the streets of St Albans, where they lived until the war ended.

When mum met my dad Charles accepted her fiancée and made him welcome

My father, his son in law, had great respect for Charles and appreciated that his father in law never interfered in his life whilst giving him and my mother love and support. By the time my brother and I were toddlers we lived in a block of flats opposite my grandparents Anne and Charles. My parents had instant babysitters that they could trust and who helped to bring us up.

We, as children, were the lucky recipients of the love and care and attention that we were given, almost unconditionally, from Charles and Anne. We had to behave and be well mannered but in return we could visit them as often as we liked, we were taught to play cards, were listened to and given pocket money, taken for weekly outings to the Queen Mary Rose Gardens in Regents Park. We rode in grandpa Charles’ meticulously polished and spotlessly clean Ford Anglia. Grandpa watched wrestling with us and rugby too – though I doubt he told us the wrestling was fixed nor did he teach us the rules of rugby (if he knew them). When we walked in the street he always doffed his hat to a woman and walked on the kerbside if he was walking next to me. When I passed my driving test he showed tremendous faith and nerve as I drove him around Hyde Park Corner. I never knew how we survived that journey but he said nothing to dent my confidence. Above all Charles was a loyal and living husband. He cared for Anne in every way, especially as she was crippled with arthritis for many, many years. He did most of the cooking as she couldn’t stand for long, he drove her everywhere (although he had never taken a driving test) and he never wanted more than to be able to live a quiet and decent life with his small family being visited by and visiting his sisters and sisters-in law and their spouses.

When, on Friday, I asked my grandson about school and his favourite subject he replied, “history”. “Ah yes” I said, “you get that from my grandpa Charles who also loved history and history books. And it’s his yahrzeit on Sunday!” He, in his quiet, decent, humble way lives on through so many memories and into the next generation and the one beyond. May his memory be for a blessing.