I really enjoyed your 'story' Harbal, whether fact or fiction it was a good read. When did 'Grandad' pass away? Did he live to be a greater age?

When did 'Grandad' pass away? Did he live to be a greater age?

On windy days, I often think back to something that happened long, long ago when I was but a boy, and health and safety was still in short trousers. The drama that I am about to unfold took place on the 85th birthday of my best friend’s grandfather.

Alan’s granddad was a slightly built man, but surprisingly sprightly for his years. In those days, 85 was a good age to have reached, and the family had decided that the occasion should be marked with more than a Victoria sponge and yet more pairs of socks and pants. They could have organised some sort of surprise for him, but it no doubt seemed easier just to ask him what he would most like to do on his special day. I think they expected him to take some time to think about his birthday treat, but when he came back with an instant reply, they were left wishing they had gone for the surprise, or even the cake and underwear. The old man declared that the only thing he wanted was to perform a parachute jump. He said this in such a way as to leave no doubt that he would settle for nothing less. Anyway, to cut a long story short -and to save me the trouble of making one up- the family accepted the inevitable, and Alan’s dad organised the parachute jump.

Before Alan’s granddad was allowed to make the jump, he had to have a training session, which he completed with no problems, apparently. The instructor had one or two safety concerns, but, after Granddad agreed to remove his false teeth and glasses before the jump, he seemed to be satisfied that it was safe to go ahead.

The event was to take place on a Wednesday morning. It was the school holidays, and Alan invited me along to watch the spectacle. So, there we all were, about a dozen of us, standing in a field looking towards the skies. After a while, we heard a faint drone, and we could see a spec in the sky, which soon became recognisable as a small aircraft. Up till then, it had been a fine June morning; barely a cloud in the sky, and very calm. Just before the aeroplane was over the field, however, a brisk breeze seemed to come out of nowhere.

The plan was for Alan’s granddad to jump first, and the instructor to follow immediately after, so that he could make sure everything was going okay. It was only when the chutes opened that the flaw in that plan became apparent. The first thing we noticed was that the instructor was descending much quicker than the granddad. The second thing we noticed was that the granddad’s progress seemed to be more horizontal than vertical. As I mentioned earlier, Alan’s granddad was not a substantial man, and it now became obvious that the degree of his insubstantiality had not been allowed for.


As I watched, I was reminded of thistle down floating on the wind, after being blown free from the fluffy pom-pom of the flower head. Alan’s dad got in his car and tried to follow, but the roads, of course, didn’t always run in the direction he wanted to go, so a certain amount of prediction was called for. He was never going to get it right, no one could have.

Granddad’s descent came to an undignified end when he clattered into the dustbins behind the chiropody practice on the High Street. Now this was an amazing coincidence, because he had an appointment at that very chiropodist’s, on that very afternoon. The commotion brought the staff running out to see what had happened, and after some questions and explanations, Granddad was whisked inside and given a mug of very sweet tea, which was the remedy for most things in those days. The staff couldn’t have been better, they brought forward his appointment and treated his corns, there and then.

Later, when Granddad was safely home, it turned out they had got him a Victoria sponge, after all, and there was a modest party. So, it seems the old fella managed to have his cake and eat it, that day; although, as Alan often used to say, he always landed on his feet, one way or another.

This is a true story and everything happened exactly as I have described.

I can't answer that, Tiffany. But if ever I can answer it, I think it may well have something to do with a bungee jump that he attempted in his 90s.

That was a good story Harbal...

Oh dear, not the reverse bungee jump under the bridge?

you certainly have a wonderful way with words!

As do you, ST. Which reminds me; it's getting close to Christmas.

Tick Tock Tick Tock!