He picked me up at school with his bike he had painted in blue. Sometimes when I did not want to walk, he hoisted me on the saddle and guided the craft by walking alongside. At that time he was still alert and ulcers on his legs did not do too much pain. He had retired early because of age or other children into college, he followed his father on a boat and left for the fishing in Iceland. I had often heard that the first time he had left the port, he was crying after her mother, with time he had become accustomed, they were fishermen from father to son and his father made a point teach him the trade. Once its maritime activity, he worked to complete the plant to complete its missing quarters for retirement and after that hard work, he finally took some time for him.
He was actively involved in his garden he maintained and cherished as a leader and he spent much time because the garden was great. Many vegetables, herbs, fruits, trees and flowers, the place was full and I loved to walk there and back the land with him when I had no school. I loved picking up potatoes, uproot the carrots, stir currants, eating strawberries and pick pretty flowers for festive tables. In summer, the tourniquet was my favorite subject and I never tired of me when it was hot water. I also loved fetching water in the tank as it was installed to recover rainwater. This water was used for washing and watering the garden. I had a small plastic watering and I was proud to use it. I think it was he who had to send me this love for the land and nature.
Tuesday was laundry day, of course he attended, there was no washing machine and everything was done in large tanks, washers as he said. He helped to cotton sheets and thick towels that scalded. He carried along the basins of water and made the comings and goings to rinse the clothes, he turned the crank to spin and he took it all out. Sometimes he helped to extend the washing on the son of iron when the coins were too heavy and too bulky. This backbreaking work often began around 7 am and did not end until about noon. In summer it was a pleasant occupation but in winter it was harder. Detergents were made in the cellar since large tanks were stored there and there was a special room for drying clothes when it rained.
Tuesday he was very tired, physical work he was doing and prolonged standing legs ached but he never said anything. He rested a bit in the early afternoon and about 16 hours he returned to the garden to pick vegetables that would be used to prepare the evening meal. Must say that "Metche" did not spare it was always something for him to do and sometimes I wonder where he found the strength to continue.
Often late afternoon, when my homework finished, they played cards or board games. He had unlimited patience and accept everything I asked him. I wanted to draw, draw, I wanted to read, they read ... .. When I decided to go play with a friend, it was he who came to fetch me, he was worried when he saw the night fall, Then he rode his bike and walked the blue area to find me. I was a real bitch because I was never in person where I pretended to go, it was then the tour ended and girlfriends always find me and berate me because he was worried.
I remember especially his clothing, he still pants and a navy blue canvas jacket thick style jeans that almost resembled the homespun. I do not remember seeing him dressed differently with this style of clothing, he had several colors, but always in the shadows. He went out the suit, white shirt and gold cufflinks for special occasions. He never left his sailor's cap on which was embroidered with a beautiful sea anchor.
I saw old and increasingly tired. Up and down the stairs were a living hell for him and I was angry when my grandmother asked him to descend to the basement to retrieve the huge "does everything" from soup she had cooked. He put a lot of time to raise the precious beverage and metche found it was not going fast enough so she jeered. He never answered ... I said she had only to wait for one his son returned, but "Metche" when she wanted something, it was immediately.
I liked when I was talking about the war, I told him "grandpa again" and grandpa started again with a vengeance to make me happy. I think at times Metche was jealous of our complicity. He was proud when he was called in colleges to tell his life fishing in Iceland and when he was contacted by a Belgian writer to testify, he immediately accepted.
I've never stayed away from them, they were a bit like me because my parents high in the first five years of my life. When I got home from school, my mother was waiting and we were leaving the show, we ate a bowl of soup, the famous soup "Metche" who watered the neighbors and neighborhood friends.
One morning he was unable to stand, the doctor came, the diagnosis was simple, "Petch" was used, the hospital would have been useless, the heart no longer followed, the body either Then he wanted to stay with him in his house. We pampered for 8 days, my mother is part of the medical profession knew I was not prepared. I'm back high school, I was angry, my mother had gone without me eating soup, the house was dark and empty, I had a strange feeling which was immediately confirmed. My mother came to fetch me, she simply said that "Petch" was sleeping peacefully. She had to bring oxygen but it was not enough. It was his hour, he had decided. By mid-afternoon, surrounded by his family, he began his long journey, just as he had always been in life. Not a complaint, not a grimace of pain, the moment before he spoke and suddenly it was over.
His name was Charles-Henri, was my maternal grandfather, my "Petch" to me ... it would be almost 110 years now.
He was actively involved in his garden he maintained and cherished as a leader and he spent much time because the garden was great. Many vegetables, herbs, fruits, trees and flowers, the place was full and I loved to walk there and back the land with him when I had no school. I loved picking up potatoes, uproot the carrots, stir currants, eating strawberries and pick pretty flowers for festive tables. In summer, the tourniquet was my favorite subject and I never tired of me when it was hot water. I also loved fetching water in the tank as it was installed to recover rainwater. This water was used for washing and watering the garden. I had a small plastic watering and I was proud to use it. I think it was he who had to send me this love for the land and nature.
Tuesday was laundry day, of course he attended, there was no washing machine and everything was done in large tanks, washers as he said. He helped to cotton sheets and thick towels that scalded. He carried along the basins of water and made the comings and goings to rinse the clothes, he turned the crank to spin and he took it all out. Sometimes he helped to extend the washing on the son of iron when the coins were too heavy and too bulky. This backbreaking work often began around 7 am and did not end until about noon. In summer it was a pleasant occupation but in winter it was harder. Detergents were made in the cellar since large tanks were stored there and there was a special room for drying clothes when it rained.
Tuesday he was very tired, physical work he was doing and prolonged standing legs ached but he never said anything. He rested a bit in the early afternoon and about 16 hours he returned to the garden to pick vegetables that would be used to prepare the evening meal. Must say that "Metche" did not spare it was always something for him to do and sometimes I wonder where he found the strength to continue.
Often late afternoon, when my homework finished, they played cards or board games. He had unlimited patience and accept everything I asked him. I wanted to draw, draw, I wanted to read, they read ... .. When I decided to go play with a friend, it was he who came to fetch me, he was worried when he saw the night fall, Then he rode his bike and walked the blue area to find me. I was a real bitch because I was never in person where I pretended to go, it was then the tour ended and girlfriends always find me and berate me because he was worried.
I remember especially his clothing, he still pants and a navy blue canvas jacket thick style jeans that almost resembled the homespun. I do not remember seeing him dressed differently with this style of clothing, he had several colors, but always in the shadows. He went out the suit, white shirt and gold cufflinks for special occasions. He never left his sailor's cap on which was embroidered with a beautiful sea anchor.
I saw old and increasingly tired. Up and down the stairs were a living hell for him and I was angry when my grandmother asked him to descend to the basement to retrieve the huge "does everything" from soup she had cooked. He put a lot of time to raise the precious beverage and metche found it was not going fast enough so she jeered. He never answered ... I said she had only to wait for one his son returned, but "Metche" when she wanted something, it was immediately.
I liked when I was talking about the war, I told him "grandpa again" and grandpa started again with a vengeance to make me happy. I think at times Metche was jealous of our complicity. He was proud when he was called in colleges to tell his life fishing in Iceland and when he was contacted by a Belgian writer to testify, he immediately accepted.
I've never stayed away from them, they were a bit like me because my parents high in the first five years of my life. When I got home from school, my mother was waiting and we were leaving the show, we ate a bowl of soup, the famous soup "Metche" who watered the neighbors and neighborhood friends.
One morning he was unable to stand, the doctor came, the diagnosis was simple, "Petch" was used, the hospital would have been useless, the heart no longer followed, the body either Then he wanted to stay with him in his house. We pampered for 8 days, my mother is part of the medical profession knew I was not prepared. I'm back high school, I was angry, my mother had gone without me eating soup, the house was dark and empty, I had a strange feeling which was immediately confirmed. My mother came to fetch me, she simply said that "Petch" was sleeping peacefully. She had to bring oxygen but it was not enough. It was his hour, he had decided. By mid-afternoon, surrounded by his family, he began his long journey, just as he had always been in life. Not a complaint, not a grimace of pain, the moment before he spoke and suddenly it was over.
His name was Charles-Henri, was my maternal grandfather, my "Petch" to me ... it would be almost 110 years now.
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