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That's World War Two, not World War Eleven to you Zoomers.
The front doorbell rang one late afternoon and it was the kids grandfather. He worked his way to the house from London, England.
Arrived unannounced, we had no clue he was coming, we checked him into our guestroom.
He had been a Bus driver in London before WW2 and before power steering.
He was a tank commander in World War 2 and survived across Africa and then across Europe.
I'll get back to that.
We had made dinner reservations a year in advance to a place called Coolibah in Ojai and of course we took him. A isolated home in the garden district converted to a restaurant, grass roof with goats grazing on it. Best place I ever dined at.
Grandpa was a hell of a character, lots of fun we got to got to know him better over dinner.
"We never heard of the Desert Fox Rommel, it was all balderdash the press back home created. We knew we could defeat the Germans because we kept smacking them good. What was interesting is how fast the Germans could retreat."
Other than a few takes about his tank, he never discussed the war with us again.
He had come to the USA to get a few arthritic fingers amputated by a store front doctor in Hollywood. Those years driving no power steering London busses took their toll on them.
He asked me to keep it quiet to avoid family drama.
We had a friend that sold Veterinary medicines and the old Jaspers at the Elks were buffering a Veterinary arthritis medicine they got from him with some success.
It helped a little but grandpas fingers were crippling and it did no good for those.
"I'm advanced age and would like to spend my last years without this crippling pain."
It pretty much went OK and he eventually died happy.
The front doorbell rang one late afternoon and it was the kids grandfather. He worked his way to the house from London, England.
Arrived unannounced, we had no clue he was coming, we checked him into our guestroom.
He had been a Bus driver in London before WW2 and before power steering.
He was a tank commander in World War 2 and survived across Africa and then across Europe.
I'll get back to that.
We had made dinner reservations a year in advance to a place called Coolibah in Ojai and of course we took him. A isolated home in the garden district converted to a restaurant, grass roof with goats grazing on it. Best place I ever dined at.
Grandpa was a hell of a character, lots of fun we got to got to know him better over dinner.
"We never heard of the Desert Fox Rommel, it was all balderdash the press back home created. We knew we could defeat the Germans because we kept smacking them good. What was interesting is how fast the Germans could retreat."
Other than a few takes about his tank, he never discussed the war with us again.
He had come to the USA to get a few arthritic fingers amputated by a store front doctor in Hollywood. Those years driving no power steering London busses took their toll on them.
He asked me to keep it quiet to avoid family drama.
We had a friend that sold Veterinary medicines and the old Jaspers at the Elks were buffering a Veterinary arthritis medicine they got from him with some success.
It helped a little but grandpas fingers were crippling and it did no good for those.
"I'm advanced age and would like to spend my last years without this crippling pain."
It pretty much went OK and he eventually died happy.
