I’d like to start out the “Grandpa Stories” with a little history of both of my grandparents. My grandfather was born in Scotland and grew up in Rosewell Scotland (just South of Edinburgh). His father was Thomas Murray, and was the manager for the company that ran the local mine (and basically the whole town).  On an interesting contemporary note, the Roslin chapel in the Da Vinci Codes book is very close to where he lived.

He went to school at George Watson’s College and was vice-captain of the rugby team (picture coming soon – Uncle Alan is going to bring it over so I can scan it in).  He actually got injured a lot playing rugby, and I think that’s where some of his knee issues came from – although most probably came from the plane crash (more on that in a later post). After completing school, at the age of 19, he decided to join the Royal Navy and become a pilot.

For training, he was to choose between Australia, Canada, or the U.S. My grandmother always used to tell him it was the luckiest decision he ever made (and she said yesterday that she was the luckiest from that decision :) . So, he came to Grosse Ile for training in the Grumman TBF Avenger Torpedo Bomber. While training there, he was invited to a local dance (like the USO, but not) for service men. My grandmother was there and noticed him. After him not making any moves toward her, she approached him and asked if he’d like to dance.  His response was completely predictable (if you knew him). He said:

“I don’t dance, and I don’t like girls.”  (with heavy Scottish accent).

But, they did talk for a long time, and were able to exchange contact information, and they had a date shortly thereafter. They went on a few more dates (always double-dating, since that would have been improper for any “alone time”).

I’m going to skip ahead because the dating and marriage is a whole other story.  To sum up, they got married just before my grandfather was shipped back to the UK. It was a long time before my grandmother could return to grandpa’s arms in Scotland. When she finally arrived, it had been many months (about a year I think) since they’d seen each other.  By then, my grandfather was stationed at an air base and was boarding with a local farmer.

The morning after their reunion, they stayed in their bedroom until late in the morning (at this point in the story my grandmother blushes quite a bit). They came out to the kitchen/dining room together and sat at the table for lunch, while the Farmer was already seated. The farmer looked at his watch and looked up at them.  My grandmother, trying to make the best of it said “Just think, we didn’t have to eat any of the breakfast, so we didn’t cut into the rations!”

To which the farmer replied, in his thick accent: “Aye lass! But think of the wearrr and tearrr on the sheets!”