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My Grandad Tustin was one of the most kind-hearted, dedicated, and life-loving people I have known. As I was born November 23, 1981, and he died March 14th, 2006, I thankfully had the great pleasure of having him in my life for the best part of 25 years.
George with Tamsin, his granddaughter
Apart from some years when I studied at university in the UK, I always lived abroad, quite far from Grandad, yet he was always a positive example in my life. He worked for and earned everything he had. He “escaped” the mills by securing a position at Leyland Motors. He leveraged his expertise from Leyland, to loyally serve his country in the Second World War. And, most of all, he loved all his family so much, especially his wife, Alice, whom he cared for with such devotion through her terrible years with multiple sclerosis.
As a child, I remember revelling in his Lancashire dialect. My brother Christopher and I would often giggle at some of his funny expressions (“a tizz wazz” was a favorite) and often wonder what on earth he was talking about! We loved when he called our mum, Elaine, “duck”. Perhaps it is by association with him, but whatever is said in Lancastrian dialect just somehow sounds so much friendlier to me. To this day, it makes me smile when, unexpectedly, I come across a Lancastrian dialect here or there. Although I studied languages, I find it impossible to replicate – “jam butty” is particularly tricky, with the ending on “butty” almost impossible to master for one who did not grow up there!
Speaking of languages and studying, Grandad had a profuse respect for books and learning. He had had to leave school at the age of 14 to go and work for the family and I know that he was always sad that he had not been able to continue there for longer. However, that in no way meant his learning stopped. He was constantly reading – and I was always amazed by how many passages he seemed to be able to recite from memory. His respect and love for learning were clearly passed on to his children, and to me. I vividly remember him teaching me the word “sesquicentennial” at the time when Whittle church was marking this anniversary.
He also loved his garden, and I remember going out in the early summer with him hunting for strawberries under their greenery. They were lovely and small and sweet, much nicer than the usual strawberries we knew. I also remember the multitude of currents we would pick, the juice staining our hands red and black, and how good his homemade strawberry and blackcurrant jams and jellies tasted. Growing blackcurrants in the US was banned for a long time, so these were all-the-more special for us when we came to visit. The front of Grandad’s garden was filled with rhubarb (the first plant we’d see when we pulled up on the driveway in front of his garage) and with blue hydrangeas along the living room window – Grandma’s favorite flowers.
I also remember Grandad taking washing from the washhouse outside to peg on the line. We found it particularly clever when he used his wooden pole to lift up the line to enable the laundry to billow more in the wind. I also remember Grandad being completely gutted when someone stole that useful pole. That one act somehow seemed to summarize the sad state of much of humanity to him.
Another love in Grandad’s life was cats. Cats seem to have a 6th sense about good, kind people, and they certainly always sought out Grandad. He always seemed to have at least one loyal visiting cat around. I vividly remember them sitting on his plucked trousers purring in his lap while did the crossword in the paper. And he used to tell us that as a lad, he would often have a cat sitting on his shoulder while he rode around town on his bike. I often think how much he would love our two cats, Kai and Coco.
He also loved whistling, and was quite accomplished at imitating bird song. I know one of the saddest things for him about losing his hearing through tinnitus was that he could no longer properly hear all the bird song around him.
Sadly, a lot of my earlier memories of Grandad are also of him caring for Grandma. She got so sick in a time when people did not yet take multiple sclerosis seriously. It must have been so hard for him to see the love of his life wasting away. He wore himself very thin doing so much for her, but there is nothing he would rather have been doing. I remember in the last few years noticing how much weight he was losing each time we saw him and how tired he was getting – but neither of them ever complained, even as their lives became ever more constrained by her disease.
Living after she had died was a challenge for Grandad – I vividly remember all of us coming home one evening to hear his sullen message on the answering machine to my mum that “mum has died”. His world had come crumbling down. But I am also glad that it gave him the opportunity to travel a little bit and come and visit us in America. Yes, he fully seized the adventure of crossing the Atlantic at the age of 80, which was great – one of the few members of our family to do so. And he came over once more for Christmas.
I remember him being with us in the summer when I was 16, when the thermometer in New Jersey read 100 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity wasn’t far behind. As we were all “mad dogs and English men”, we decided to do some gardening, and, after pushing a wheelbarrow up one of the hills in our garden, I vividly remember him turning red-cheeked to me and saying: “aye, Tamsin (I always loved how he said my name, with particular emphasis on the first syllable), forget 80, today I feel 90”! He swam with us in the pool, read for hours contentedly on the sofa, and even came with us on rides at a water amusement park! Yes, I was very proud of my grandad the day he clung on for dear life while going on a waterslide with us.
One of the best memories I have with him is a long weekend I spent with him in Whittle while I was preparing to take my British driving exam. I took the train up to see him, and he insisted I drive him around all weekend to practice. Unusually, it was bright and sunny all weekend and we had a lovely time riding around the Lancastrian countryside and around Rivington Reservoir, while he bravely sat in the driver’s seat next to me. We also pulled out the lawn chairs in the back garden and sat in peaceful company sipping cups of tea. But the highlight of that weekend was perhaps the lunch we had together at The Pines restaurant, which was crowned with a large dessert of profiteroles! Grandad did love his cream! Best part of the milk, he always said.
And that, I think, is a really good summary of his life: although he was dealt quite a challenging hand, he always looked at the bright side and appreciated what he had, always focusing on the cream that rises to the top.
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