Savouring Simple Daily Pleasures 

This morning, during a long weekend walk—one of those crisp, grounding ones that wakes up both the body and the heart—my thoughts drifted to a very special man: my grandfather. He would have been 117 last month. He lived to 99, carrying nearly a century’s worth of memories, stories, scars, and triumphs—though many of them he never spoke of.

It’s remarkable how easy it is to lose perspective after a hard week, a stressful season, or a tricky chapter of life. Our generation is quick to feel overwhelmed by the pace, the noise, the expectations. But when I think of what previous generations endured, especially those in my own family, my challenges begin to shrink back into their proper size.

A Childhood of Hardship Hidden Behind a Gentle Smile

My grandfather’s childhood was far more traumatic than any of his children or grandchildren ever fully understood while he was alive. In 1914, when he was just five years old, his father left—disappeared—leaving my great-grandmother alone with three small boys and no means to support them. Out of pure desperation, she was forced to give them up so they wouldn’t starve.

The boys were placed in a London workhouse/orphanage, recorded officially as homeless. It was a brutal environment—harsh, cold, unforgiving. Eventually, they were fostered out to various families, many of whom treated them unkindly. My grandfather, the eldest, carried the responsibility of watching over his younger brothers, even as a child.

Somewhere along the way, the boys learned that their mother had remarried—and in doing so, had omitted the fact that she had children from her previous life. So when they turned up, hopeful and eager to be reunited, they were met not with joy, but with rejection. A new husband. New half-siblings. No place for them.

It’s hard to imagine a more devastating childhood. Yet the man I knew bore none of that darkness on the surface.

The Kindest Soul in the Room

The grandfather I remember was the gentlest, kindest soul. He grew roses and tomatoes as if coaxing beauty out of the earth itself. He was a true Boy Scout at heart, an avid cricket fan, a loving husband, and an incredible father.

He served in the RAF during the war but never spoke of the trauma he saw in battle—not even in his final years, when Alzheimer’s had blurred much of his world. As his hearing faded, he participated in family life the best way he could: with soft smiles around the dinner table, a warm hand-squeeze, or a quiet prayer.

His presence was an act of love in itself. He’d fetch you an extra blanket, top up your glass, make a cup of tea, or crack open a window so the scent of the garden could drift in. These small gestures were his language—quiet, consistent proof of his care.

Finding Perspective in the Footsteps of Those Before Us

This week has been bumpy for me—high stress at work, an overflowing social calendar, and an endless to-do list. But thinking of my grandfather, all of these worries fell into relative insignificance.

He endured abandonment, hunger, war, loss, and hardship of a magnitude I can barely comprehend… and yet he grew into a man of such tenderness, patience, humility, and faith. His life is a reminder that we are not defined solely by what happens to us, but by how we choose to live in spite of it.

A Lesson for the Season

This time of year encourages us to spend, rush, and push—to flex our calendars and our credit cards. But this is actually the perfect season for something much quieter: reflection.

Scale back. Take stock. Hold close the incredible things in your life. And remember that the difficult moments—the ones that feel overwhelming—are part of the journey too. We can choose to move through them with grace, dignity, and compassion, just like those who walked before us.

I am so proud to be my grandfather’s granddaughter. His legacy of resilience, tenderness, and quiet strength is one I hope to carry forward—and one I hope we all can learn from.