Frank

One of my grandfathers was a merchant seaman. He served on Atlantic convoys during World War II and went on to captain oil tankers. He spent most of his time away, popping home at Christmas to father children (two sets of twins born in September - odd old thing).

Frank died at sea in 1960 when my mother was still in her teens. He's buried in Colombo, Sri Lanka. Needless to say, I never knew him.

I have a photo of him in his captain's regalia and, until today, his old ship's trunk. I'd had it since I was packed off to boarding school at 14. Most kids had pristine lightweight affairs; I had this sharp cornered, heavy beast that dripped in character.

There's no room for it any more; apparently it is not suitable to serve as a cot. It has gone to Barnardos. I'll always have the blip obviously.

Obvious musical link. I know so little about my grandfather; bits I do know aren't all pleasant. Not unlike the eponymous Frank.