This week - as part of her war year's stories - Marion tells us about her grandfather's unfortunate death

One November night in 1940, when I was just eight, Granfer didn’t come home from work as usual.

There was great consternation - all the adults must have known something really bad had happened.

The next day after the police had become involved Granfer was listed as officially missing.

At that time the Sunday paper, the News of the World, had a feature every week in which a photo of the missing person was shown with the caption “ Have you seen this person?”

Granfer’s photo was put in the paper but with no response.

Now although I didn’t know it I was involved in the events that followed so bear with me and I will explain.

Dad had bought me and my sister splendid new torches - they had a hood over them so we could use them in the dark without “Jerry” (the German pilots) seeing the light.

I hadn’t used mine at all apart from shining it in the bedroom so when granfer asked if he could borrow it the night before he went missing I wasn’t very keen.

But luckily for my conscience I agreed.

Poor Granfer never came home - only his body - which was found in the floating harbour near Deans Marsh Ferry on November 12, 1940.

The coroner’s verdict was accidental death.

It was thought that, in the blackout, Granfer had strayed on to the towpath and fallen in.

He could swim, but was wearing a heavy overcoat and had a rucksack on his back.

The blackout caused a lot of accidents, not only in the river but also on the road.

And so, after many petitions to the Home Office, masked headlamps were permitted on cars, masked torches (such as Dad bought me) were sold in shops and the pavements were painted with white paint.

Twenty eight people fell into the river but I do not know how many survived.

Eventually notices were put up warning there was no rail between the road and water.

Mum said a lot of good that would do in the blackout because people couldn’t see them.

Granfer had always known about the river but must have become disorientated.

As was the custom his body was brought home (with the coffin closed) and placed in our living room on trestles until the funeral took place.

Unfortunately I didn’t understand the significance of the long box but I did discover the trestles were good for swinging on.

I soon received a telling off.

Granfer had a splendid funeral with the hearse pulled by two splendid black horses with plumes.

Mum and Gran went into deep mourning and I had a splendid purple coat with black trimmings (Clothes rationing didn’t begin until 1941)

And my torch? Well, poor Granfer had never used it after all.

It was still in his knapsack but sadly rusted and useless

Granfer, who was sixty two when he died, and who had been a soldier in World War I , had been born in Bedminster in 1878.

He had married my Gran, who was born in London in 1882, in 1900.

1940 would have been their Ruby wedding anniversary - but I don’t remember any mention of the event or cards

Perhaps, years ago, such occasions were not celebrated.

Gran did move into the promised flat on Connaught road, diagonally opposite us, after the war ended and remained a widow until her death in 1959 at the age of 77.

Gran was, as was usual in those days, a close family member and always had her dinner with us every day.

After the funeral bravely Mum and Gran - and Dad too, since he had got on well, with Granfer - simply got on with life and although I saw Gran crying on a couple of occasions, I came to terms with not seeing him any more.

Before Granfers death we had become used to hearing the air raid sirens - “Moaning Minnie” - most people called them - and even before the first Blitz there had been fatalities.

Our family were not alone in grieving.

My husband Derek told me that when he went to work for BAC at Filton in 1976 he was shown the plaque honouring the 131 people - 91 of them BAC workers - who had died in a September raid.

Gran felt that Granfer was also a victim of the war.

Next week - The Bristol Blitz.

See you then, Marion.

P.S. Many thanks to Andy of Bedminster who brought my husband home from the BRI on October 30th after day surgery - and who told me he is a great admirer of Bristol Times and Marion’s Memories.