"My grandad could beat your grandad"...

My grandad was injured (well, trench foot) in the battle of the Somme. brought back to jolly old England for treatment. absconded, was discovered back in Wexford, and court martialled ,imprisoned and sent back to the Somme, survived and fathered nine kids, one of whom my late lamented dad.

Gloomtastic! wrote: »

My Granny's Grandad had twelve kids with the wife until she died. He then married his niece and had thirteen more kids - legend!

Did each of the thirteen kids have thirteen toes?

I've the same name as my granda

My mother's father was a member of An Garda Síochána for 38 years, from 1944 (he became a Garda on D-Day, 6th June) until 1982. He rose to the rank of sergeant and was known to be tough but fair man. It has been said to me by Gardaí that I met that he had worked with that he should have been promoted more, but he clashed with his superiors too often while standing up for the Gardaí who were being mistreated by other superior officers. Had he stayed quiet and done nothing, he could have been promoted more. But he spoke out and remained a sergeant for over 30 years.

During the last year or so of "The Emergency" (as World War II was known in Ireland), there was great paranoia around that the Germans or someone would invade Ireland, meaning he got dragged out to investigate potential invasions many times. What exactly a panicked Irish farmer expected my grandfather, with his blue serge uniform and wooden truncheon, to do in the face of the rampaging hordes of the Third Reich is best left to the imagination.

He was stationed in "Bandit Country" (the Border areas) for much of his career; Monaghan, Louth Village and Dundalk. There were many instances of foiling smuggling and so on.

He was a man of nature; he loved fishing, hunting and wood carving, and was quite gifted at all of them. The most infamous incident involved him going missing for over 18 hours while trying to catch a large salmon. He fought it and struggled with it, trying to tire it out. And just as he was about to get it into the boat, "the bastard got free". Unlucky...

While I never knew him when he was in the Gardaí (I was born 6 years after he had retired), I always heard the stories, saw photos of him in uniform, saw the plaque he got when he retired, met his old colleagues after and all. This is partly why I have such an undying admiration for An Garda Síochána and always will. It is also why I someday hope to join the Gardaí, but unless the recruitment freeze ends soon, it may never happen.

Yeah, my Grandfather (whom I affectionately christened 'Foxy'; spelt F-X-Y) was a bit of a boss.