Grandad the Gunner
My mum’s dad, Michael West, was born in 1912, and was a lifelong Arsenal supporter. For many years, whenever they played at Highbury, he set off from Carshalton across London to see them. I think it was on his eightieth birthday that the Arsenal team of the time sent a signed photo to thank him for decades of support. After he couldn’t make the trip anymore, he saved up for Sky to watch them on TV.
It’s almost exactly four years since Grandad died. Funny how these things link up in your mind - he was buried on the same day as the local elections in 2002.
By accident, I watched the second half of the Champions League semi-final last night. I’m not really into football anymore, though I vaguely know what’s going on. After canvassing, after the tenants’ and residents’ association, I ended up on Dan’s sofa with fish and chips watching the game. So I saw a man called Jens Lehmann save a penalty, and the stadium in Spain erupt as Arsenal went through to the final.
Now, I don’t have a religious faith, and I don’t know what happens when we die. But most of my football-mad family - dad, aunts and uncles - were probably watching the football last night and I’m sure we all thought of Grandad when the Gunners on the terraces started celebrating.
