Grandad

He was just my dear old Grandad.
Thin on top, and wrinkled brow.
But boy! When he got going.
Could my Grandad spin a tale!

He would tell of Wartime epics.
That he'd embarked upon.
Which I listened to with sceptic ear.
Knowing Gramps was stringing me along.

He'd tell of trips behind the lines.
And of dangerous deeds well done!
Of coming face to face with foe!
And of battles fought and won!

And I'd say to Granma : 'Grandad's tales,
are growing by the mile!'
But Gran would merely look at me.
Then give a knowing smile.

But I remember thinking at the time.
Though Grandad's tales were just white lies.
And merely told with tongue in cheek.
He was still a hero in my eyes!

Then came the news I had come to dread.
It simply said : 'Your Grandad's dead!'
That sweet old man had passed away.
And a piece of me too, died that day!

Never again would my old gramps.
Bend my ear, and swing the lamp.
But I bet the Grandad that I knew.
Would swing that lamp in Heaven too!

No doubt the Angels gather round.
As Tales of Grandad's deeds abound.
But I bet they take him down a peg.
With: 'Come on! Pull the other leg!'

And then one day. Gran came to stay.
And she handed me a small brown case.
Saying; 'Grandad wanted you to have them.
For he knew with you, they would be well placed'

When I looked inside, I swelled with pride!
There were Campaign Medals. Medals galore!
And many of them said: FOR VALOR!
She said: 'Grandad won them in the war!'

And as the tears rolled down my cheeks.
Gran said: 'Your Grandad knew.
You thought he was shooting you a line.
But every tale he told--was true!!!'