One hundred years ago this weekend, Saturday, November 23, 1918, my maternal grandfather, recovering in England from wounds sustained in September during the Second Battle of Arras, was ‘granted permission to marry at public expense”.
I imagine that were he alive today he may point out that although it did not cost him anything to get married, he spent the rest of his life paying the price: my grandmother was a strong person, to put it mildly.
He was a hardworking man who, as was the case in the late fifties, was retired from his civil service job on his sixty-fifth birthday. Before he had a chance to drive his wife around the bend, or she him, he returned to work in the private sector for several years.
Here is a link to a post I published about the many phrases he was wont to use.
1 thought on “Permission To Marry”
That was lovely, Deegan. I remember him as a very quiet man, though on one occasion when he was quietly playing solitaire and nana or Aunt Madeline mentioned the war, he looked up and said, “Yes I remember that. They lined you up and shot at you!” Then he went back to playing cards. Linda
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