I'm remembering my granda who survived the horrors of Dunkirk, but not cancer, and died when I was 4.
I remember lots of silly things about him, but mostly his smell and stubbly beard when he hugged me.
He had a middle parting in his hair, and said it was because he'd dodged a bullet. He was a kidder, and I think I've inherited my sense of humour and passion for the written word from him.
I'm pretty sure I have some French relatives, because he was posted there for a very long time!
My mum remembers going to the insanely crowded train station in Aberdeen as a 6 year old to welcome home her 'dad' but didn't know this tall stranger.
He wrote poems while at war, and I still have them. The paper is very fragile.
For my granda, and for the others who didn't make it back: