great stories your grandparents told you (2 Viewers)

[oh shit]

i dont know about that boss..member we went van surfing around galway
that was pretty stellar!

even tho it was inside the van..still tho

yes but during the imperialist wars of the 20th century one could surf into normandy, france; or Charlie's point, veitnam

 

[Lord Damian]

I agree that why I said 'you might feel' rather than 'you would have'.

apologies - i can't interpret sarcasm over the internerd.

edit p.s. - it says something that a lot of the stories our grandparents told us have to do with war. we are indeed a frightening species.

 

[ICUH8N]

yes but during the imperialist wars of the 20th century one could surf into normandy, france; or Charlie's point, veitnam

Maybe we'll get to drive giant robots into Tehran during the TekWars© of the 21st century? That would be cool. With a voiceover by Shatner.

 

[Squiggle]

My Grandad's father took him up to Dublin when he was a young lad during the rising and sat him on a wall to see some of what was going on and explaining to him how this was untimately going to be a good thing for Ireland!

My Gran remembers her Mum talking in some guys who were being pursued and telling the Black and Tans who came looking for them exactly where they could go with themselves. Given that I am led to believe that she was normally a fairly lady-like woman I'm not suprised that this stuck in my Gran's mind!

 

[oh shit]

Maybe we'll get to drive giant robots into Tehran during the TekWars© of the 21st century? That would be cool. With a voiceover by Shatner.

no we're way to educated. poor black kids and gung ho rednecks only.

 

[egg_]

Dulce et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

 

[oh shit]

Dulce et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

sounds class

 

[oh shit]

van surfing

that's a good name for a vampire hunter

 

[Lord Damian]

Dulce et Decorum Est
By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

great poem, one of the best.

 

[ICUH8N]

Friday-night interspecies Mud-Wrestling was always fun...

 

[egg_]

My maternal grandad's brothers fought in WWI and survived, one of them was involved in the mutiny in India and court martialled, the B&Ts burned the thatch on my paternal grandparent's house etc etc ... but most of the stories I heard out of them while they were alive were things like the time some neighbour exposed himself on the sly to the kids while sitting in front of the fire, or the time some local tucked the tablecloth into his pants while at fancy dinner, or the time someone took the piss out of tourists looking for directions. Mostly funny but mundane. Mrs. egg_s grandmother (still alive) remembers the war of independence pretty well, but prefers to talk about how you used to be able buy vegetables in Aungier St that had only been picked that morning

 

[MDR]

My grandad has sex with my grandmother. Yuck - imagine fancying an old woman.

 

[Super Dexta]

great poem, one of the best.

it gave me the shudders when i first read it as an impressionable fourteen-year-old. in a good way though.

my grandparents:
maternal grandfather: died nine years before i was born, seemed pretty cool, RHA professor of sculpture etc etc, have tattoo of one of his pieces.
maternal grandmother: still alive despite smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish all her life. everyone's been expecting her to die any sec for the last five years or so. she's quite cool, taught art for nearly fifty years. ran away to sea when she was a kid.
paternal grandmother and grandfather: boring, farmers, tenuous ira connections, dead a few years, rampant catholics who made my da change to writing with his right hand and refused to celebrate his birthday on the 13th, zzz.

 

[Catwoman]

made my da change to writing with his right hand and refused to celebrate his birthday on the 13th.

Mine were quite boring. Maternal grandad broke his back at work when he was 19 (only got £100 compo cos he was classed as a 'minor') so didn't even leave the midlands during WWII. Manned the searchlights, that's about as much excitement as he had.

Dunno about my paternal grandad though, he was born in 1900 so probably saw some action. Never got to ask him though...

 

[MDR]

ran away to sea when she was a kid.

cool - a granny who can run on water.

 

[Sufi]

The story of how i got my surname is quite interesting.

My great grand mother got pregnant out of marriage (the ould slapper). Rather than give the child (my grandad) she skipped the village without telling anyone where she was going and forund work in another county.
She changed her name to Murphy one of the most common names in Ireland and said that her husband was fighting "a war". Sure there were loads at the time so noone paid attention.
After the baby was born she just said that her husband had died.

A smart woman.

 

[JohnnyRaz]

rampant catholics who made my da change to writing with his right hand and refused to celebrate his birthday on the 13th, zzz.

my mam is a lefty, and the nuns used to hammer the shit out of her for writing with her left. One particular christian soul sent her home through the main street with a placard saying 'this child is evil'. She was only 6!

Like I said earlier in this thread, our generation has had it fucking handy!

 

[JohnnyRaz]

Maybe we'll get to drive giant robots into Tehran during the TekWars© of the 21st century? That would be cool. With a voiceover by Shatner.

I reckon were all more likely to be assembling batteries in labour camps for the chinese by then!

 

[c0De_n1NjA]

my granny died the day my daughter was born, well freaky.

this isn't a good story, its actually horrible. a couple of weeks before my granny died someone stole her engagement ring off her finger while she was out of it in james hospital. scum.

 

[c0De_n1NjA]

my grandad had his finger and toenails pulled out by the black and tans. twenty owies!