The inspiration for this piece came from Professor Green’s new record, Photographs. The song is about Green, real name Stephen Manderson, wishing that he’d taken more photographs with his late father. The released of the song also prompted an outpouring of photos from members of the public, with loved ones whom they wished they had documented more. Naturally, it got me thinking about the strange relationship I had with my Grandad.

My Grandad was a special person. He was kind, loving and caring. He was very charming, and he had a fondness for the ladies – in a nice, albeit slightly quirky way. We once got into the car and my grandma asked:

“Where’s Allie?” to which my dad responded “I think he’s still in there, chatting up one of the women”, my grandma replied, very casually “oh that’s good, he likes doing that”

He saw people as people, regardless of gender, size, shape or ethnicity. He loved everyone and he was hugely popular in his local area.

He was surprisingly computer literate, by which I mean he could navigate a computer as long as the screen remained on his email inbox. We used his handy tech knowhow to keep in touch. I once figured out how to translate an entire email into Polish and he rang my parents in astonishment to ask if I’d become multilingual at the age of eight.

We had a strange relationship. Well, we were close and we got on very well, but, I don’t know, there was always something missing.

My Paternal Grandad was born in Kiev, to a Ukrainian Mother and Polish father. When he was approaching adulthood, his family had to flee from the Nazis and my Grandad ended up in the U.K., where he would eventually become a British citizen, via a trip around the world and a ten year stint in Africa, where my dad was born. I’m quite proud of myself for summing that up in one short paragraph.

Fast forward to Autumn ‘91 and the final Lawrence grandchild appears, in the shape of Yours Truly. The youngest of six in my generation, and the only boy.

My parent’s were based in Bath at the time, but soon decided that the grass was slightly greener in Devon. Mainly because it rains a lot. This meant moving further away from the family, who all resided further east.

I didn’t see my grandparents very often. Maybe once every few months. I remember being sat next to them on a plane to the Canary Islands as a child, a trip which turned out to be famous for Grandad’s continuous trips to refill his plate during dinner.

I describe our relationship as “a bit strange”, just because I strongly suspect that he struggled to understand me. Whilst we got on very well and there was a strong mutual affection, I think part of him wondered why I wasn’t developing at the same speed he expected. I was very shy as a child, which is often the case, but my lack of confidence continued as I began adolescence.

At my cousin’s wedding, in summer 2012, he took me around the party and introduced me to as many people as he could, giving me social tips every now and again – including, obviously, advising me to “always kiss all the girls!”. He was a master of big crowds. He’d come away with hundreds of new best friends.

He often gave me a bit of stick for my lack of confidence as the mystery grew over my poor social ability. I knew he wasn’t trying to be nasty. He was old-school and traditional, with the view that shyness could and should be overcome.

He died when I was 22, and shortly afterwards I discovered that I am Autistic… well, I have Asperger syndrome. I was diagnosed a year later. It was initially a shock but, suddenly, my confusing life began to make sense. I’m still very new to the condition and I’ve always struggled to explain it to people who have no knowledge of the autism spectrum. But it is, in essence, a condition which severely limits the development of social skills. Someone with Asperger’s will have no natural knowledge of how to socialise. Thus, it can make life rather difficult.

I have no idea what my grandad would have made of my condition. I’m sure he would’ve been sympathetic. I’m sure he would’ve drilled it into me that I needed to ensure I had any help that I was eligible for. He was very determined and competitive. To the point he wouldn’t give in until he had won. He taught us all to never give up.

But he will never know.

What he did know, was that his only Grandson went to university. I wanted to be a journalist/writer, and initially he was somewhat disapproving, stating that the ability to read and write should be a basic skill for everyone anyway. But as soon as he started to read some of my stuff alongside the relative success that followed, he changed his tune a lot. This wasn’t him doing a U-turn, it was simply a case that he was proud of me for doing so well.

He often used to call me into his office, sit me down and lecture me on my lack of interest in news and current affairs. He encouraged me to read newspapers. Politics had never interested me as a teenager. My dad used to come in occasionally, often to call us for dinner, and I’d attempt to signal my discomfort. My dad would respond by taking me to one side later on, and advise me to simply humour his father; just nod and smile. He wouldn’t be around forever.

In my speech at my Grandma’s funeral, I mentioned how I’d always felt a bit deprived for being the youngest in the family. I’d never been able to see any of my grandparents in their prime. They were all pretty ancient and getting used to their Zimmer frames by the time I began to grow up.

We’d have three hour car journeys to see them and, the moment we arrived, I’d be getting a few glares from my parents for not instantly helping out with the housework. I was a moody, sulky, eye-rolling teenager at the time. Saying that, I was surprisingly alright for a moody, sulky, eye-rolling teenager. I would guess this was down to my sensitive nature. I had a good heart. I had strops for days, as the cool kids say, but I was never overly unpleasant to anyone, especially my parents.

There was one photograph of me and my Grandad which got me thinking about all of this stuff, and I never even knew it existed until his funeral. It was taken, judging by my fashion sense, when I was about 12-ish. I think we had gone out for lunch somewhere. We were sat next to each other, I was grinning from ear to ear, giving a double thumbs-up to the camera. My grandfather was sat there, a bit stony faced, the standard way that people from his generation posed for photos. The first time I ever saw the photo was on a slideshow from the projector at his funeral. I stood there in amazement.

These were the days before the Selfie Craze, you see. It was less common in those days to suddenly whack out a massive camera and get everyone to pose.

I don’t feel like I ever truly reached adult maturity until I was well into my twenties. I was a very naïve youngster, which was possibly down to a sheltered upbringing in villages and small towns.

Towards the end of my teenage years, I had an urge to get away and start fresh. I hadn’t even originally wanted to go to university but, for whatever reason, one day I changed my mind.  

I needed to get out into the real world in order to make some sort of sense of who I was. I’d always been a mystery to myself, let alone my grandfather, or anyone else.

I’ve never regretted moving anyway either, even if it hasn’t always been the smoothest ride.

In my first year at Bath Spa Uni, we attended another cousin’s wedding in London. Afterwards, I went back to my grandparent’s house with one of my siblings, so that we could go back to Bath together the next day.

When it was time to catch the train, my grandparents insisted on coming all the way to the station with us. it was a five minute walk, and we only had about five minutes. My grandad had suffered with limited mobility ever since I’d known him, but he found the energy to come all the way and to get us there on time.

It’s approaching five years since Grandad passed. When it all happened, I was fresh from the loss of my maternal Grandmother 18 months prior. During that time, I’d pressed self-destruct and had to spend a bit of time piecing myself back together. I felt more prepared this time. But when it happened…. I don’t know, I felt a bit empty. I didn’t really believe that it had happened, even after the funeral.

My early life was so much of a blur that sometimes I wonder, just for a second, whether he was even real. I didn’t feel like I knew him that well. I had missed so much of his life.

By Matt Lawrence