Even at 99, Grandad was still taking to the skies
MY Grandfather was the youngest of nine children and was known to the family as the cat with nine lives because he cheated death so often.
There was World War II to start with, but he came home safely to set up life in Southend with my nan Annie, the love of his life.
Then he worked for the electric board, where he managed to fall from a pylon. Later, when working at a garden centre, he fell through a greenhouse roof, fracturing his skull.
Over the years, he suffered a major aneurysm, from which he made a miraculous recovery, and there were various car accidents and other scrapes from which Grandad always emerged smiling.
In 2017, members of the family were summoned from Liverpool, Northumberland, Middlesborough, Bristol and Devon to what we were told was his deathbed — only to find him complaining about the pillows. He lived another four months.
And how he lived, too. I have never come across anyone who enjoyed such a full life. Even at 99, he was still taking to the skies with his friend who had a light aircraft. They would pop over from Southend to Kent for tea and cake. And he was still driving on country roads at speeds that terrified us all. We used to call him Douglas Schumacher.
Nan was his everything. They never had much money but had a very happy life together, with three children. When she died 16 years ago, we thought he would fall apart because, like so many men of his era, he didn’t have a clue about cooking or washing.
But to everyone’s shock, he became the most independent of men. He proved himself a talented cook — his fried eggs were perfection!
My Grandad was amazing, funny, obstinate, caring and so very generous. We did our best to keep him young, and he played his part, too.
Every time we grandchildren greeted him, it would be with a huge fist-bump. We knew he wanted to go when he did — he was looking forward to being finally reunited with his beloved Annie — but we are so glad that he reached his 100th year.
On his last birthday, he led us all in a sing-along, putting his heart into it.
Now, he’s gone but in the words of one of his favourites, ‘We’ll meet again/ Don’t know where, don’t know when/ But I know we’ll meet again/Some sunny day.’
Douglas Victor Clift, born december 6, 1918, died February 6, 2018, aged 99.