It’s the height of entitlement to think you’re owed an inheritance
Have you heard the one about the grandfather who was so hurt that some of his grandchildren didn’t visit him more often that he gave them just £50 each from his £500,000 fortune when he died? It’s not a joke – unless you count cosmic jokes in which the laughter echoes, long and loud from the afterlife. It happened, here in Britain.
Something to lament? No! Something to laminate! Buy a paper, cut out and keep the story. Print off a copy. Heck, print off dozens. Pin them to noticeboards in every care home and GP surgery.
Post details on the family Whatsapp as a salutary warning to the chippy millennials and slacker Gen-zers who have the temerity to slag off “boomers” for having it easy. It’s high time they grasped that nothing comes for free – not even that inheritance they’ve been banking on for a house deposit. Money must be earnt, and when it comes to ageing relatives, this is one gig where working from home won’t cut it.
Admittedly the five grandchildren in question of Frederick Ward are now all middle-aged women, but it’s never too early to learn one of life’s hardest lessons; just because you feel entitled doesn’t mean you are entitled – just ask High Court judge, Master James Brightwell. It was he who presided over this fabulous tale-with-a-twist worthy of Roald Dahl or the cautionary poems of Hilaire Belloc; the grandpa who clearly felt left alone in life and left nothing in death.
Well, not quite nothing. Former soldier Mr Ward gave a nicely derisory sum of £50 each to the five granddaughters after he was upset they did not go to see him often enough. A splendid touch, conveying as it does that granddad didn’t forget to include them. Quite the reverse; he thought about them – he just didn’t think much of them.
As is the way of the modern world, uproar ensued. I should have thought shame and selfflagellation would be a more appropriate response than truculent litigiousness, but each to their own.
It’s just a pity Mr Ward wasn’t around to enjoy the sight of his relatives scrapping in court. His is the ultimate act of post-mortem point-scoring – and a long overdue corrective to the soft-focus stereotypes peddled by Werther’s (un) Originals, in which kindly grandparents are reduced to ciphers; mere bit-players in their grandchildren’s lives.
Incidentally, Mr Ward left the bulk of his fortune to his son and daughter. His third child, a son, who was father to the five granddaughters, predeceased him and thereafter relations seem to have cooled. As a result the court ruled he was perfectly at liberty to play favourites and leave out family members with whom he had a lesser relationship.
Quite right, too. In truth, we all very much hope we won’t have to plead, cajole, bully or bribe our nearest and, theoretically at least, dearest to drop by in our twilight years. But honestly, if they really are too self-absorbed, why not have a little fun at their expense?
If the pocket philosophers of Pinterest are to be believed, love is the most precious gift one generation can pass on to the next. Try telling that to Generation Rent fretting about their financial future; if love doesn’t do it for them, keep mentioning the money.
So a word to the wise; the meek shall inherit the earth, but only if they swing by for a visit more than occasionally. Revenge is famously a dish best served cold; and there ain’t nothing colder than ladling it out from the grave.