Good Bye Uncle George

My mom’s brother died this week at the age of 104, just missing his 105th birthday on the first of January. He always thought he would die at a young age, but perhaps he was hoping to live his life far beyond 104. He was still mobile until a few weeks ago but gradually dropped into a deep sleep before slipping away.

He achieved far more in his life than many people. Born in Balsall Heath, a slum area of Birmingham, in a back-to-back-house and one of fourteen children, of which only five survived.

George served as a medic in the army, then studied and became the principal of a major Hospitable in London.

So what do I remember most? Well, it was his voice. It was the sort that was easy to listen to and went well with his sense of humour.

But it was his party- trick that impressed me most because if you gave him a three-figure number, then a lower three-figure number he could take one from the other instantly without knowing how he did it.