![\"World](\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Spiral-Descent-CRW-Nevinson-public-domain.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\nEdgar had been one of those young men, obliterated ten days after he had been sent into combat, three weeks after he had married my great grandmother, six months before their daughter had been born. Family history had conveyed it as one of those romantic tragedies that occurred during the war, with my great grandfather having acted quickly enough to redeem his young bride\u2019s honour before he died. The story had been passed on to my mother, her children, our children and now theirs, creating a legacy in which I\u2019m sure we\u2019ve all felt a little gratification. Occasionally I would think of Edgar, wondering what he must have felt in his final moments, hoping the fear was eased by love, then taking some pride in knowing that I was one of his descendants. I valued the legacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A couple of days later I visited my mother in the care home. She still had a clear mind but was becoming less talkative as she got older. The conversation was sporadic, including some family news, the TV programmes she had been watching, my plans to retire from work. Then there was a pause, and I decided to mention having seen the painting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt reminded me of the story about your grandad, shot down days after he was sent to the front. The painting doesn\u2019t even show the pilot, but it touched me, thinking it could have been him in the plane.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She didn\u2019t look at me, but I saw her smile. I thought it was a nice memory of her mother\u2019s stories, then noticed a faint twist of her lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe wasn\u2019t my grandfather.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I paused, thinking she had become a little confused, then reminded her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou know, you\u2019ve always told us how they found out your mum was on the way and got married quickly, but then he had to go to the war.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy nan married him, the one who got killed, but he wasn\u2019t my grandad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat there bemused. She looked at me, and the smile broadened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy aunt Ellie told me the truth years later, after she and my mum had one of their rows. My nan got pregnant by another man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re having me on!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo. My mum admitted it to me soon afterwards. Obviously, she had wanted to keep it a secret, but once Ellie told me she didn\u2019t want to carry on the lie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did a quick calculation. Great aunt Ellie had been dead for forty years, so Mum had kept it a secret for even longer than that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy nan had known Edgar for some time, thought he was a very nice young man and knew that was sweet on her, but didn\u2019t know if she wanted to marry him. The way she told it to my mum was that he almost too nice, and she thought there might be someone else. Then another man started flirting with her, an Army officer, and he got a lot further a lot more quickly than Edgar. Then when your nan found that she was in the family way he claimed it had nothing to do with him and she never saw him again. She went to the barracks where he had been and was told he had been transferred \u2026. and that he already had a wife, one kid and another on the way. That was it; she never saw or heard from him again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo what about Edgar? Did he know all this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell he would have known he wasn\u2019t the father \u2013 my nan always swore that he didn\u2019t touch her until the wedding night \u2013 but he must have loved her. He offered to marry her and be a father to the baby. She jumped at the offer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDoes that mean everyone thought he was the father?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNear enough. Of course, her parents knew, and your Aunt Ellie. But Edgar even let his parents and brothers think that it had been him, and they weren\u2019t happy with it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had to let it sink in. It must have been a minute before I spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd you haven\u2019t told of any of us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, my mum didn\u2019t tell me, so I thought I shouldn\u2019t tell you. But recently I\u2019ve wondered if that was right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat about the other man, the one who got her pregnant? Do you know his name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy nan wouldn\u2019t tell anyone. She might have been worried that her brother would want to kill the bloke, and her mum and dad were angry that he had disappeared and wasn\u2019t giving her penny to help support my nan, but nan kept it to herself until the day she died. There was another thing; Edgars\u2019 family used to give her money for the baby. That would have disappeared if they had known the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Mum didn\u2019t want to talk about it any more. I let it go but went home feeling upset. It took me a while to realise it was a sense of loss, that now the great grandfather who had left the family with a poignant sense of pride wasn\u2019t my great grandfather. In his place was an unknown sleazebag. I went home and told Monica. She told me not to get wound up over it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou never knew him, the one who died. He wasn\u2019t even a memory.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know, but he\u2019s been part of the family history.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPeople are always rewriting history.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, but the version I used to have was better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was sympathetic, but reminded me that there were more important things, like the big shop for the week and where we were going to go on holiday. I didn\u2019t argue, but the feeling hung over me for the next few days, to the point where Monica told me to stop being a miserable bugger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That pushed me back to the gallery. I went straight to the painting, stared at it for half an hour, went off for a coffee, then back to stare again. I imagined what the young man in the plane was thinking as it spun towards the ground, whether he had a dying moment of joy from thoughts of his wife and child, that there would be generations who honoured his memory and one would stand in front of this painting. Then I remembered that it wasn\u2019t my great grandfather, and I felt bad all over again. I walked away and didn\u2019t tell Monica I had been back there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The feeling persisted, and took a fresh stir when I received a text message from my cousin Alice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ll be in town next weekend. Planning to visit your mum in the morning. Meet up?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I had always liked her and we both made the effort to stay in touch since she had moved away, so I suggested we go for a lunchtime pizza. We had a nice time, chatting about our remaining parents, kids, jobs, how soon we could manage to retire. After the pizzas and cappucinos we walked around the park and came to the art gallery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s it like now?\u201d she asked. \u201cI always got bored in there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n My next words just slipped out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s a painting in temporary exhibition that made me think of our great grandmother\u2019s husband. It\u2019s a World War One airplane falling out of the sky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Alice halted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy did you say it like that? Our great grandmother\u2019s husband.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t know how to answer. She spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you know the truth about him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We looked at each other, suddenly aware that we were both in on a secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have heard something recently.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat he wasn\u2019t really your grandmother\u2019s dad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho told you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOld aunt Ellie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The one who had spoiled the story for my mum, then me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That led to us standing in the street and picking over what we knew of the story, until Alice said she was curious to see the painting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t want to admit that I might get upset again. She insisted, we bought tickets for the exhibition and went straight to the painting. As we stared at it I felt numb, but she seemed impressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDramatic, isn\u2019t it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, but \u2026. I don\u2019t know. I don\u2019t feel the same now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause he \u2026..\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Something stopped me from saying it out loud. Alice looked at me with a hint of exasperation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre you going to say he wasn\u2019t your great grandfather?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI suppose so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell he was. Aunt Ellie said so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut she told you he wasn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLook, I spent a lot more time around her than you, and I know she could be a cow. But she had a kinder side to her, and she could be perceptive and generous. She said our great grandmother\u2019s husband, Edgar, he did something really \u2026 I suppose it was noble. He gave your great grandmother a respectable name, and that was a time when it made a big difference. It mattered a lot to your nan as well. Back in those days there were plenty of people who would have shunned a kid whose parents hadn\u2019t been married. And he was ready to be the baby\u2019s father, even it had been another man who had knocked up his wife. So if he had lived he would have been your mum\u2019s grandfather, and our great grandfather, and we shouldn\u2019t get wobbly about that because of biology.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She flashed a smile. What she had said made sense. I looked back at the painting and something inside me flipped. Now I could imagine again that the man inside the spiralling aircraft was my great grandfather. Even more, that there was a great grandfather on my mum\u2019s side, and he had lived and died with honour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We were silent for a couple of minutes, staring at the painting, sharing an understanding that we were grateful for what Edgar had done. I thought that maybe I should talk to my mum about it again, maybe tell the true story to my kids. Alice broke the silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s enough. Let\u2019s look at some other pictures.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n