My paternal grandfather, John Griffith Williams, born on February 17, 1888 passed away on June 28, 1974, 40 years ago today. In my little diary I wrote: "Grandpa died. Aunt Audrey phoned up and told us Grandpa had an attack and they rushed him to the hospital and he died. So Dad is going to a graveside service." We had just arrived at my Uncle Ed's home in Oregon on that day for our summer vacation. Grandpa had been fine before we left. He had a heart attack. It turned out that no one was able to see Grandpa's body, and there wasn't a service after all, so my Dad didn't go back to Canada by train as he was thinking of doing. It was so expensive to travel in those days and having just arrived in Oregon we weren't going to turn around and go back right away for nothing. We stayed for two weeks. On July 11th I wrote: "Grandma is taking the death of Grandpa hard." She was 20 years younger than him; age 66. She died in July 2004; 30 years later.
My Grandfather was an adventurer. He was the only one from his family in North Wales to venture to the barren wilderness of the Canadian prairies in 1910. He lived for a while in Three Hills Alberta, and then moved to Spalding Saskatchewan in the 1920s. I love the photo above.
After his first wife, Ellen, died in 1926 along with one of his sons, he married Alma May in 1928 and had 7 more children. Here he is in Saskatchewan on his farm, with Jackie, Audrey and Harry.
The prospering family. Two more children came to join them after this time.
John, Audrey, Glenys, Jackie (my father), Harry and baby Ruth.
Photo taken in 2012. My grandparents final resting place, until we meet again on the farther shore.
By Loretta Houben