In 2021, I thought a lot about Juan from Peru

Published on 8 December 2021

James “Granda” Turnbull wasn’t born, but rather he was hand-formed. Wrought from the salty sandy earth of the Northumbrian coast. It’s hard to imagine him as anything other than the broad towering giant that I remember as a child so I can only assume he came to being as a fully formed, broad shouldered, rectangular Geordie.

I don’t remember ever hugging him. But seeing him cradle my nephew with his long sweeping arms I have a feeling it’s something I would have enjoyed. I bet he was good at hugging.

Instead he would thrust a jovial hand in my direction. It didn’t matter if I was 3 or 30. His massive shovels embracing my own stubby fingered hands, more teaspoons than garden tools. I think a handshake was more comfortable to him, not out of coldness or condescension but out of loving familiarity. The same way I imagine he would greet an old friend. His handshakes made me feel special, grown-up. Like I was a crewmate he served with in the Navy 60 years earlier.

My Granda was one of those conscripts in the war. He lied about his age to join the navy, to follow the footsteps of his older brother (my namesake, so it goes). Later he was a policeman on the streets of Newcastle, then in post-bobby retirement: a crossing guard at the Tyne Tunnel. 

He was a man of authority and stature and poise, but full of love and joy. I’m not sure he had space for anger or disappointment. If he harboured either then I imagine it took very careful work to keep it there. My mother will probably disagree.

I’d have liked to have known him when he was younger. Something tells me the playful glint in his 93-year-old eyes had been there from the day he burst from the ground or maybe developed after his first sneaky prank on an unsuspecting sibling. 

In 2021, as lots of my friends are bringing new lives into the world, my mind has wandered to my own family in the making. What kind of parent I might be, what kind of father, what kind of man.

There is a photo in the giant tupperware box that houses the 150-year history of The Turnbulls (not many of the Sheppards). It is Christmas and a relatively early one for my mum and dad. On one side of the table sits Nanna and Granda Turnbull, the other Granny and Grandad Sheppard. The two sides could not be any more different. A scene straight from a beige-brown British sitcom. 

But you couldn’t make it up.

Granda Turnbull looks to be making some kind of joke, Nanna rolling her eyes.

Grandad Sheppard sitting in trademark stoicism, Granny smiling politely. 

The photo captures the personalities of everyone around the table in glossy magic. A perfect snapshot.

I think about Granda Turnbull a lot when I think about the kind of man I want to be. I’ve inherited his strong nose and broad shoulders, but instead of Navying around on ships or catching bad guys on the rough streets of Newcastle's west-end, I tippy tap on a laptop. My hands are still stubby and those shoulders curved inwards from years of trying to hide and feel smaller.

Granda once rescued a drowning boy from a pool while on holiday and received a christmas card from that boy for the rest of his life. And, once, Nanna fell into the harbour and without a second’s thought he had dived to her rescue. 

I can’t swim.

After his death I found a cookbook, hand-written and titled Recipes by Juan, from Peru. It turns out Nanna had an affair with Juan in the 70s, and kept this book as a memento. And in turn, after her death, Granda kept it too. 

My mum jokes that they were as bad as each other. The photos of Granda, lounging in the sun, in the same developer's envelope as those of Nanna, draped over the shoulders of a Spanish busboy in all her glamorous golden glory is the evidence of that. It is a testament to their strength and honesty. 

That strength amazes me. The forgiveness and love between these two ridiculous characters was beautiful and handsome and strong.

I often feel weak and I am quick to hold a grudge.

I don’t know if I will be able to live up to the type of man that Granda was. Deep down I know it is unfair to compare myself to anyone. But maybe one day I will be a dad, and then someone else’s Granda. And I hope that in some way I can be a role model for them. 

I’m not sure if I’ll lead with the handshake.

I’m more of a hugger.