Bill Craig, my grandad, died last week, five days after his 89th birthday and on his and my Nana's 68th wedding anniversary. He was a powerhouse of a man, an enormous character who left on impression on every person who had even the briefest of encounters with him, who dominated every room he entered and who once claimed to me that he was the inventor of laundry detergent. A true eccentric, who if he ever doubted himself for a second never once gave it away.
Much of his life is a mystery to me. Almost everything I know of him is from stories he told me, many of which seemed too crazy to be true - he was once so angry when punching a man (in a fight which he won, obviously) he broke his own teeth by gritting them. He drove the wrong way up the Dartford Tunnel and a waiting police car let him go because he told them he was with Mi5. He invented the three bar fire.
I think he may have been a genius of sorts. His schooling was interrupted by the second world war. Perhaps with a fuller education he'd have had the capacity to better explain the countless, constant ideas pumping out of his brain. Had circumstances been different he could easily have been a household name. Nevertheless he achieved success in a number of fields and notoriety on Mersea Island, Essex where he spent the last 43 years of his life. In the fifties and sixties, he operated cigarette machines around London. Then he ran his own restaurant, which with Bill Craig in charge was of course unique for its day. I'm told it was the first self service restaurant in the UK and was even featured on a Tomorrow's World type TV show as an example of the future. Sadly, I think he may have been ahead of his time.
He went on to own fish and chip shops, eventually moving to West Mersea to run one with my Nana and became known affectionately by some, I'm told, as 'Bill Crazy'. Visitors to his chippy were often treated to cod, chips and an animated lecture on how the world could be if they'd only listen to Bill Craig.
What really brought him to the island was not fish and chips but a passion for boats, something he passed on to his two sons. He built his own boats obviously, never bought them, he was that sort of a man. In Britain, the official retirement age for a fisherman was 55. When Bill turned 55, he gave up the chip shop and became a full time fisherman.
Right until his final years, he spent much of his life in his shed - a chaotic testament to his mind, a place that only he understood and where one entered at serious risk to their own personal safety. Shelves of fifty year old tools, uncovered live electric plugs. To the horror of their mothers he thought nothing of inviting his younger grandchildren to have a root around. He always wanted to inspire in others his own passions.
Most of my memories of him occurred in his living room at family events. Bill Craig always held court, by sheer force of personality. The topic of discussion was nearly always what Bill wanted it to be - his eyes twinkling mischievously above his moustache. Stories of shooting seals. Stories of his drinking fifteen pints a night in the army but never once having been tipsy. Stories of letters he'd written to members of the cabinet, giving them solutions to the problems of the day. You were always entertained.
As his family grew, as his many grandchildren produced many more great grand children he took pleasure in passing on his stories and expertise to new generations. When three year olds opened Christmas presents, mothers jumped up to stop him handing them his pocket knife. As we reached our teenage years he'd delight in offering his homemade and insanely strong plum wine.
Full of life, humour and inventions until the very end Bill Craig was a man who left a mark far far bigger than most.
Much of his life is a mystery to me. Almost everything I know of him is from stories he told me, many of which seemed too crazy to be true - he was once so angry when punching a man (in a fight which he won, obviously) he broke his own teeth by gritting them. He drove the wrong way up the Dartford Tunnel and a waiting police car let him go because he told them he was with Mi5. He invented the three bar fire.
I think he may have been a genius of sorts. His schooling was interrupted by the second world war. Perhaps with a fuller education he'd have had the capacity to better explain the countless, constant ideas pumping out of his brain. Had circumstances been different he could easily have been a household name. Nevertheless he achieved success in a number of fields and notoriety on Mersea Island, Essex where he spent the last 43 years of his life. In the fifties and sixties, he operated cigarette machines around London. Then he ran his own restaurant, which with Bill Craig in charge was of course unique for its day. I'm told it was the first self service restaurant in the UK and was even featured on a Tomorrow's World type TV show as an example of the future. Sadly, I think he may have been ahead of his time.
He went on to own fish and chip shops, eventually moving to West Mersea to run one with my Nana and became known affectionately by some, I'm told, as 'Bill Crazy'. Visitors to his chippy were often treated to cod, chips and an animated lecture on how the world could be if they'd only listen to Bill Craig.
What really brought him to the island was not fish and chips but a passion for boats, something he passed on to his two sons. He built his own boats obviously, never bought them, he was that sort of a man. In Britain, the official retirement age for a fisherman was 55. When Bill turned 55, he gave up the chip shop and became a full time fisherman.
Right until his final years, he spent much of his life in his shed - a chaotic testament to his mind, a place that only he understood and where one entered at serious risk to their own personal safety. Shelves of fifty year old tools, uncovered live electric plugs. To the horror of their mothers he thought nothing of inviting his younger grandchildren to have a root around. He always wanted to inspire in others his own passions.
Most of my memories of him occurred in his living room at family events. Bill Craig always held court, by sheer force of personality. The topic of discussion was nearly always what Bill wanted it to be - his eyes twinkling mischievously above his moustache. Stories of shooting seals. Stories of his drinking fifteen pints a night in the army but never once having been tipsy. Stories of letters he'd written to members of the cabinet, giving them solutions to the problems of the day. You were always entertained.
As his family grew, as his many grandchildren produced many more great grand children he took pleasure in passing on his stories and expertise to new generations. When three year olds opened Christmas presents, mothers jumped up to stop him handing them his pocket knife. As we reached our teenage years he'd delight in offering his homemade and insanely strong plum wine.
Full of life, humour and inventions until the very end Bill Craig was a man who left a mark far far bigger than most.
