'My Father’s Father' by Elisa Hill

I found an old book, and was about to put it away when I looked at the title page, "to Jon, from Father". It was written to my dad from his father who I never met. He died before I was born. A gift to a 14 year old boy who had shown an interest in art.
It was incredible to see the handwriting of a man who was a complete stranger to me - a neat copperplate style. It was from another era. He was born at the end of the eighteen hundreds and worked as a clerk. Yet he managed to continue even though he had only two fingers that worked on one hand as his hand had been shot through on the Somme. He told people he didn’t know why he had put his hand out from the trench. It was shot and then he put his other arm out and they shot the other off from the elbow!
He started life in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, the eldest son of seven children, the son of Irish immigrants. His own father had been killed riding a horse. The local Freemason community wanted to share out the children, to help his widow but she refused , and set out back to her family in Ulster and nearly lost her eldest son from sea sickness.
Later in life, having never married, he met and fell in love with a young Catholic girl; not a wise thing for a staunch Protestant and member of the Orange order! They were married and she had to leave the Catholic church.