John Percival Kenneth was my maternal grandfather. More commonly known as ‘Jack’. My mother describes him as an overly strict and critical parent, but as a grandfather, he indulged me. It was as if we spoke the same language.
Born prematurely, Jack survived his twin, who was stillborn. He told me that his mother was told to take him home as “this little one is not long for this world”, and how she kept him alive feeding him formula through a fountain pen filler.
It is difficult to know how much of this story is true, as Jack was prone to exaggerations and fantastical elaborations of his life story; Never to harm another person, but perhaps for entertainment value (grandfathers do, traditionally, tell tall stories to their grandchildren) or perhaps because he liked to sound more heroic. He didn’t lack self-esteem – in fact, to many people he had an over-abundance of it.
As he grew up, one of the youngest of ten children, Jack continued to have ‘difficulties’, which were never properly described. He assumed health issues; knowing him as we did, the family suspected behavioural issues. He was continually being sent home from school, but never remembers being ill for any of these exclusions. When we asked about it, Jack reported how his mother would tell him how the doctor had told her “I’m afraid this little one is not long for this world” and tell us, again, about his premature birth and how his mother had 'saved' him. At other times Jack would casually mention his 'leg shooting out' and how he 'kept falling over'. He gave the impression of an exceptionally clumsy child who struggled to hold a pen or play sports. We felt this situation was furthered worsened as Jack was left-handed, so teachers would tie his left hand behind his back and forbid him from writing with anything other than his right hand. To the day he died, Jack was unable to write legibly.
Jack’s mother was often absent from the family as she was an enthusiastic Baptist preacher. So, he was left in the care of a sibling, barely 5 years older than himself. His father, it appears, was rather Victorian in his approach to children, having little or nothing to do with their upbringing.
On the few occasions where he was in school, Jack boasted that he was so bright “They allowed me to sit on the front row, right next to the teacher’s desk”. He said he often knew the answers to questions and would be so keen to shout them out, but his teacher would say “No Jack, let the other children have a chance to shine”. Knowing what I know now, I strongly suspect Jack, who remained barely literate all his life, was a somewhat over-enthusiastic ‘sharer’ in class. Also, he could never sit still, but twitched and fidgeted constantly (behaviour he continued throughout his life. ADHD perhaps?).
Another difficult trait he had, even as a small child, was that he would correct people if he thought they were wrong (Jack rarely worried that he, himself, was mistaken). And by 'people', I include teachers, parents, seniors... rank or superiority was irrelevant as far as Jack was concerned, if he was right and they were wrong! So, unable to cope with Jack's behaviour (or possible health problems?), Jack was sent home, blaming frailty; an excuse the family were only too keen to swallow.
From his teens, my grandfather was set to work with his father's small business. He did this for a number of years, never exactly thriving, before joining up with the fire brigade just before war broke out. My mother says she cannot imagine a worse job for Jack than being a firefighter, since he had literally no skills in teamwork. People often took against him and found him difficult. Jack was pedantic, very judgemental, obsessive, anxious and always right – the trait that got him into the most trouble. But perhaps a lifetime of being told he was ‘fragile’ attracted him towards a job that required just the opposite?
My grandfather was saved from consciption during the war because of his reserved profession, but arguably, being a fire fighter in the London docks during the Blitz was even more dangerous. When the air raid siren went off, civilians ran for the shelters and he and his team would head outside. He used to reflect, sadly, that despite his bravery, the only medal he ever received was from the RSPCA, for rescuing a stray dog from a chalk pit.
After the war, Jack's career in the fire brigade did not go much better, due to his difficulties in working in a team and getting on with the other fire officers, although he was kept on as an instructor. He was good at memorising facts related to firefighting and fire-safety, and in the days before the Internet, I’d imagine his encyclopaedic memory could have been quite an asset. Unfortunately, as he could barely read and write, he never could pass the seniority exams.
Jack's career in the fire service came to a rather unpleasant end. One day, sometime after the war, he was heading-up an exercise on the river with bikini inflatable craft. There was a collision between boats, and one boat hit bridge. Nobody was hurt but the owners of the boats sued fire brigade. They claimed negligence and there was a big court case.
Even though it wasn't Jack's fault, he took it hard, suffering a kind of mental breakdown. The family rarely spoke of it, except to say that Jack had 'a difficult time', but he did mention having Insulin-coma therapy, among others, which was an early treatment for severe depression. Sounds pretty dangerous to me! But I suppose they didn't have antidepressants then.
Then a colleague reported Jack's mental health difficulties back to the boss, and as a result, the boss recommended that Jack leave. At the same time, Jack's doctor was expressing concern over his chosen career, saying, 'With your personality you would always find it difficult to cope'. So, Jack left, turning instead to a career as a factory Fire Safety Officer.
Jack's biggest issue, in the Fire Service and afterwards at the factory, was how he antagonised his work mates. One man particularly hated him. Jack’s religious judgementalism – especially regards alcohol and swearing – stuck in this guy’s craw. Instead of backing off, Jack decided that the man needed more 'Christian love'; so, when the guy had a heart attack, Jack demonstrated this ‘love’ by visiting him every day in the hospital, no doubt berating him about how his lifestyle had led to this situation. Eventually, the nurses were forced to intervene as Jack's visits, they said, were hampering their patient’s progress.
Despite his social and work difficulties, Jack was heavily involved in his Baptist church, where he was Deacon; and the Gideon Bible Society (the organisation who put Bibles in hotel rooms). Jack enjoyed the meetings and distributing Bibles, relishing the responsibility and the chance to be respected. But most of all, perhaps, he loved the structure and the rigid moral code which gave him a sense of rightness in the universe. He wasn't a zealot, but he did have a rather black-and-white view of the world.
Apart from church activities, Jack also had quite obsessive, and life-long interests in map reading, rocks, walking, photography and mountains. He would read maps the way other people would read novels, imagining himself walking through the terrain and planning walking holidays. On these holidays, he would collect rocks and take photos of mountains - preferably treeless ones as "trees get in the way of the view", as he would say.
Jack always wanted to share his interests with others, so it was that one day when I was 5 years old, he took me on a trip to the Natural History Museum. Eschewing the dinosaur bones and stuffed animals, he took me right to the back of the geology department, where a friend had given him a key to the storerooms. The room was just full of drawers and cardboard boxes with rocks in them. As my grandfather busied himself staring at a variety of rocks and scribbling illegible notes, I busied myself, happily opening drawers and fiddling with latches.
I suspect my grandfather shared my love of fiddling with things and searching draws - after he died, my mother and uncle discovered he'd built in secret cubby holes to hide cash, hidden compartments in furniture and in the kitchen with five pounds here and ten pounds there. We never knew if we'd found all of the secret cash!
As a child I was close to my grandfather, which used to perplex my family, especially my mother, who had experienced his Victorian parenting style, without much fun or laughter. As a grandfather he was much more relaxed and pretty much treated me as an equal - or co-conspirator, if we were doing something my grandmother didn't entirely approve of. It was a slight issue that my grandfather didn't seem to understand that I was a child and maybe a 4-hour hike (at speed!) was a bit too much at 6 years old. So, he pretty much treated me as an adult.
I was later to wonder if we had more in common than just DNA? During my diagnostic interview for autism, which lasted several hours, we talked about my grandfather, and how people had often remarked on the similarity of our behaviour. As a teenager, being compared to an annoying, eccentric old man did not make me happy. We are pretty sure now that my grandfather was autistic.
And in his eighties, my grandfather told us his neurologist had indicated that Jack probably had Tourette's Syndrome. Tourette's can be co-morbid with autism, and along with the tics that Jack experienced, Jack experienced the Tourette's symptoms of hyperactivity and obsessive-compulsive behaviour.
My grandfather was just one example of the 'eccentricity' said to run in my family. An eccentricity which included an ancestor, who, having fallen out with every other church in the town, due to his controversial views, ended up starting his own religion. It foundered, sadly, like all of his other endeavours.
I am pretty convinced that even though 'Autism without Intellectual Impairments' (aka 'Aspergers Syndrome') only became an official diagnosis in UK in 1993, thanks to the work of the late Prof. Lorna Wing, it's been in my family since at least 1919 (when Jack was born) and probably way before that. Autism isn't a new phenomenon, and like an iceberg, there is far more of it than is officially recognised with diagnoses etc. Jack and I are just too individuals in a family tree peppered with neurodiversity.