HEBBORN FAMILY HISTORY AND NEWS – March 2005
Grandfather’s dash – Joan Williams

I always enjoy John's monthly articles here and know how he welcomes our contributions.

John sometimes writes an ‘In This Month’ piece, so I decided to contribute along those lines by writing one or two paragraphs on my beloved grandfather - Frederick George Hebborn - who was born this month in1890 at Lavender Cottage, Hockmore Street, Cowley. He died 5th August 1963 at Forge House, Littlemore, Oxford.

Before I sat down to write I went through grandfather’s folder to check on dates & events and got side-tracked (as usual) by reading through all the pages I had written on him in the past. His whole life-story is there…. and where on earth would I begin this little piece? What should I include and what should I leave out?

We all know so much about our grandfathers’ – from personal memory and from conversations held with our parents, aunts and uncles - but unless they achieved something great during their lives or hit the headlines in a big way their life-story is only interesting to us their grandchildren

If I began at the beginning by saying how he disliked school, how at the age of 14 his father took him to work at Pether's Farm in Garsington, and how he became family breadwinner after the sudden death of his father in 1908……I suspect it would bore the pants off the readers here.

It was when I got near the end of grandfather’s file and read his obituaries in the World's Fair & Oxford Mail newspapers that a thought struck me. I noticed the dash – that little line between the year of his birth and the year of his death. "Frederick George Hebborn 1890 – 1963". Both newspapers mentioned that he was a "showman" from about 1937, but nothing was said about all those other years he spent on this earth because their readers would not be interested.

When I was a first-year pupil at Milham, Oxford, learning French, and showing-off with the odd word or two, grandfather would reply by spouting whole sentences in French. In later years I discovered he (a private in the Royal Field Artillery) was present on the first day of the Battle of the Somme in July 1916. What a terrifying experience that must have been when you read that sixty thousand British soldiers were either killed or wounded on that first day! Grandfather’s unit remained there for over four months while the battle raged on, hence (I guess) his grasp of the French language. He was present at other major battles according to his medals.

None of which is mentioned in his World’s Fair obituary of course.

I got to thinking that we will all have that little dash on our headstones one day. It will mean nothing to the passer-by but everything to our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. They will each have their own memories of us and it won’t matter to them how successful we were in life or how much we owned. What will matter is how we lived and how we loved them during those remembered years.

I was there for 21 years of grandfather’s dash and remember each of those years with gratitude and love –not for anything else, but for what he meant to me. As a child, during WW2, when it was my dad’s turn to do his bit with the RAF in India, he was "daddy Fred" to my brother and me. He was the one who cleaned our shoes each night and lit the fire at 5 o’clock each morning so’s we would come down to a warm living room. He didn’t laugh a lot or play games with us as I recall, but he watched over every step we took, and a simple walk up the garden was a lesson on the dangers in life.

He knew everything there was to know about horses….. and was fond of all animals. He kept chickens, and had a dog named “Puncher” – a faithful old Labrador cross/mongrel who was one of the family. Grandfather had a wonderful way with this dog…..who was fed the best steak, and understood his every word. When we were old enough to play outside Puncher would lie across the pavement and woe-betide anyone who needed to pass – they would have to cross the road. Grandfather taught his dog to protect us in the same way he protected us.

The last thing I looked at in grandfather’s folder was a picture he drew for my (then) baby daughter shortly before he died. It shows a little Robin picking-up seed.

And this is how I remember him….a moany old so-and-so at times, but a wonderful mentor and a good-old-fashioned family man.

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Editor’s postscript – It was in 1956 that Audrey and I chanced upon the Hebborn Family Fun Fair in Cowley. Although Joan’s grandparents had not seen their niece Audrey since she was a baby, we received the warmest of welcomes from them. We cherish the memories of that meeting. - John.