My mother beeby just called to let me know her father, my grandfather, died this afternoon. He was a brilliant man who was recognised not only for his amazing contributions to electrical engineering; the most prominent of which was helping to develop the PAL colour system we use in the UK for television, but also for helping to raise his children and enjoy his grandchildren with his wife until she died some 10 years ago. I remember playing chess with him when I was young (and eventually winning too!), breaking his anniversary clock and anything else I could get my hands on, mowing his lawn and generally being a kid. I remember his pipe and the smell of his pipe tobacco, his mannerisms and mock surprise at our jokes, not getting our jokes at all and being told off by my mother for not humouring us. I remember his house, with the creaky floorboards and stairs.
He died, they think, from a heart attack as he was driving and turning a corner in his car. The car crashed into a 3 foot high wall; no one else was involved and they think it was quick. There will be a post mortem and probably a burial next to his wife.
That's the last of my grandparents now. He was the oldest at 92, and funnily enough the only smoker. My mother asked me if I wanted his wedding ring.