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was talking to my friend not so long ago about it, and I realise the amount of respect that I showed Granddad was overwhelming: I would have licked the mud off his boots. And yet, for all the respect I showed him, I didn’t show enough to others around me. Basically, all the respect went to this one man. In my eyes, he was the only one worth it. And I felt that he respected me just as much as I did him.

      My idea of dying is illustrated by the way you see some elderly people who are content to be able to say that their family has grown up safe and well. I will be the silly old woman contentedly baking cakes, in maybe about 70 years’ time.

      Shattered as my world was, somehow I had to piece it all together again and get on with life. I found it really hard to deal with losing Granddad because he was the only one I wanted to be close to. Through his love and understanding of me at that time, he gave me something that nobody else was able to. I felt special around him. I felt that I was not just being loved; I felt a love between us that was paramount, one that lasted because I was his favourite one.

      After Granddad died, I felt that I wasn’t anyone’s special one, and nobody came to my rescue. I used to think he would always be there for me and I would always be there for him. When it came to the finality of accepting he was dead, I still hadn’t come to terms with the loss. And I think that contributed to my going off the rails. There was no one to give that same amount of respect to. I had no reason to be on my best behaviour any more.

      In relation to what I went through at such a young age, the message I would send out to children of a similar age would be to try to take a leaf out of their loved one’s book, like I did with my granddad. If I tried to be a person who was just as good as him and treated people with respect and they didn’t give it to me in return, then fine. But at least I was showing it to them. I was trying to do the best that I could for other people, just as Granddad did. I try to treat them with respect, as he did towards me. Don’t judge a book by its cover.

      Thinking about how that wisdom could be applied today, when values have changed so much in such a short space of time, I realise relationships seem not to be valued as they once were. But the grandparent–grandchild relationship can be invaluable if one party can inspire respect in the other and vice versa. This relationship of mutual respect could play an important role for today’s teenagers, faced by the pressures of modern life, especially the lure of drugs and violence.

      My experience is that grandparents have an important role to play in the development of the core values that were once held by the majority of people, not the minority, as appears to be the case now. I remember one time I was sitting at my aunt’s house and I kept kicking the settee and my mum told me off, saying, ‘Don’t do that, please.’ Granddad came in and I was thinking, How far can I push it? He came over and put his hand firmly on my knee and said persuasively, ‘Don’t do that, please.’ I thought, Oh, I’ve been told off by Granddad. I was able to learn right from wrong, and the respect I had for him played an important role in that learning process. Respect helps people learn right from wrong, whereas the imposition of a domineering person’s will to force another to learn something is, I believe, how rebels against society are made.

      The central point is that, out of love and respect for someone else, people can turn their own life around and even challenge society’s bad guys. But I know that, as much as I had respect from my grandfather when he lived, in some sense it died with him. So I had to become strong within myself. My idea of becoming strong may have been slightly distorted because of the predominantly male influence in my life. I couldn’t very well exchange my feminine skills for harder, masculine ones.

      I do know that, when Granddad passed away, I felt deserted, as if he had been a traitor to me, had let me down and done me wrong by dying. I just thought that my world had come to an end. I was obviously angry that he had left me, and I thought, Well, you were supposed to be here for ever, to look after me and make sure that nothing bad happens to me again.

      Whether or not it was because I was younger when Grandma died – I was just six then – I don’t know, but Granddad’s death had far more impact on me. I know that Catholics like to see the body before it is interred, and, although my faith is Church of England, I recall seeing Granddad lying in the Chapel of Rest before going to his funeral to pay my last respects. I had to come to terms with my anger at him for leaving me. When I set eyes on him laid to rest, my world fell apart again, but he had drilled into me that, when you die, you go up to heaven, and he used to always say that about Grandma.

      Sometimes he used to talk about Grandma and he would announce, ‘Oh, it’s raining again,’ and I would say, ‘Yeah, I know,’ and he would muse, ‘Well, that’s your grandma up in heaven, washing the floors and all the water is dripping down.’ At other times he’d say, ‘It’s sunny today. Everyone is having a good time up there, they’re having a party. When the sun shines, everyone is happy.’

      I always remember he used to tell me, ‘Oh, Grandma’s not very happy today because the clouds have come out. She’s not very happy, don’t want to know us today.’ I suppose it was a collection of nice memories. He didn’t just say, when you die you’re dead. He treated death with respect and humility.

      So when I went to see him in the Chapel of Rest I was able to relate to what he had said about death. It was sunny the day we went to see him, so I thought, He must be up there and he must be happy, the sun is out, he must be having a party. A lot of my anger dissipated when I went to see him. I’m pleased I did.

      With regard to going to see a loved one before he or she is buried or cremated, I think that is down to everyone’s individual needs, but for me it was right, as young as I was. I was asked whether I would like to go or not, and I made the decision myself. Straight away I said yes. And I was proud that I saw Granddad in his best suit.

      I remember he was obsessed with frogs. As you walked through the door of his porch, a frog noise greeted you, which always made me giggle. Every time I walked in I would say, ‘That silly frog, he’s everywhere.’ Granddad even used to have black socks with frogs on, and things like that, right to the end. So he took his humour, this fun side of him, to the grave. Thanks for everything, Granddad.

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       JORDAN’S ATTITUDE TO LIFE AND CATHERINE ZETA-JONES’S WAY OF LIVING

      WHEN I’D COME TO TERMS WITH THE LOSS OF MY GRANDDAD, MY SCHOOL LIFE WAS CERTAINLY OK. And I was starting to excel in sports: I was good at rounders and cross-country running… well, it wasn’t like cross-country when I was in primary school, it was more like a fun run around the field. As I got older I grew to love netball, which was my main sport.

      What really inspired me to play my best was the other girls’ cattiness and negativity. They used to say I was no good at netball, but if I got angry or if someone said, ‘You can’t do this, you can’t play,’ then I would be able to play and that was enough to shut my critics up. I’ll show you, I used to think. I’m just under five feet nine, and when I was younger I used my height to full advantage. The teacher, Mrs Gooseman, used to say that I was a great netball player and I used to feel proud afterwards, thinking, Yes, I can play, never mind everybody saying I can’t.

      I’d started playing netball when I was about nine and I carried on until I was about fourteen. Around that time I stopped this and my other sports, too, though I still quite enjoy jogging and the odd hour in the gym. At that age I did all the usual girlie things with my friends. In particular I admired Geri Halliwell, though nobody else in my circle of friends really had Geri down as their favourite Spice Girl. They were all, ‘Well, I like Posh Spice’ and ‘I like her, but we don’t like that one,’ meaning Geri.

      To this sort of comment, I used to say, ‘Well, I really like her, she is individual, she is her own sort of person. If she wants to dress in a Union Jack dress, then fine. She’s cool; she’s one of the Spice Girls.’ And I would always confidently predict, ‘When that band split up she will be the only one standing,

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