The Importance of Being Ernest's Great-Grandson

I travelled up by train to a family barbecue in North London today, hosted by my cousin John Garrad.

Part of the reason for getting together was for older members of what has become quite a far-flung family to share old photographs, memories, keepsakes and the like, and for younger members of the family to get to know each other better.

It was fascinating to read the obituary (pictured) of my great-grandfather, Ernest Garrad, from the TOT (Train Omnibus Tram, a friendly society, a forerunner of the London Transport Benevolent Fund) magazine of December 1929. Ernest started life in the East End as a road-sweeper, the son of a policeman. He served with the 20th Hussars in India, South Africa and the Great War. He served with Kitchener's and then Roberts' Horse, and in the Great War was a motor mechanic.

He was latterly a ticket collector at St James's Park tube station, by coincidence the station I used frequently when I was working for the Labour Party at Old Queen Street. I've always felt really at ease at St James's Park, and now I know why.

I'm supposed to have been given my middle name after this man. However, for mysterious reasons, it appears that he used the name Ernest and the name Edward, and my grandmother was under the impression that his name was Edward. So my middle name is Edward when it should really be Ernest!

As Wilde said "It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations ... The only really safe name is Ernest."

So maybe I'll have to change it, or add it in.