Even Stalin inspired the love of his grandson
Sarah Brown adores grandparents, almost as much as she adores her-husband-her-hero. In a new collection of essays, she and other celebrities gush about what they now do for their families. "They spoil you rotten, feed you treats – and always have time for one last story," trills the PM's wife.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili thoroughly agrees. Now aged 73, he still "adores" his kind old grandpa: indeed, he "bows down before his memory". So when a Russian newspaper suggested that his kind old grandpa – Joseph Stalin, to you and me – personally signed execution orders for thousands, Dzugashvili brought a libel case to defend his good name. That's his grandfather they're talking about! How dare they call into question his "honour and dignity"?
My own grandmother was a tougher nut than Stalin. There isn't so much evidence against her in the mass-murder department, but then opportunities were few in Bournemouth, and she never quite established the requisite political base. Domestically, however, she enjoyed a rule of terror.
She was born 20 years after Stalin, but generally had no interest in foreigners. We tried to engage her over her perceptions of the Russian Revolution once, but there was no point: "We didn't have time for all that." Yet she, too, was history's victim. She had endured two world wars and, though bright, had little education. Her life was physically harsh, and by the time we came along she was old, deaf and tired. Also, if we go by his grandson's estimation of him, she didn't quite share Stalin's bright and breezy personality: she was bitterness in a bath chair, tutting our every achievement, resentful of our boundless opportunities. The only time she smiled was when Harry Worth came on the telly.
She was not the only one, by any means. But then old age was different in the 20th century. Grandparents now are fitter, richer, healthier, more comfortable than they have ever been. Work is less exhausting; retirement – supposedly – longer. In a lot of families, the grandparents keep everything going, and their relationships with their grandchildren are more positive than they once were. There is a new sentimentality between the generations. When I look at my children with my mother, I feel a stab of envy, a pang of resentment worthy of my own grumpy granny: it's not fair. We never got that.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili, on the other hand, is a good grandson. He can forgive and forget. Forgive Stalin's attitude to his son Yakov's failed suicide attempt: "Missed! Ha! He can't even shoot straight." Forget the torture, imprisonment and murder of numerous other family members. But then he's got an incentive: forgive, forget, then sue for 10 million roubles in damages.
Sadly, there are no roubles in it for the rest of us. I, and those others of my generation who were short-changed by their difficult grandparents, have no option but to continue to bear a grudge.
Why do fighters need cages?
New research suggests that, since the invention of the Pill, women no longer have that hunger for a manly man that apparently once consumed them. But that can’t be right: these cage fighters seem pretty manly men to me, and they’re everywhere. Jordan's even got her very own.
For a while, I confess, I’ve been struggling with the concept of the cage fighter. One minute, fighters fight in the accepted way. The next, there they are, caged, with no apparent explanation. Now we have the added complication of the cage fighters in drag, unsuccessfully mugged on a stag night.
Tsk. Modern life. You think you’re keeping up with it all, then along comes something that leaves you spluttering, uncomprehending, like a P G Wodehouse aunt. Cage fighters: bad enough. Cage fighters in women’s clothing: that’s it – I give up. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
October 9, 2009
UK: My gran was up there with Stalin
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LONDON, England / The Telegraph / Columnists / October 9, 2009
In a lot of families, the grandparents keep everything going, and their relationships with their grandchildren are more positive than they once were. How things have changed, says Gill Hornby.
Even Stalin inspired the love of his grandson
Sarah Brown adores grandparents, almost as much as she adores her-husband-her-hero. In a new collection of essays, she and other celebrities gush about what they now do for their families. "They spoil you rotten, feed you treats – and always have time for one last story," trills the PM's wife.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili thoroughly agrees. Now aged 73, he still "adores" his kind old grandpa: indeed, he "bows down before his memory". So when a Russian newspaper suggested that his kind old grandpa – Joseph Stalin, to you and me – personally signed execution orders for thousands, Dzugashvili brought a libel case to defend his good name. That's his grandfather they're talking about! How dare they call into question his "honour and dignity"?
My own grandmother was a tougher nut than Stalin. There isn't so much evidence against her in the mass-murder department, but then opportunities were few in Bournemouth, and she never quite established the requisite political base. Domestically, however, she enjoyed a rule of terror.
She was born 20 years after Stalin, but generally had no interest in foreigners. We tried to engage her over her perceptions of the Russian Revolution once, but there was no point: "We didn't have time for all that." Yet she, too, was history's victim. She had endured two world wars and, though bright, had little education. Her life was physically harsh, and by the time we came along she was old, deaf and tired. Also, if we go by his grandson's estimation of him, she didn't quite share Stalin's bright and breezy personality: she was bitterness in a bath chair, tutting our every achievement, resentful of our boundless opportunities. The only time she smiled was when Harry Worth came on the telly.
She was not the only one, by any means. But then old age was different in the 20th century. Grandparents now are fitter, richer, healthier, more comfortable than they have ever been. Work is less exhausting; retirement – supposedly – longer. In a lot of families, the grandparents keep everything going, and their relationships with their grandchildren are more positive than they once were. There is a new sentimentality between the generations. When I look at my children with my mother, I feel a stab of envy, a pang of resentment worthy of my own grumpy granny: it's not fair. We never got that.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili, on the other hand, is a good grandson. He can forgive and forget. Forgive Stalin's attitude to his son Yakov's failed suicide attempt: "Missed! Ha! He can't even shoot straight." Forget the torture, imprisonment and murder of numerous other family members. But then he's got an incentive: forgive, forget, then sue for 10 million roubles in damages.
Sadly, there are no roubles in it for the rest of us. I, and those others of my generation who were short-changed by their difficult grandparents, have no option but to continue to bear a grudge.
Why do fighters need cages?
New research suggests that, since the invention of the Pill, women no longer have that hunger for a manly man that apparently once consumed them. But that can’t be right: these cage fighters seem pretty manly men to me, and they’re everywhere. Jordan's even got her very own.
For a while, I confess, I’ve been struggling with the concept of the cage fighter. One minute, fighters fight in the accepted way. The next, there they are, caged, with no apparent explanation. Now we have the added complication of the cage fighters in drag, unsuccessfully mugged on a stag night.
Tsk. Modern life. You think you’re keeping up with it all, then along comes something that leaves you spluttering, uncomprehending, like a P G Wodehouse aunt. Cage fighters: bad enough. Cage fighters in women’s clothing: that’s it – I give up. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
Even Stalin inspired the love of his grandson
Sarah Brown adores grandparents, almost as much as she adores her-husband-her-hero. In a new collection of essays, she and other celebrities gush about what they now do for their families. "They spoil you rotten, feed you treats – and always have time for one last story," trills the PM's wife.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili thoroughly agrees. Now aged 73, he still "adores" his kind old grandpa: indeed, he "bows down before his memory". So when a Russian newspaper suggested that his kind old grandpa – Joseph Stalin, to you and me – personally signed execution orders for thousands, Dzugashvili brought a libel case to defend his good name. That's his grandfather they're talking about! How dare they call into question his "honour and dignity"?
My own grandmother was a tougher nut than Stalin. There isn't so much evidence against her in the mass-murder department, but then opportunities were few in Bournemouth, and she never quite established the requisite political base. Domestically, however, she enjoyed a rule of terror.
She was born 20 years after Stalin, but generally had no interest in foreigners. We tried to engage her over her perceptions of the Russian Revolution once, but there was no point: "We didn't have time for all that." Yet she, too, was history's victim. She had endured two world wars and, though bright, had little education. Her life was physically harsh, and by the time we came along she was old, deaf and tired. Also, if we go by his grandson's estimation of him, she didn't quite share Stalin's bright and breezy personality: she was bitterness in a bath chair, tutting our every achievement, resentful of our boundless opportunities. The only time she smiled was when Harry Worth came on the telly.
She was not the only one, by any means. But then old age was different in the 20th century. Grandparents now are fitter, richer, healthier, more comfortable than they have ever been. Work is less exhausting; retirement – supposedly – longer. In a lot of families, the grandparents keep everything going, and their relationships with their grandchildren are more positive than they once were. There is a new sentimentality between the generations. When I look at my children with my mother, I feel a stab of envy, a pang of resentment worthy of my own grumpy granny: it's not fair. We never got that.
Yevgeny Dzhugashvili, on the other hand, is a good grandson. He can forgive and forget. Forgive Stalin's attitude to his son Yakov's failed suicide attempt: "Missed! Ha! He can't even shoot straight." Forget the torture, imprisonment and murder of numerous other family members. But then he's got an incentive: forgive, forget, then sue for 10 million roubles in damages.
Sadly, there are no roubles in it for the rest of us. I, and those others of my generation who were short-changed by their difficult grandparents, have no option but to continue to bear a grudge.
Why do fighters need cages?
New research suggests that, since the invention of the Pill, women no longer have that hunger for a manly man that apparently once consumed them. But that can’t be right: these cage fighters seem pretty manly men to me, and they’re everywhere. Jordan's even got her very own.
For a while, I confess, I’ve been struggling with the concept of the cage fighter. One minute, fighters fight in the accepted way. The next, there they are, caged, with no apparent explanation. Now we have the added complication of the cage fighters in drag, unsuccessfully mugged on a stag night.
Tsk. Modern life. You think you’re keeping up with it all, then along comes something that leaves you spluttering, uncomprehending, like a P G Wodehouse aunt. Cage fighters: bad enough. Cage fighters in women’s clothing: that’s it – I give up. [rc]
© Copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009
