Mr David O'Neill

https://davidpeteroneill.wordpress.com

The Queen’s Poacher is my first book. It is a collaboration with my late grandfather; he died in 1979.

When I was a child my grandmother, Ruth, came to live with us. She had retired from the Army and decided to come to Guernsey to join her daughter’s family. My grandmother, or ‘Nan’ as Emma and me would call her, would be at home when we came back from school. Both my parents worked full time and Nan would make us tea and sort us out when we came through the door. Initially, she had a separate flat next to ours, over the garage where my dad worked as a paint sprayer. We then moved into a townhouse in St. Peter Port and she took the ground floor rooms. Nan lived with us for about 10 years, until she died suddenly in 1996. Throughout her time with us, Dan (her ex-husband and my grandfather) was never mentioned. She never spoke about him and we never asked. My sister and me grew up knowing very little about him.

After Dan’s death my mum had stayed in contact with Dan’s second wife, Eiluned. We went to see her in Combe in 1991, in the house where she had once lived with Dan. I remember the odd feeling we had going there. It felt like a bit of betrayal of Nan, even though she knew all about it and had no problem with it. I remember thinking why we should even bother going. Eiluned wasn’t family and Dan had been dead for a long time, what were we trying to achieve going there, what was the point? I guessed it was my mum trying to maintain a link to the past, a human link to her dad. I felt detached and uninterested. All I knew about him was that he had walked out on my Nan when my mum was very young and he left them without a penny of support. I loved my Nan and his behaviour upset me. I had no fondness for him, no interest in his life and no desire to meet his second wife, however pleasant and friendly she was.

On that visit in 1991, Eiluned gave us some of his books of poetry. I was intrigued that he had been a writer, that he had done something creative and artistic, but the poems did nothing for me, in fact I found some of them outright annoying. We went back home to Guernsey after that trip to the UK in the summer of 1991 and, once again, Dan was not discussed or mentioned at all. Not even when my Nan sadly died in 1996 did any of us have much interest in knowing more about him. The past was gone, he had been a shit, and that was that. What was there to discuss?

We saw Eiluned a few more times before her death in 2013. Each time there was a great amount that went unsaid, I didn’t really understand why. In my naivety I thought she was uneasy, embarrassed even, being in the company of her husband’s grandchildren from his first marriage. When I think back to those moments now, sat in Eiluned’s wonderful Oxfordshire country cottage in Combe or in its wild and overgrown garden, I think Eiluned probably didn’t know where to start the conversation. There was so much she could say but so little that she felt able to share with us.

When Eiluned died in April 2013 I went up to Combe for the funeral. I arrived late and missed the service but was invited back to the house afterwards by John, the executor of her estate. Eiluned had very kindly left my sister and me a few thousand pounds each but what really took my interest was the box of Dan’s things they handed to me. Inside were more copies of the poetry books I already had, and a variety of personal memorabilia including photos and letters. I took the box home and, whilst it sat untouched on the floor of my study for two years, an idea began to form.

I remained undecided about whether to embark on a project to write a book about Dan until I received an email from John, over two and half years after Eiluned’s death. He explained that Eiluned’s family and been sorting through the cottage in Combe and had another box of Dan’s stuff for me if I wanted it. John said it contained a novel, lots of letters, and more photos and poems. I asked if he could courier it to me. As I worked through the contents of the box I knew I had an obligation to complete the book.

I don’t feel any greater fondness for him now than I did before writing this story of his life. I understand more and I have explanations for his behaviour, but not excuses. We are all perpetrators, we are all victims, and we can all draw our own conclusion about what balance of each sits inside us all, including Dan McNabb.

My mother knew relatively little about her father, The Queen’s Poacher is a gift to her.