Deda

I recently had to record an interview with Roy Hudd. He's a comedian, who has been around for about 50 years, and is a tubby, white haired jovial old man, who would not look out of place in Dickensian London.

And the moment he started talking he sounded incredibly familiar. It took a few minutes, but I suddenly realised who he reminded me of.

My Deda.

Now the weird thing is that my Deda (grandad) is called such because he is a great big Serb. And speaks as such. Roy Hudd is a born and bred cockney, from Croydon, so the uncanny similarities in their ways of speech really took me by surprise.








My Deda has had the most extraordinary life. He grew up in Belgrade. English was his fourth language (he can speak approximately 8, but also has an imperssive aptitude to pick up others) as he grew up speaking French, Serbo-Croat and German (after Belgrade was invaded by the Nazis).

During the second World War his father was imprisoned and tortured to death by the Nazis, his step-father was hounded by them, and Deda was signed up to Tito's guerilla army, and because of his privileged social position, assigned a place on the front line (which basically equated to imminent death).

He met my Grandmother (who we always called Maka - weirdly neither Maka, nor Deda acutally translates as Grandma and Grandad, but as aunty and old man) when she came out to Belgrade to work, escaping from her incredibly British and sheltered childhood growing up in a small town in Wiltshire. And when it became too dangerous he escaped Belgrade, coming with her to England on a 6month visa and a death threat if he failed to return. He didn't return until the man responsible for the visa had died.

In Belgrade he had been a member of the higher classes, trained as a lawyer, and was well respected. In England he was merely a foreigner. He got a job sweeping the floor in a meat factory. (Incidentally 10 years later he was MD of the company that took over this very same factory)

And yet despite having lived here for half a century, and more than half his life, he is still in so many ways a real Serb. My Deda still cannot pronounce "th" and instead replaces it with "t" (he lives in Bath, but still calls it "Baat"), has selective hearing and will often, if bored, or tired, or because he has not been listening decide that he can't understand English, and much to the irritation of everyone, will only answer in Serbo-Croat. He has an obsession with meat, and a meal is not complete without a healthy portion of lamb, beef, pork (when we lived with my grandparents I had a vegetarian friend round for dinner - on explaining the concept to my Deda he first displayed shock, then disbelief, and then announced that he would make chicken).

A few years ago Deda took Lucy and I to Belgrade to meet family and friends. After surviving the stress of travelling with an 80 year old Serb we were met from the airport by one of many cousins (Milos). He had borrowed a car to pick us up. He took us to his two bedroom apartment where he lived with his wife and 3 children, and despite the limited space, they were willing for the whole family to sleep in the living room so that Lucy, Deda and I could have beds (we were acutally staying, much to their disappointment, with another relative in her summer house).

And slowly it dawned on me. My Deda, who in England is foreigner, has almost a celebrity status in Belgrade. Everywhere we went people would come over to greet us, restuarants would give us free food, drink, aperitifs, friends would throw parties even if we just came for lunch. In Belgrade, my Deda is revered.




And I suddenly realised that I only ever see him as my Deda, who speaks with an almost comical accent, whose ability to drink neat spirits is unrivalled, even at the age of 80, whose strange dietary habits (a favourite dessert is spaghetti with sugar) are grudgingly acknowledged, but that past all of these eccentricities he is actually an incredible figure. He has achieved so much. And being in Belgrade, with people that genuinely respected and admired my Deda I have statred to see him with new eyes.