It's funny how something can set off thoughts and memories of loved ones. A couple of days ago, I was looking for a watch I had mislaid and came across a small jewellery box containing my granfather's 'pips'. For those of you not from a military background, pips are insignia that are worn on lapels and shoulders. (He was, during WW2, a Major in the Indian Army who served in Manchuria and was twice mentioned in despatches). My beloved grandfather was Reginald Charles Quentin Von Donop Hardinge, otherwise known as Rex. He was a wonderful person...very, very witty and a wonderful teller of stories. Although reasonably tall, he was always very slender and it always amazed me that he ever survived his childhood in India. He was born in Poonah. His father, Colonel Henry Hardinge, spent much of his working life posted in India. Rex was also the author of a large number of books, some of the best known were Sexton Blake detective stories. He was a great walker and enjoyed smoking a pipe. Although he was wonderful company, he needed peace and quiet for his writing and spent much of his writing time living on Dartmoor in Devon with his cocker spaniel dogs Jasper and Sandy. I absolutely worshipped him and still miss him. He passed away in 1990 at 89 years of age in Dawlish, Devon. I have always felt that he is my Guardian Angel.