Memories of my grandfather

My grandfather was a unique and, for me, a very special man and in telling this I have also to relate other aspects of my father's side of the family; which is rather complex. It has turned out that we are not Hunt's after all but Dalby or Dolby; this is due to my great, grandfather whose name was Hutchinson Dalby Hunt. Hutchinson adopted the name Hunt after a series of events that involves the loss of a huge fortune, the running away with a scullery maid, followed by speculation on the stock market, success and then extreme poverty, where the three boys became very intensely politically active: One of the three brothers was a member of Moseley's far right nationalist movement, the middle brother was a spiv and confidence trickster, while my grandfather's social conscience led him to be a card carrying communist. a card that he later tore up, though still until near the end of his life, he was a man who believed in the concept of socialism as a force for good, in a world of capitalist atrocities; what he would think of the nation state of Britain now is, for me a question that always resonates.
Before the war, he had a lot of interest in radio, and was employed by Leo Watts, then during the war, He was a worker on the radar and Sonar project, as well as serving on HMS Nelson, before being placed in a teaching position at Portsmouth naval college, where he ended his wartime service, in the technological development of a torpedo that would be radio controlled to its target.
From here, and after he was demobbed, he went back to Leo watts to sell and then maintain televisions and radio's, He also had a connection to the British Broadcasting company, that became the corporation.
Personally I remember a man who loved me deeply, who was an impassioned debater of principles and ethics who had a very rare view on life. He was round faced pipe smoker, and a man who enjoyed beer, especially white shield worthingtons and scotch.
He became an atheist after he lost his first daughter, and considered anyone with a religious idea as being idiotic which was why he rejected me for my juvenile conviction, leading to a time of real pain after my Nan died of cancer.
I did spend a lot of time with him after this event, just the two of us; where I helped him with his work.
In remembering his workstation, I recall a lovely dusty workshop full of diodes resistors transistors, green screens and electronic equipment: in fact a lot like Dr Who's t.a.r.d.i.s.
I still love him. I miss the days where we just were together, discussing the issues relating to Margret Thatcher. Or playing in his van the child that was I playing star-ships by the light of a huge orange moon.
He died in terrible circumstances that seemed to last an age: He lost the use of his pancreas, that led to a Stoma bag being fitted and then he had a stroke, that left him unable to fully communicate. Instead the medication made his breathing sound hollow, as if there was nothing inside him, After which senile dementia began to occur and finally lung cancer took hold. It was an ignominious end to a fine mind.