A promise fulfilled. In time.

When I was a child, my Granddad showed my a small coin. This, he said, will be yours when I am gone.

It was a gold half sovereign. Worth £1 and one shilling, but worth more than that for the 22 carat gold it was minted from.

I have little interest in such trinkets, but as far as I'm concerned, a promise made is written in stone.

In 1996 Granddad died, but Nana kept living in the house.

6 years later, she died too, but Mum got a house clearance company to strip the house.

Everything went, so I was told. Even the coin.

I harboured bittertrness towards my Mother for the 15 years since then, selling off the family silver, or gold, to fund her shopping addiction.

Mum passed away, and it was my turn to clear the house. I have been looking for the flood scrapbook for years, so I thought I knew just about everything was in the house. But at the bottom of the wardrobe was Granddad's coin collection, or part of it.

No sign of his medal collection though.

The next day, the same team of house clearance called to Mum's house, I told them about the half sovereign and that it was gone forever, but I did find this box.

I held it up.

The guy reached in and took out a coin bag and said, what like this one?

Yes indeed. There it was.

Maybe Mum left it for me to find when she had gone, or just forgot about it, I don't know.

But, Granddad, I have it now. Promise fulfilled.