Ideas · from the Proseify shelf

42 questions to ask your grandfather about his life

Ordered from harmless to difficult, in six sets, for one hour with a phone on the table — and what to do with the recording afterwards.

The problem

“Nothing interesting ever happened to me.”

Every grandfather says it, and it is never true. What he means is that nothing happened that felt remarkable to him — and the questions you are asking (“tell me about your life”) are too large to answer. Specific questions get specific answers.

These 42 questions are ordered to be asked in one sitting, ideally twice. They start harmless and personal, and only reach the difficult things once he is talking. Ask them conversationally, not as a form; you will not get through all of them in an hour, and you should not try.

Before you start

Four things that decide whether this works.

01 · RECORD

Voice memo, phone on the table

Ask permission once, then leave it running. You will not remember the details later, and the sound of his voice is itself worth keeping.

02 · DON’T INTERRUPT

Let the tangent run

The digression about a neighbour’s dog is usually where the real detail lives. Silence for four seconds gets you more than a follow-up question.

03 · CHASE DETAIL

Ask what it smelled like

“What did the street look like?” gets a description. “What did the kitchen smell of on a Sunday?” gets a memory. Senses unlock specifics.

04 · TWO SESSIONS

Leave the hard parts for round two

War, grief, a lost child, a divorce. Ask once, gently; if he closes, move on and come back next time. You are not conducting an interview, you are keeping company.

Set one

Childhood and the house (1–7)

  1. What was the first house you remember? Describe the front door and who lived in it.
  2. What did your mother cook that nobody else could make properly?
  3. Who was your best friend at seven, and what did you do that got you in trouble?
  4. What job did your father do, and did you ever see him at work?
  5. What was the winter like where you grew up — the cold, the heating, the clothes?
  6. Was there a shop you were sent to, and what did things cost?
  7. What did your family do on a Sunday that you have never done since?
Set two

School, work and money (8–14)

  1. What were you good at at school, and what were you hopeless at?
  2. Who was the teacher you still remember, and why?
  3. What was your first job, what did it pay, and what did you spend it on?
  4. What was the hardest job you ever did with your hands?
  5. Did you ever get sacked, or walk out?
  6. What did your first wage packet feel like compared to what your father earned?
  7. What was the best deal you ever made — a car, a house, a bet?
Set three

Love and family (15–21)

  1. Where did you first see her, and what was she wearing?
  2. What did you do for a first date, and how much did it cost?
  3. What did her family think of you?
  4. What was the wedding like — the food, the weather, who was there?
  5. What was the first place you lived in together, and what was wrong with it?
  6. What did you argue about in the first year?
  7. What did she do that you never told her you noticed?
Set four

The hard years (22–28)

  1. What was the worst year of your life, and what made it bearable?
  2. Were you ever properly frightened? What happened?
  3. Did you lose anyone young? What do you wish you had said to them?
  4. Was there a time you had no money at all — how did you eat?
  5. What did you do in the war, or while others went?
  6. Who helped you when nobody had to?
  7. What did you do that you would not do again, and would not undo either?
Set five

The world and what you believe (29–35)

  1. What is the biggest change you have seen in the world?
  2. What did people get wrong about the decade you were young in?
  3. What do you think happens when we die?
  4. What were you right about that everyone doubted?
  5. What were you wrong about for years?
  6. What is the best advice anyone gave you, and did you take it?
  7. What do you still not understand about people?
Set six

For the family that comes after (36–42)

  1. What do you want your grandchildren to know about where they come from?
  2. Which of your parents do you see in yourself now?
  3. What should we keep, and what should we throw away when you are gone?
  4. What is a family story everyone tells that is not quite true?
  5. What have you never told anyone because nobody asked?
  6. What are you proudest of that nobody would guess?
  7. If you could sit down with the whole family in fifty years, what would you say to them?
Afterwards

What to do with an hour of recording.

Transcribe the parts you will use, not all of it — the same rule as with letters. Pull out the five stories that made you lean forward, and the twenty facts that fix dates and places. That material is enough for a real book about him: a book for a father built from his own answers, written in minutes rather than months, read and approved by you before he ever sees it.

If he would rather read than be recorded, read two chapters of a published one together first. It gives him something concrete to react to, and you will learn within ten minutes whether the writing is good enough for the person it is about.

Questions

What people ask about this.

What if he refuses to be recorded?

Don't push. Take notes on paper and let him see you writing things down — many people who refuse a recorder will happily correct a note they can see. You can also ask the same questions across several short visits and write them up afterwards.

How long should the interview be?

Forty-five minutes to an hour is plenty for a first session. Long enough to reach a real memory, short enough that he is not exhausted. Two or three sessions over a few weeks beats one marathon.

What if he says he doesn't remember?

Ask a narrower question. 'Tell me about the war' gets a shrug; 'what did you eat on the ship' gets a paragraph. Memory returns through detail, and starting with a sense — a smell, a song, a street — usually unlocks the rest.

Should I ask about the difficult things?

Once, gently, and accept a closed door. Where he does talk, keep it. Those passages are usually the reason a family book matters — but the person in front of you matters more than the material.