My mother's parents, who I called Nanna and Nandad, lived in a haunted house overlooking Peckham Rye.

Nandad, a builder by trade, did well enough to end up with his own company.  He had a false eye which he used to pop out in pretend wide-eyed amazement if anyone ever said something that surprised him.  I can just remember him, playing patience alone in the study where - many years later - I saw the shadow of a ghost.