I hope my grandad forgives me, but he was the first person who came to mind when I saw Tony Blair had crept out of his crypt to pontificate about the future of the Labour Party.

My grandfather would have detested Blair - thus my need for forgiveness. My grandad was a working-class Labour voter from London’s east end, a socialist, and a naval veteran of two world wars who hated war. 

The last Prime Minister he backed before he died was Harold Wilson, who kept Britain out of Vietnam.

Pity Blair if he’d ever tried soliciting my grandfather’s vote. During the Great Depression, the only way my grandad could feed his family was fighting as a bareknuckle boxer. 

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But while he seemed fearsome, he was the gentlest guy imaginable. Nevertheless, he would have chased Blair up the street if he’d come to his door at election time.

The reason I thought of my grandad when Blair released his plan to save Labour was down to a spooky story he told.

My grandad had survived the sinking of two ships in the First World War, and took part in the evacuation from Dunkirk. He’d seen much death out on the horrible expanse of the sea.

The story he told went like this: there’s a bunch of sailors in the water after their ship has been torpedoed. A row boat appears out of the mist and the figure inside offers his hand to the survivors to climb onboard. 

As........

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