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Vice Blog

LONDON - MY GRANDDAD'S KNIFE COLLECTION


Not too long ago I was at my grandparents' house, and while watching the usual Deal or No Deal/Countdown head burp, my granddad began talking about the amount of people getting themselves stabbed in sunny London. The conversation naturally veered off into World War II, and then the Gurkha knives that his brother had given to him. I kept prodding him to tell me more, and then my nan abruptly announced that she wanted them out of the house. My granddad leapt from his chair and headed upstairs. He was always such a gentle, loving soul, so I couldn't believe what he brought down: a stockpile of old knives. That were still gelled with lots and lots of blood.

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He died a couple months after this. I knew my nan didn't want the knives in the house, so I asked if I could have them. She gladly gave them to me, wrapped in a suspicious plastic bag along with the medals he received for serving in the Navy during World War II. I'm doing research on the knives at the moment but for now I'll share with you what I (sort of) know.

The Kukri

I'm annoyed because I can't remember if it was found in a Gurkha's head or in a German's, but I'd like to think that a Gurkha valiantly killed a German with it. Then slipped on his bloody corpse and impaled his own head onto its thick point, thus enhancing its future eBay value.

Now, this little one I do remember something about. It was found in the gut of a German, but was bought at a market by my granddad for a rather cheap price. It has an ivory handle. I don't know its make though.

I wish I found out more about them, because finding out about them is finding out about him. I'm not a fan of knives or the embarrassing masculine posturing they encourage, but these bloody slices of history fascinate me because of their passage into my granddad's hands. Which have now reached mine. I don't really plan on using them to halve anyone, but there is definitely something appealing about tradition.

MATT GILBERT