To celebrate my Dad's 70th birthday today I went to the masonic church in Leicester Place, in Leicester Square. Although I've felt OK today, the trip to the church made me well up a bit but I was a bit better when I got outside. I met up with my friend Kay and we had ice-cream in Haagen Daz. I'm now sitting here waiting for my half bottle of champagne to cool so I can toast his birthday.
I was originally going to start off this blog by just copying and pasting the speech I made at Dad's funeral last year. I then realised that what I'd written was quite a tame version of my relationship with my Dad (not to mention the fact that this would've been lazy and not a fitting tribute at all) - Auntie Rae had thought it was a good idea to perhaps not mention a few things at Dad's funeral - things that I'll mention here instead. The following stories aren't in any particular order, I've just written down things as I've remembered them.
I'm not sure where to start really. Like Auntie Rae's memories (below) I could go on and on and on about the things we did so maybe I'll just be brief for now and then occasionally add extra stories to the blog as and when.
The one thing you have to understand about my relationship with my Dad was that from a very early age, whatever he said I believed. I looked up to him with so much respect and never doubted that he could be wrong. At all. I remember being about, oh I dunno, say twelve years old or whenever I started learning Biology at school. Dad said to me one day, "How do you make a hormone?" I thought he was being helpful because I was struggling with my Biology homework, so I said, "I dunno Dad, how do you make a hormone?" He said, with a smile on his face, "Don't give her any money," and then walked away giggling to himself. Dad never ever swore although in the last five years I heard him say the odd word on rare occasions. His other 'joke' for me was, "What's a hospice?" As usual, I'd say, "I dunno Dad, what's a hospice?" Again, he'd say with a smile on his face, "About 12 gallons". Again, he'd walk away giggling to himself.
And so, this was my relationship with my Dad. Silly silly jokes, conversations about life on other planets, how he loved statistical multiple regression, dinosaurs, fossils, how fat some woman was he'd seen in town the other day, his beloved trains, his garden, and all manner of other things sometimes intellectual, sometimes inane, but always good.
Dad and Auntie Rae's mum was called Winifred and I used to call her Nanna Win. A few years ago, Dad and I were queueing at the Black Pudding stall in Bury market, Lancashire. The stall sold Black Puddings, Cow Heels (yes, the heels of cows complete with fur and hoof), tripe, and other gross stuff. We were wanting some Black Puddings as apparently they're the best in Lancashire. As we got to the Cow Heel shelf, Dad turned to me and said, "Nanna Win used to buy cow heels and put them in our soup for our dinner when we were little." He then went on to say that Nanna Win was always careful to buy the front pair of heels and not the back ones ...... Of course, I believed him. Later on in the week I saw my Auntie Val (Auntie Rae and Dad's other sister) and I told her what Dad had said. She laughed and laughed and said that Nanna Win had done no such thing and that Dad was just pulling my leg as usual.
I developed my sense of humour from my Dad. I'm quite at home telling jokes about poo, farts, boobs, and bogeys as he was too. About five years ago we went to my eldest step-brothers wedding. It was later on in the evening and I didn't know many people so I went off to see my Dad was up to. After I'd found him we went to sit at a table and then Dad decided he wanted some more food so off he went to the buffet. I was watching him make his way back to the table when he stopped to talk a little girl about ten years old, when suddenly she got really upset. When he arrived back at the table I asked him (grinning) what he'd said. The little girl was eating a sausage on a stick and Dad had asked her if she was enjoying it. The little girl had said, "Yes thank you," to which Dad had replied, "Did you know you're really eating dog poo?"
So, if Dad had been alive today what would I have got him for his birthday? Probably another Sudoku book - he loved mathematics, statistics, and solving puzzles, and doing crosswords. I probably would've also bought him something to do with Dr. Who - probably an alarm clock that would say 'Exterminate'. It would've been ideal for his loft space where he built his steam trains so he'd know when his tea was ready. We used to watch Dr. Who as a family when I was little. I remember Dad saying to someone last year that we only watched Dr. Who because I liked it but I know different. Dr. Who was the perfect ending to our Saturday shopping trips. We'd go to Lancaster shopping and while Mum was buying fruit and veg off the market, me and Dad would stand in the doorway of the bank opposite and eat apples. Lots of ladies with shopping baskets would be walking past and he'd show me how to put our apple cores in their baskets without them noticing.
And so, the list will go on, at intervals of stories about my Dad. I will collect stories from my cousins and Dad's friends and family and they'll be posted here from time to time. It's lovely to have all these memories and I try not to feel sad as Dad would hate it if I was but sometimes it can't be helped and I'll say it even though it's of no use - "It's not fair." But at least I had him and he was the bestest Dad.
Auntie Rae’s Memories
MY LOVELY BIG BROTHER JEFF
My lovely big brother Jeff died last year. He was only sixty nine – so it was way, way too soon, particularly for someone who was so very much alive. It’s difficult to describe the emotional loss when a sibling dies. I can’t say it was worse than when Mum and Dad died, but it was equally dreadful and in many ways far more shocking. Even though Jeff was some years older than me, nevertheless we were from the same generation and so perhaps the big shock is the realisation of one’s own mortality. It also made me realise how absolutely bloody awful it is to be the ‘baby’ of the family: my brothers and sister were 12, 13 and 15 when I was born (poor Mum’s menopause ‘mistake’!) and so, in the natural order of things, I should be the last one left standing. Not a nice thought.
Anyway, about Jeff. Well, he was just always there, doing what big brothers do. He looked after me, he took me swimming with the scouts when he was a scout leader, he took me on ‘adventures’ when he bought his first cine camera and wanted to try it out, he sent me a (dead) praying mantis from Africa, he danced with me, he teased me like brothers do and all the time I knew, without being aware of it, that he was rock solid and dependable. These are things that I came to appreciate more as I grew up and could see his qualities more clearly. He was honest and forthright – not always a comfortable combination, but a good one. He said what he meant, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, and that was that – no sulking or showing off (that’s what I do!), he just said what he needed to and left it at that. The consequence of this is that I knew I could rely on him to (a) tell me the truth, (b) love me unconditionally, and (c) always, always be there if I needed him. And he liked making things. Latterly it was trains, but years ago there was the catamaran that he couldn’t get out of the garden when it was finished because it was too big! And I’m sure he bought me some meccano when I was small, perhaps in the hope I’d do some boy stuff, but this was in the days when girls was girls and played with dolls and practised doing the washing up. And now that I’ve thought of one thing he bought me, I’ve thought of another. He bought me my first proper camera for my seventh birthday. What a brill present from such a brill brother.
And oh yes, he was very funny indeed and had a quite appalling sense of humour. Just like our Dad really. Not to mention Janie.
We didn’t see each other that often, but we did have some lovely phone calls, particularly since he retired. He used to go on about his beloved trains and his nerdy visits to train exhibitions, and about Carolyn and what Janie had been up to and I’d witter on about what my children were doing and, latterly, about living in France. Just the other day I was sorting out a box of bits and pieces and came across some letters and postcards that he’d written to me. Nothing to set the pulses racing, just the good, normal stuff that life is made up of and which keeps us all on an even keel. However, I did notice that his writing, which was always neat and on the small side, had got smaller and smaller as his eyes got older and older!
I don’t know what else I can say really – everything else would be anecdotal and I could go on for ever and a day with my memories of him. Anyway, I’m trying to say more about him the person rather than make this a catalogue of funny stories and incidents. He was simply lovely and I miss him more than I can ever say and although it’s true that my life would have been much poorer without him in it, and I’m very, very grateful that he was my brother, I do just wish he’d managed to hang on for a bit longer because I loved him very much and (selfish as ever) I wasn’t ready for him to go. I’m sure I’ve said more than my share of ‘it’s not fair’ over the years, but this time I really mean it.
OK then, just one story – and it’s not about something that he did, but something that happened to him. It was the only time I can remember seeing him really, and I mean really, lose his temper. He must have been in his mid to late 20s, so I was about 11 or 12. He was under his mini doing something or other to it and just as he came out from under it a bird shat on his face! Nuff said. Mum would have said that it was Jesus paying him back for something he’d done. So, Jeff, I’m sure that Mum would want me to tell you that that was Jesus paying you back for the time you and Micky scared me half to death with a rubber spider!
