My Dad Died This Morning

and I want to tell you about him

There are many things I don’t know about my Dad and some things I do. He kept his feelings close as a result of upbringing or choice, or both, I’m not sure. He was of a generation who thought ‘men should be men’ which to him meant strong, which translated as not showing any emotion. The funny thing is, he was a very emotional man. Italian opera, hymns and animals always brought tears to his eyes. The fact that he found it hard to express how he felt meant he never, as far as I can remember, told my sister or I that he loved us. Love for him was practical - money, gifts, doing stuff. He was always generous with his money and gifts and when we were younger, his time.

For those who don’t know him or his history, what follows is a much as I can piece together. He was born in Dublin to a large Catholic family, schooled by the infamous Christian Brothers, with the attendant abuse, dressed up as discipline. I don’t believe he was sexually abused, but he was certainly brutally treated.

He was interested in sport from the outset- a lifeline for someone in his position. i.e. little education, few prospects and no money. He was keen to excel and played both soccer and Gaelic football. He grew up speaking (Irish) Gaelic but lost the language when he moved to England at 17 for work, as so many Irish folk did back in the 50’s. He never talked about the sort of reception he got, but I can’t imagine it was much of warm welcome. He worked as an apprentice taylor at Burtons for a time before switching to better paid work in a paint factory. He had a fantastic eye for matching colours and became, eventually, a Master Colour Matcher. Despite 2 redundancies he did pretty much the same job the rest of his working life. When he worked at LE Went in New Malden, people with vintage cars sought him out, as he had a reputation for being able to match colour by eye. By the 80’s things were becoming computerised to some degree, but if you put in the colour for a manufacturer make and model of car, the colour the system produced couldn’t match a 20 year old jag or 30 year old MG, but Dad could match them exactly. He did this as a ‘side-line’ and gained the company a good reputation whilst pocketing a few bob for himself. His boss was well aware.

At Pinchin and Johnson in Ham, where he started out - acquired by Courtaulds in 1960 - he became shop steward and attended many conferences in Brighton. He was always outspoken and ready to stand up for worker’s rights. He was never a ‘militant’ and had a good rapport with management as well as workers, but he wouldn’t put up with anyone’s nonsense.

I’m not sure how he pursued his football career when he migrated, as it’s all shrouded in mystery, but he played for one of the London clubs as a junior. He would never say which. I think he was always slightly embarrassed that he didn’t get to play for the senior team. He sustained a knee injury, which needed surgery and took him out of the professional game, but he played football for a local team and cricket for Barnes RAF.

He lived close to where Mum was raised and although I’m not sure how they met, they used to go dancing together and even entered some ballroom dancing competitions where they placed well. He danced pretty much his whole life with whoever would let him spin them around a dance floor and if he couldn’t find anyone to ballroom dance with, he was happy to simply strut his stuff.

Neither of my parents families wanted them to get married and my Mum was forbidden from marrying Dad by her adopted parents. His family weren’t happy with him marrying a protestant and the union caused a rift on both sides when they did eventually marry when Mum was of age (21 back then). They married twice, because Dad’s Mum came over from Ireland to castigate them for ‘living in sin’ as they’d married in a protestant church!

After they married, they lived in Ham and then a bedsit in Richmond and later a maisonette in Kingston. They tried for children early, but I took 9 years to arrive. My parents, rabbit, budgie and I moved to New Malden when I was nearly 4, I think. Mum’s adopted parents helped them with a deposit for the £12000 house. Lyn had turned up by then, along with a Labrador puppy. The medical profession had advised Mum should not become pregnant again as it could be fatal. Dad fell out with the Catholic church around that time as the priest he spoke to condemned any use of contraception, even if it meant Mum’s death.

I suspect Mum was suffering from post-natal depression, as well as a prolapse womb and later diagnosed over-active thyroid. There was no real discussion back then, certainly not with us, but there was the suggestion that social services might get involved. Mum was in hospital for various surgeries and convalescence and Dad worked full- time and looked after us with the help of our adoptive Gran. There were several incidents like this. Gran died (neither of us really knew her) which rocked Mum and during her next bout of hospitalisation Lyn was farmed out to friends in Chessington. Neither of us were told why. It was a scary, uncertain time. I’m sure they felt they were doing their best and avoiding us being taken into care, but from our perspective it felt like abandonment. I don’t think either of them were coping, but there was no one they could talk to or get advice from, they just got on with it. Dad carried a simmering anger about this and felt personally victimised that his wife became so unwell. Times were very different back then.

Dad was fun loving, though never drunk alcohol or smoked. A life long tea drinker, he took up with Asti Spumante on special occasions. His drink was spiked once at a party and he was drunk for days afterwards and never forgot the hangover. He was a clean living, fit guy, who’d been told by his football coach that cigarettes would ruin his health, at a time when a majority of younger people probably smoked. He stuck to his principles and was uncompromising.

He believed strongly in justice and was a die-in-the-dust working-class supporter. He believed that cleaners were on a par with executives and never bowed the knee to any sort of dignitary. For him respect had to be earned.

When we were young he worked 2 jobs to pay for a mortgage so they could buy the house and later, so they could add an extension. He was hard working and never shied away from responsibility. He believed in commitment and family.

Many people will remember him as a bit of a Jack the Lad, certainly with a good sense of humour and as a bit of a charmer and that’s true, but he also had a harsh side. He lacked empathy, was ultra strict and had an explosive temper. I suspect he was on the Autistic Spectrum somewhere. He was very black and white, naive to a strange degree and very set in his ways, even as a younger man (he believed if it was in print it was true and that advertisers wouldn’t be allowed to lie). He was straight-talking to the point of rudeness and almost impossible to argue with. He hated illness and saw it as a weakness. I don’t think he ever forgave Mum for being so unwell and resented his own heart issues when they came calling.

He stayed fit his whole life and has a raft of medals and awards from various sporting activities: football, cricket, tennis, golf, bowls, bowling, swimming and darts. I don’t think there was a sport he couldn’t turn his hand to and even in recent years his hand to eye co-coordination was better than most people I know.

He was a good friend to his close friends, though he only ever had a few of them and never had male friends he socialised with independently. He was neighbourly and always tried to help people where he could - cutting grass, putting bins out, clearing paths - even when he had a hernia and a dodgy knee.

Dad was great at mental arithmetic, sudoku and word puzzles and could add up quicker than I could use a calculator. He retained his mental sharpness until the end. He was obsessed with earning and then saving money, perhaps because he’d been poor in his early life and had to work hard to make his way. He’s always been generous to his family, as I mentioned previously and I think saw this as a way to express his care. He wasn’t ever great with illness, his own or any one else’s, but I do recall him getting a cage made for my bed, to keep the covers off, when I was hit by a car and bruised from head to toe and he was apparently very good with me when I was a baby. He massaged my legs (they were told I wouldn’t walk and d daily muscle massage routine was advised) took me for walks in the pram when I wouldn’t settle and later in the car, at a time when men looking after children was not the norm.

I have lots of terrible childhood memories and lots of good ones. Seaside trips will always be remembered fondly. Dad loved the seaside - despite hating getting sand between his toes - and he loved Christmas and was always a big kid about decorations and presents with a particular affection for Father Christmas. He infected all of us with his enthusiasm for the festivities.

He saw himself as a protector and refused to accept that he was older and weaker. He was painting ceilings, fixing rooves and climbing ladders well into his eighties, giving Mum frequent scares. He was always slightly accident prone, terrible at DIY and a disaster area with anything electronic. I doubt we could count the number of hoovers and lawn mowers he destroyed over the years. His DIY was legendary with wonky shelves, patched paper and more. He once wallpapered a bathroom with upside down rainbows!

I think he’d been suffering from depression in recent years, though he would never have recognised it, admitted it or sought help. He refused to accept ageing gracefully and was vain to a ridiculous degree about his hair and his strength. He eventually relented and wore glasses for reading and hearing aids, but refused any sort of walking aids, sadly, or he might have avoided the fall that ultimately killed him.

Whoever ‘they’ are, say not to speak ill of the dead, but Dad was always one for truth and it would seem wrong to ‘guild the lilly’. Nothing here will convey the huge character he was or the hole in the universe he will leave. He was a complicated character in many ways and simple in others. He became very inward-looking and self-obsessed in his latter years and the isolation of Covid, which stripped him of his social outlets, did nothing to help. He never accepted old age and wouldn’t have accepted being disabled and unable to be independent. He had a good innings and left us peacefully, but the way his life ended was sad and losing your Dad always will be, regardless of anything else.