My dear old dad died three years ago today. It hardly seems possible that it has been so long. You'll soon forget me, he said, when I was pleading with him to fight on and he'd had enough. But I miss him painfully still.
He would have loved living here. He would have been so proud. And he would have driven me mad. The thought of him as well as my mum in that small kitchen is hard to take. He would have been full of ideas on how to make do and mend. But he would have helped us as much as he could and created a wonderful garden. I think his dad was a gardener or, at least, grew leeks on a buried mattress that he pee'd on regularly. And my childhood memories are of a garden that was intermittently full of weeds in between bouts of horticulture. But he was a true gardener and that came to the fore in his later years.
I'm printing the reading from his memorial service below because my memories are filled with laughter as well as sadness. My dad. Sorely missed.
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A Classic Pose - Complete with Smiling Face! |
JM 1925-2010
A Tribute from his Family
We are here today because we all
have something in common: we all hold a thread that links us to the life of
J. We all have different
memories of him, memories that tie us together. Since he died, we, his family, have been remembering stories
of the times we shared with him, memories that will travel with us as we
journey through life. And in
amongst the tears he still makes us smile. Even in his final days, J was ever ready with a topical
joke. When K was leaving to go
back north, he couldn’t get his car started. A went to J’s bedside to say, ‘The Toyota won’t start’. ‘I thought they wouldn’t stop!’ he
replied with barely a pause for thought.
J’s family is an extended
one. There are his three children,
K, E and A with their respective spouses and partners, and his granddaughters,
H and M. However, beyond
this are some special people who have featured as part of the M family
for many years: H, whose father J served with him in the War, and her
husband, C; B, who worked with D as a nurse, and her husband,
C, their children, J and D, and their three grandchildren. We’d like to take this opportunity to
thank them all for being part of our family. They share our memories of J. They provided invaluable help and support as his condition
deteriorated. They have shared our
tears and grief at his loss.
The story of J and D’s
wedding day has gone down in the annals of family history. J met D on a blind date when
she was a nurse and she was singularly unimpressed with him. However, they celebrated their Diamond
Wedding Anniversary on 21st January this year with a message from
the Queen, which should teach us all that first impressions don’t always
count!
Somehow the couple arrived too
early at the Church, before the guests, who were filing in as the wedding was
ending. Neither J nor D recognised the vicar. Then when it
came to exchanging their vows, the Vicar said ‘Joseph, do you take this woman,
Florence, to be your wife?’ To
which J said, ‘Yes, I do, but the name’s J and this is D’.
It was the tradition to throw coins
out of the car for the children on the way to the wedding but J forgot to
open the car window so the coins were scattered back into the car with some
ending up in the turn ups of J’s trousers. When he knelt at the altar, they fell on to the floor. After the ceremony, the couple walked
up the aisle arm in arm. After a
few steps, J realised that he was missing his bride. She was gathering up the sixpences
behind him.
J had a love of all things
mechanical, aeroplanes, obviously, but also motor bikes. He owned a Royal Ruby and the family
had many holidays on the bike and sidecar and even made the momentous ten hour
drive to the north. To ease the
monotony, K and E, the pilot and navigator, fitted out the sidecar with
a Lancaster control panel in the front.
A, being the youngest and only girl, was consigned to the back as rear
gunner and usually ‘bought it’ within the first few miles, making the journey
particularly dull for her.
J was always the life and soul
of any family gathering and, usually, the last man standing. He loved to dance, although his style
was rather unorthodox. And he
always chose the largest lady in the room as his dancing partner, applying engineering
principles, like ball bearings, the bigger the lady, the better she’d glide.
He also loved to sing and a
sing-song was always a major feature of any family gathering with Geordie folk
songs, such as ‘Keep Your Feet Still, Geordie Hinnie’ and ‘Wor Nanny’s a
Mazer’. The family will sorely
miss his Christmas rendition of ‘The Little Boy that Santa Claus Forgot’, which
always reduced them to tears. His
tale of ‘Tommy the Horse’, the sad demise of Tommy on the farm where he worked
as a boy, also had the same effect.
However, he also made his children laugh with recitations, such as ‘A
Long Strong Black Pudding…’ It
wasn’t until much later that they realised how rude it actually was!
After his retirement, J decided
to continue working to make money for frequent trips to Tokyo to visit E,
S and M. His first job
was as a dinner lady. However, he
found the children troublesome.
They played him up and refused to leave the dining hall to go out into
the playground. After one
particular incident when he threatened a child with a broom, he decided that,
rather than end up in the European Court of Human Rights, it might be wise to
rethink his career options.
So he became a trolley boy at
Sainsbury’s. This turned out to be
quite beneficial on a number of fronts, not least the fact that so many people
leave items behind in their trolleys.
J often came home with Turkey-sized Bacofoil and other such
goodies. Later, he was moved to
the wines. J loved nothing
better than a bargain and bought an interesting array from the ‘reduced
section’ for his 80th birthday party: Welsh gin, Malibu and Tunisian red wine – only £1.50. ‘That’s a bargain’ said A, ‘£1.50 a
bottle’. ‘No’, he replied proudly,
‘It was £1.50 for six!’
J was one of the first
eco-warriors and one of life’s great recyclers. The door number at their previous house was proudly
displayed on a painted bread board.
When the M family first moved into this house, it had a huge TV
aerial in the back garden. When
this was decommissioned, the six inch piping was carefully cut up, reshaped,
bolted together with solid joints and made into a very robust swing for the
children.
J left school at 14 in June 1939
and cycled many miles to get a job that would keep him out of the pits. But to no avail. Despite a difficult start in life, he
went on to put his three children through university, providing them with the
education that, throughout his life, he felt he lacked. He recognised the importance of
education, being largely self-taught.
He had a lively mind, an eclectic knowledge, considered opinions and a
house full of books.
As his family, we pay tribute to
JM, who thought he had achieved so little but who had, in fact,
achieved so much. We are lucky to
have had him in our lives for so long.