I wanted to write something about my Father. Whether I publish it or not remains to be seen but today has been a strange day where it all seems to have caught up with me. The Coroner phoned this morning to say that they had performed a post-mortem. The results were inconclusive so it’ll be another 5 or 6 days before they can release him. Why a man of 85, in poor health and with a recent history of hospitals has to be ripped apart, I don’t really know but I assume it keeps somebody in a job?It seems to be the “done thing” to eulogise those who have gone. Whether this is considered polite or correct, I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s a bid to propagate the idea so that, when our own time comes, we will also benefit from the kind words. I could easily sit here and type paeans of praise aplenty but what really does it achieve? Dad was a human being with all the frailties and foibles that human nature imbues us with and to say anything to the contrary would be hypocritical and wrong.
He was a man for the ladies and would always have a twinkle in his eye when a female appeared, right to the end. He could switch on a charm that was a delight to watch (unless, of course, you were my Mother). He never knew his own Father and was brought up by my Nan and his step-father who, apparently, was a very kind and gentle man. He and Mum were childhood sweethearts and it was a big blow to him when Herr Hitler interfered with his life.
I knew very little of Dad’s life before I appeared on the scene. His War career was hardly spectacular and got him as far as (I think) Somerset! He related 4 facts about his service career:
He was put on a charge on his first day in the army, for eating what he thought was a very generous meal. It turned out that it was the rations for a table of 8!He applied to join the Motorcycle Dispatch Riders, thinking that this would be fun. Sadly, he neglected to mention that he’d never ridden a bike before and drove straight into a bush thus ending a promising idea.He also applied to join the relative new Royal Marine Commando regiment. One of their first forays was an abortive raid on Dieppe, having set off from Newhaven, in which they supported a predominantly Canadian force. Over half of the 6000 involved were killed and Father decided to stick with his admin. role. The memorial to this tragic mission sits right outside our apartment.He was not very good at returning from leave and the MPs were frequent visitors to gently persuade him that Mr Churchill really needed him. Dad felt being with Mum was far more important and his stripes would have been ideal as a prototype Velcro test as the demotions and promotions occurred regularly.He was also a fairly good footballer and played for Brighton for a short period of time. Strangely, I have absolutely no recall of him playing football, or indeed any other sport, with me as a kid. I have very few memories of him at all actually as he was often out in the evenings, being “The Man from the Pru” and having to collect premiums when people arrived home from work. I remember he led Mum a merry dance and some of my memories are not best dwelt upon. The irony was that he realised just how much he loved her shortly before she was diagnosed with cancer. He took early retirement to look after her but, sadly, she went very quickly and it was an event from which he never really recovered. Although he re-married, Mum was his great love and I have no doubt that she is now giving him some stick in her own, inimitable way.
He was a man of intellect but also a master of the missed opportunity or the wrong decision. A man who acted spontaneously without too much thought for the consequences, a worrier and a lover of simple pleasures. He appreciated nothing better than to go and sit all day fishing, just enjoying the sea- or countryside. He was a person who exhibited almost child-like gratitude for presents and cards from myself and my children and there is no doubt that he adored the kids. He always had a touching faith in my abilities also; believing that there was nothing I couldn’t do. He was certainly to test this in his later years!
I suppose really he was a man who, like all, was a mixed bag of talents and shortcomings. He tried me to the limit at times but, he was my Father and I loved him. Apart from Mum and my step-mother, I was perhaps the only person who knew the real Alec. He had the ability to be what he felt others wanted and it saddens me that perhaps those personae took over at times and the real man got lost somewhere. Just occasionally I could get him to talk about his life, his thoughts and his dreams and those are moments I will treasure more than anything else.
His was a life, like any other. It has now finished and the memories will slowly fade. He believed in a hereafter and my dearest wish is that he has found peace, happiness and, most of all, respite for a wandering and, sometimes, tortured soul.
Whenever we spoke, whether it was visiting or on the phone, his last words were always “God bless”. They were the last words I ever heard him speak and I can only echo them...........................Night, night, God bless.
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