Memories of Dad
My Dad, there isn’t a
day goes by when he is not on my mind for even three seconds. Some days much
longer. He was so different to any of my friends Dads. He was 47, when I was
born. Friends had semi cool Dads, drunken Dads, lazy or hard. My Dad was
neither a drunk, or lazy, and he certainly was far from hard, and cool? My Dad?
No’noo’noo But my Dad was one in a million. He was unique. I have come close to
a lovely gent similar to him, but only one and he was about 50% like him. The
other 50% belongs to Dad.
He was a minor and worked down the coal mine
since the age of 14. My parents couldn’t have children so I was adopted along
with my Brother and though my brother and I shared no blood with each other or
our adopted parents, we were treat with more love than we would have ever
received from our so called natural parents.
My Dad loved to put a bet on the horses, but money was short
so a pound a day was enough for him to fix his addiction. He was a hard worker,
he did long shifts at the mine and extra ones to get as much money to feed the
continued debt they got into because of my vision. They lived to save my sight
and to me it was no coincidence that three weeks after I went blind, my Dad
died and five months after Dad my Mum died. Okay, Dad had cancer, but he had it
for seven years before he died. Mum was a heavy smoker and was ill all of her
life, again, she died when she did at that time, cause of death pneumonia. And
I suspect great neglect by her me to some degree, I could have done more, my
three visits each week weren’t enough, and for sure neglect from the NHS!
But my Dad, he was such a kind man. He worked in the house
because my Mum was unable to do certain things, Dad worked right to the end. He
had a smile on his ever so cute face, he had a proper
Daddy face. His giant hand would reach out for mine at the dinner table. I
would say. “Dad, I can’t eat me food with one hand!” A squeeze and sometimes he
would serenade me too. I never knew what to say or which way to look, whether
to laugh cringe or just say. “Daa’aad.
He loved in his youth ballroom dancing and used to try to
teach me some moves, hunched up now with age and graft, his limns were not
quite the same, but in his head, he was still the championship ballroom dancer
of Ashington 1921.
His singing voice wasn’t what it was, if it ever was, I don’t
remember my Dad ever being able to sing in tune, my Mam used to make me laugh
saying he sang from the back of his throat. I used to think, it was better than
singing from his foot, surely? Haha.
My Dad had ways of speaking to people. Everyone was his
honey or hinny.
Everyone was his friend.
Everyone he had to please.
He was a warm man, caring beyond belief and he was genuine.
People who were not used to the way in which pit men spoke
in Northumberland, wouldn’t have a clue what he was saying, but not only that,
he had his own well, I believed they were his own words for things. He and I could
have a full conversation using words that had not even come close to the
English dictionary. He had phrases rhymes and songs that no other Dad would
have. He had a connection with a time un be known to me or anyone from my
generation or the one before mine. Some would say he lived in the past. And sadly
he is in my past, though his time on earth with me I will never forget.
I was reminded today of some funny things my Dad said. One
day we were in a furniture shop called M F I. His car wouldn’t start so he and
I went into the shop and he asked the girl on the desk if he could use her
phone to call the R.A.C to come and fix his car? He asked the girl in his
typical not only accent from Northumberland, but using pitmen’s terminology. But
as soon as he got on the phone to the R A C, the telephone voice came out.
And what was to follow was so funny because his correct
English was mixed with what he could never get away from, his slang.
Dad
“Excuse me my Dear. Can you please help me? My car has conked
out
It’s kaput
Sorry my Dear? I can’t hear you. I’m a bit corned beef….
(Slang for deaf. Deef?)
Oh, where am I? I’m in the car park of M I 5….
Well we all started to laugh. The ladies behind the
reception were creased trying not to be obvious. Tears ran down my face. As my
poor Dad left the shop in an embarrassed manner, I followed. Remember I was
partially sighted at the time; I went straight into the huge glass window.
Closed. Of course. Slam, my face planted itself into the glass. Hahahaha. What
to do now? What will the ladies be thinking, as at the time I didn’t look as if
I had sight problems didn’t have a dog or cane, what will they be thinking.
Well, I found the door and ran towards my Dads car where by Mum was sitting in
the passenger’s seat, smoking of course. Looking at me… I was still red with
laughing at my Dad and the shame of doing a face plant into the window. She
told me in a not impressed voice that Dad was fixing the car. Oh no? I knew
what with too, his only tool. Dad and mechanics didn’t go hand in hand. He had
his head under his bonnet of the car, the front was all open to be fixed by my
Dad banging away at whatever, he didn’t even know, with a hammer… Goodness
knows what he was doing? Anyway, the R A C did come and we got home.
Another memory was when he took me food shopping not long
after I got married. I needed a frozen Lasagne. He asked me to repeat what I wanted
so he could find it for me? I did he went off to ask the lady who was kneeling
down sorting out boxes.
Dad
“Excuse me honey. Can you tell me where the (Latzy arna) is
please?
Well, that was me done again. I was away
laughing. Cringing. As the lady asked him what? He repeated the word, looking
at me and then running off again in a huff shouting in his quiet voice. “well I
don’t know what this foreign muck is?”
I could write volumes about my Dad. He was so special. He
was selfless. Though I don’t see, I still have a photograph of him and myself
on my wall. I have not seen the photograph for eighteen years, and his face is fading
in my mind, I just pray it will never disappear. One thing that will never leave
me is his voice, though that too is becoming more quiet as if from the back of
a very large room, but what he taught me will never leave me and that was compassion
and to have time for those much older than ourselves. X
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