On Thursday 9th September it will be my Dad’s birthday. Unfortunately he’s not here to celebrate it, so my blog today is in remembrance of him and features some of his finest moments. For those of you who read this and knew my Dad, I hope you enjoy these little memories. I know I do...My handsome, funny, articulate, intelligent, stubborn, grumpy and two-left-footed, wonderful Pops.
(NB when I refer to “real mum” I mean just that, when I refer to “Mum” I mean Joanne, the wonderful woman whom many of you know, who raised me and my brothers as if we were her own and whom I owe everything to)
Me, my brothers, my Ma and my Pops...
Tomato Ketchup Sarnies!
Real mum was going through her RAF basic training and Dad was a complete novice at looking after four children on his own. The live-in Nanny was on her weekend off, and the best he could do with regards to dinner, with very little food in the house before the “big shop” was tomato ketchup sandwiches! He denied doing this to the day he died – but if four of us remember the ketchup sandwiches we can’t all have imagined it!!
Surprise!
Due to a mix up with exeat weekends from boarding school, my Mum was unexpectedly lumbered with me, the middle bro and the baby bro. My Dad was down route on a trip (by this point he had left the RAF and was flying for British Airways) and was incommunicado so had no idea we’d be at home when he returned from his trip. At the time he used to catch the Flight Link bus from Coventry bus station to Heathrow for each trip, so Mum had to take us along when she went to collect him on his return. Mum has a rather wicked sense of humour, and thought it would be really funny to let the three of us climb into the boot of the Peugeot 605 we had at the time so that we could jump out at him when he opened the boot of the car to put his trolley case in. My Dad was never one to visibly show fear, so I will never, ever forget the look of sheer terror as three of his children launched themselves out of the boot of the car at him. Over 24 hours without sleep – most of them without nicotine, the poor guy nearly had a stroke. I will also never forget the next few hours or so, which saw Mum repeatedly bursting into giggles every time she relived the moment in her head.
Can I Be Excused?
Dad was pretty strict about table etiquette. There was no elbows on tables, no chewing with your mouth open, no talking at the dinner table, your knife and fork had to be held properly and in the right hands etc, and there was certainly no bad manners or laughing/joking at the dinner table. Rule number one however was that you couldn’t leave the dinner table until the meal was over...because apparently that was just rude. On this one occasion my poor Dad’s whole dinner table etiquette teachings fell spectacularly to pieces as a result of my baby brother. We’d been at the table less than two minutes when the baby bro (no more than 8yrs old at the time) asked to be excused. Furious my Dad declined his request telling him he should have gone before he sat down at the table. What followed was about thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence as me and my siblings tried to pretend we hadn’t just witnessed the baby bro being given a dressing down...before the baby bro let off a fart that a 40yr old trucker would have been proud of! I actually though Dad’s head was going to explode with anger at the audacity of his youngest child. The baby bro (in his sweet childlike yet-to-break voice) simply said in his defence... “I did say I needed to be excused”
This belter of a defence sent me and my Mum into fits of giggles which resulted in both of us being sent away from the table by my Dad until we’d “composed ourselves”. I still don’t know what I find funnier – Ralph’s man sized fart, or the fact that my Mum got sent away from the table!!
Dad’s quirky dress sense
Now aside from Dad’s numerous moments of fancy dress genius, which included dressing as a Witch’s familiar in black cat suit, Marilyn Monroe (complete with blonde wig and beauty spot) and at a food themed party, skin tight white jeans, a silk Chanel print jacket, Brylcreamed hair, red lipstick and yet again a beauty spot whilst carrying a tin of marrowfat peas (he’d gone as Faggot and Peas), Dad had his own quirky sense of style. The man was never seen out in public without a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson hat. I have no idea where this came from but I think it started after a trip to Texas to visit some old RAF Pals (Kev & Karen that’d be you!) and it remained his style for the rest of his life. At a rather midgey 5’6” (ish) I think the cowboy boots simply gave him the extra inch height-wise that the good Lord didn’t think it necessary for him to have in the first place. The Stetson became my Dad’s trademark look though, and even now, I sometimes see a guy walking around Nuneaton who’s a similar build and wears a similar hat, and I have to do a double take thinking it’s Dad. I’m always disappointed when it’s not.
Dad Dancing
There’s only one person I’ve ever known with less coordination than me, and that was Pops. Anyone who took part in the Am Dram production of Anything Goes will remember how Dad’s two-left-footedness lead a whole ensemble into chaos during the musical number “Blow Gabriel Blow” He knew he’s gone wrong, and that all anyone could do on the jam packed stage was try to avoid his clumsy footing. Everyone, distracted by his floundering efforts to follow a dance routine, lost track of the words they should have been singing, and the timing they should have been keeping. It must have been tragic to watch! You couldn’t help but laugh at him though it was so funny to watch him.
Despite his shocking attempts to move with grace and dignity however, he did manage to shuffle me across the floor on my wedding day. A moment I will treasure forever, regardless of how my marriage turned out. To have him there, proud as punch that he hadn’t stepped on his baby girls toes at any point during the dance, all I can remember thinking was how wonderfully lucky I was to have my Dad. Handsome, funny man that he was. Always the joker, always generous, always caring. I remember this, and Luther Vandross’s lyrics spring instantly to mind... “If I could steal one final glance, One final step, one final dance with him, I’d play a song that would never, ever end, ‘Cause I’d love, love, love to dance with my father again”
My Friends & My Pa
So many of my friends had great relationships with my Pa. Rae and my Dad shared a sick sense of humour over April Fools jokes, Hannah always called him “Mister Cooper” in the same way Perry (from Harry Enfield’s Kevin & Perry) called Kevin’s mum “Missus Patterson”, and Ruairi, well he and my Dad had a special bond, and I’m never sure where it developed from, but I think it may be from the fact that Ruairi always had my best interests at heart, and always looked out for me without ever being someone who had the potential to do rude things to his only daughter haha! I don’t know a single one of my friends who didn’t love my Dad....but then they didn’t have to live with him I guess haha!
Just Me & My Pa
One of my earliest memories was Dad in his green RAF flight jumpsuit, with clear plastic patches on the thighs which contained maps and flight plans usually – but for me, as I sat on his knee, it was replaced with a plain paper background, so that I could draw pretty pictures on the clear plastic with these special “crayon” type pencils.
Dad’s smell – Dad always had a smell – aftershave, cigarettes and breath freshener/mint chewing gum. I can’t describe it really...it just smelled like Dad. It wasn’t a stale cigarette smell, it was woody and kind of sweet. When I think about cuddles with Pops now that’s the smell that I imagine, because it was so distinctively him.
Just the two of us in the house, singing along to Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballe’s “Barcelona” playing full blast on the Hi-Fi whilst Dad pottered around the kitchen and I dusted the lounge – it started with us both humming/singing quietly along and ended in us singing at the top of our lungs – me making up the words as I didn’t know the Spanish, Dad doing his best Freddie impression with a mic stand we already had for the Karaoke machine...sounding God awful but finishing, collapsing on the sofa and laughing at how ridiculous we were. One of my favourite memories of all time.
Finally, a very early memory...Dad playing guitar, singing Yiddish folk song “Dona Dona” to get me to sleep as a very young child. The lyrics have always stayed with me:
On a wagon bound for market
There's a calf with a mournful eye.
High above him there's a swallow
Winging swiftly through the sky.
How the winds are laughing
They laugh with all their might
Laugh and laugh the whole day through
And half the summer's night.
Dona, dona, dona, dona,
Dona, dona, dona, do,
Dona, dona, dona, dona,
Dona, dona, dona, do.
"Stop complaining," said the farmer,
"Who told you a calf to be?
Why don't you have wings to fly with
Like the swallow so proud and free?"
How the winds are laughing ...
Calves are easily bound and slaughtered
Never knowing the reason why.
But whoever treasures freedom,
Like the swallow has learned to fly
I hope you’re flying now Dad x x x Miss you loads, sleep tight x x x
