I’m writing this post for the lovely man who was my dad..
It is said that there’s a special relationship between fathers and daughters and that certainly was the case with me and my dad.
He was a rock for me, always positive about what I could achieve , always on my side. He died over ten years ago but I think of him every day, even pausing to ‘talk’ to his photo, wishing I could talk to him again.
Dad gave me confidence and a belief in myself and I know he knew I loved him.
Here are some special memories I’d like to share with you.
- I loved to hear him sing. He had an amazing tenor voice and tears would come as I listened, even as a child.
- He was a chorister in Worcester Cathedral until World War Two, when he was ‘called up’ and joined the Royal Airforce. Many years later, in his eighties, we took him back to Worcester, to re-visit the place where he’d been so happy. It was a very moving experience when he was welcomed by the Head Chorister. The choir sang for him and we were all moved to tears, as was he.
- When our car needed a £50 repair in the late 60’s, we couldn’t afford it. As soon as dad heard about it, he offered to settle the bill. Needless to say, I cried.
- He used to dry my hair with a towel in front of the fire, when I was about six. No hairdryer in our house then!
- In the Spring, as a child, he and I would go off on our bikes to catch ‘tiddlers’ in the stream with a jam jar on a string. I don’t know how, but we always succeeded in finding some.
- On the way to my first wedding (!) he said, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Did he know it wouldn’t last…?
- When I left home at eighteen to go Teacher Training College in London, I was very excited and didn’t give a thought to how mum and dad might be feeling. Mum told me later that there were tears on his cheeks as he waved me off on the train. I felt exactly the same when my son left for university in London, many years later…
- On our regular farm holidays in Cornwall he and I would get up very early to pick enormous field mushrooms for breakfast. I thought they were disgusting but dad loved them.
- At Christmas, when I was about five years old, he’d dress up in mum’s red dressing gown to be Father Christmas … and I almost believed it was really FC!
- My brother and I had a pet Dutch rabbit called Bun. (No, not a very original name, but there you go…) Dad loved that rabbit too, and cried with us when Bun died.
It’s amazing how these memories come flooding back.
But he didn’t just leave me with memories.
He left me with
- a strong sense of right and wrong,
- a soft heart,
- a hatred of unfairness,
- a love of animals,
- a love of Church music,
so many , I could write a book.
Thanks, dad, for the memories.
I miss you, every single day.
Do you have a favourite memory of your dad?
Do tell us about it…