Dad

On the 16^th on June it will be Father’s day!!! I am sure my little Sam who is aged 9 must have made his plans by now after consulting his Ladybird Michelin star restaurants guide books and much heated debate with himself just where he will be talking me out for my dinner (for my birthday in may he took me to Frankie and Bennys because…well, because that’s his favourite for pasta) I am also sure he must have a Father’s day card ordered up from Moonpig just now with witty comments. OK…that’s not going to happen, I pay for the dinner and my little Sam feels all proud still believing he choose the place although I guided his hand with suggestions, the Father’s day card will have been made at this school with paper and glitter but it will be more precious than diamonds to me as its made with his tiny hands and from his heart. I can remember doing the same for my Dad (my Mum too but I am concentrating this post on fathers due to it being father’s day next week)

My little Sam was named after his Granddad, My Dad who was called Samuel. Unfortunatly my Dad died before Sam was born so he never got to know his granddad which I find really sad. I was born after my grandparents on both sides had passed away .

My Dad was born in Stenhousemuir in Falkirk in 1915 (world war 1 was still underway and only 3 years after the Titantic sank so that gives you an idea of the time) He was born into a very poor family, one of 8 brothers (4 of which survived their childhood) and 2 sisters (one of which died as a baby) He had no shoes as a child, wore handed down shorts and collected empty jam jars around the tenements to trade at the cinema to see movies which he loved (and passed that passion onto me) I know that my grandmother (my dad’s mum) was a singer but I don’t know anything about my grandfather, I have never seen any photos and unaware of any photos which have survived.  My dad was left handed and at school the teacher tied his left hand behind his back to force him to write with his right hand which my dad said made him ambidextrous due to this pratice. My dad also use to tell me that in the morning my gran poured porrage oats made with just water and salt added into a big long cupboard drawer and when the kids returned home she would slide the drawer open and cut the porrage which was then hard and cold into slices and give it to them for dinner.

My Dad

In 1929 (ish) my dad got an apprentiship as a joiner, which was a blessing as his other brothers would work down the coal pits. After he finished his training he went down to live and work in London.   In 1939 he joined (before he was conscripted) the army to fight in the war against Hitler.  During his time in the Army he fought in North Africa and Italy where he saw some heavy fighting during The battle for Casino, he was blown up and buried under rubble and soil, Monks from a local monastery dug him out and when he gained consciousness me was in a room with statues of Jesus and the saints and the monks hovering over him, his first question was …”Am I in heaven”…lol, I guess he was still a little confused. During his transit home his ship was torpedoed within sight of the white cliffs of dover. All though his later life he still had nightmares about being buried alive which I can remember hearing his shoust and scream in his sleep as my mum comforted him, it was very sad, he also hated water from that experience being sunk too. He never taked much about his experiences in the war but I know from my mum and other friends of my dad he had some terrible experiences and a lot of his friends never made it back. You can read about what happened at Mount Casino during 1944 online, my Dad was in the 8^th Army during the Italian campaign, they had a terrible time of it. My dad stayed in the army for a couple of years after the end of the war. When he was away fighting his house in London was bombed, we had nothing left, everything he owned was gone. When we returned to London he used his Army pay to buy a motorbike (with sidecar)used a cigar tin which held all his possessions which he had with some clothes tucked into the sidecar (medals, discharge papers, some post cards and photos and little nicnaks) and rode back to Scotland to stay with his brother.  This is where he started working again as a joiner and part time ballroom dance instructor (no joke) and also met my mum, Anne.

My Dad with his friends in the army

I was born in 1972, my dad was 57 years old (my mum was in her late 40’s and my brother 25, guess I was a wee accident ..lol) I can honestly say with my hand on my heart, although the large age difference between myself and my parents and brother I could never imagine a child who was more loved and had a happier childhood then me!! My dad took me everywhere, he was so proud of his little baby boy and as a child I was so proud of him!! He made we toys out of wood, sledge, carts, pull along boats, he carried me on over his shoulders coming down the stairs in a fireman’s lift, when my mum worked nightshifts at the hospital (she was a nurse) my day use to tell me bedtime stories customised with me as the hero. I loved this old man, he was not a big man but had huge callused strong hands and weathered face with a broken nose and was very gentle spoken. We watched hammer house horror movies on a Friday night…I remember lying with my head on my dad’s tummy and hearing it rumble …lol we watched the old black and white twilight zones and john wayne movies with him, at the weekend during the day if he was doing some work he would take me with him and as a child he would give me purpose, handing him tools, collecting nails…I also felt so important with him, we went digging for peat for the garden together, he took me out for walks. He was more than just my dad, he was also my best friend. As a teenager I did go through that rebellion stage and had my arguments with him but I always loved my dad (and my mum and brother too of course) then on July the 6^th 1988 my brother then aged 41 (I was 16) died on an Oil Rig explosion, he was one of 167 unfortunate souls who died. My dad was never the same after losing Jimmy, my brother and his first son. Shortly after that my dad was parked outside a shop awaiting my mum when a driver crashed into the back of him, my dad was gripping the steering wheel and was badly hurt, he had damage to both hands and would never get nerve feelings to work again so could no longer work with his hands and as wood carving and joinery was his passion this put an end to it. My dad got very depressed, some days he would just sit and cry and call me by my brother’s name by accident as he could get confused. He withered terribly and lost lots of weight. December 1998 he died at home in his bed, he had lung cancer (he smoked cigars for years, he started in the army, stopped when I was born but started again when we lost Jimmy)

Although this post appears to end on a sad note and would never want anyone to think the tragic outweighed the happiness in my dad’s life cause that is not true. My dad died aged 83, he was loved and I am happy to say he knew I had “screwed my nut” by then and had my own place and in a career, his love paid off. He also had the knowledge he gave both his sons the happiest upbringing possible and was a faithful and loving husband to his wife, my mum. He was a provider and never knew what the inside of a pub looked like, if his family was happy he was happy. I loved that man with all my heart and still love him to this day, I wish my little Sam could have met his Granddad Sam cause I know my dad would sweep him up with these big kind hands of his, make him giggle and love him as he loved me, I miss that old man so very much.

Me with my little Sam