My Dad Was Cool

I was 14 when he died in 1992.

When I was 14, anyone in their 50's was ancient.  My dad was 54, and now I recognise that 54 really is no age.

I just wanted to put something on here because we often laugh about my dad's little failings and foibles. We chuckle because he could be abrasive to the point of being amusing.  I remember his bluntness, and how it could be hurtful sometimes. I remember how he said exactly what he thought - and bugger the consequences. ( Don't know where I get that from?) 

I was thinking to myself... We remember these things because we've each inherited them in some way.  My sister, Lesley, is capable of giving you the same look as he did, and makes me laugh in the same way my dad did.

My brother, Graeme, has my dad's stoicism and sharpness of tongue. He even sounds a little bit like him, sometimes.

Mark inherited my dad's quietness, and the wisdom to know that sometimes it's better to listen than speak.

Andy forever holds dad in the highest esteem, and despite their differences, grew to love him and have the utmost respect for him. 

Sometimes I think all of us are little unfair towards dad, so just for little while, I'm going to defend him, because he was quite cool after all. (Despite his penchant for bad swimming trunks).

He liked The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Who, and The Kinks. He liked Nat 'King' Cole, Jim Reeves, Roger Miller, and Dean Martin. He liked Kevin 'Bloody' Wilson, and the Fureys.

He watched Fawlty Towers, Monty Python, and 'Allo 'Allo.  He supported Luton Town Football Club.  He liked to watch Golf on the telly and laughed at Peter Alliss' commentary. He used to let me stay up late on a Wednesday to watch Sportsnight. 

He made the best potato cakes in the history of the universe.

He liked cough candy and blackcurrant and liquorice boiled sweets, and he'd eat them until his tongue was sore.

He took me to Cornwall, Scotland, Spain (twice), Ireland, Florida, France, The Lake District, Hatfield House, Kentwell Hall, Blenheim Palace, Lavenham, Portsmouth, HMS Belfast, The Cutty Sark, Cheddar Gorge, Tower of London, Houses of Parliament, London Dungeon, Farnborough Air Show, Hendon RAF Museum......  I'd be here all night if I listed all the places he's taken me.

He took me sledding when it snowed. He tried to teach me how to play golf. He played cricket with me.  He was a capable golfer himself.  He worked hard and made sure that I never wanted for anything.  He took care of my mum. He had a cracking sense of humour. He liked reading, and furthering his knowledge.  He took me to Harrow Model Shop and bought me a model yacht that we sailed together at Rickmansworth Aquadrome.
He used to drive fast over the bridge on Batchworth Lane in Northwood because it made my tummy go funny.

He taught me that one can never read enough.  He showed me that I should learn for myself the things I haven't been taught.


I'd give anything to spend a night in the pub with my dad, enjoying a pint together. And that is truly the only missing memory.


But before you think I'm a morbid old sod, I'm eternally proud of my dad, and despite him being a cranky bugger at times, there are genuinely no truly bad memories.  I know that we all miss him terribly.


And it's true.  My dad was cool.