My mother had three brothers who were all extremely bright and talented – not in the academic sense but they were able to work wood and metal to incredible tolerances. Jack was the oldest and was an amazing engineer able to machine metals to extreme tolerances. Jack’s ability was basically self taught and his skill was without question. All of the brothers had very wide, short thumbs – hammer thumbs.
Jack died after complications from a knee operation – they were all riddled with arthritis – when he got pneumonia. He was laid resplendent in his coffin in a suit when his son, Alan came from New Zealand to see his father at the undertakers. Alan shared his father’s wicked sense of humour. “Hello, mate” he said to the attendant in his mongrelised South African New Zealand accent, “Never seen my old man in a suit before!” The attendant merely nodded. Alan looked at his father’s hands crossed across his chest. “Have you tried the lid on his box, mate?” he asked. The attendant looked puzzled. “Of course we have, sir, everything is in order.”
Alan went on. “And was the old man in his box when you tried the lid?” The attendant was even more puzzled. “I am not sure, I don’t think so.”
Alan went on. “Well if he was in his box when you tried the lid, I reckon he was trying to get out when you tried the lid looking at the state of his thumbs!” The assembled mourners burst into laughter but of course the attendant retreated with utmost discretion.
When Jack was lowered into his grave his coffin was slightly out of line in the hole. “That would never have done the old man” remarked Alan. Neither would the name plate on his coffin which had the wrong date of birth!
Jack, like his siblings, achieved many seemingly impossible things and there are many family tales of his ingenuity and improvisation. One instance was when they were in Northern Rhodesia and my father had bought his first car. Jack was going to give him driving lessons but my father, who was a copper miner, had broken his leg and was in plaster from groin to ankle. Undeterred, Jack tied his broken left leg under the dashboard of the Morris Minor and my father started his driving career working accelerator and brake with his right foot while Jack worked the clutch with his right leg over the transmission tunnel while my father changed gear. I wonder what today’s traffic cops would have made of that one!
