RIP dad 3rd November 2009 He held me in his arms as a baby. When we were young he constantly had a cine camera or camera in his hands and took numerous photos of us, to record every moment. He filmed my first steps. He laughingly called me “Stool pigeon” when, at 2, I pointed out to mum where he had accidentally cut the dining table with a saw, and then tried to hide it with paint. He nicknamed my sister “Boo Boo” as a baby when she cried. He pushed us on swings tirelessly. He taught me to ride my first bike. He let me hold the dog leash on Castle road, at my insistence, and when the dog dragged me over he didn’t tell me off, but kissed my grazed knees and cuddled me whilst the dog headed off up towards the castle. He teased my sister endlessly the day she fell coming down Oliver’s Mount……… telling everyone she’d skidded down the hill on her nose. On his days off he took us to the beach, up Oliver’s Mount, Peasholm, the Italian Gardens, the open air theatre and all over Scarborough, whatever the weather……… not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And took numerous photos of us having fun. Before we had central heating he would lift us out of the bath, wrap us in towels and run to the dining room to stand us in front of the fire to get dry. He stroked my hair whilst I sat at his feet. He taught me to spell “different” and “difficult” before I started school. And “necessary” although I still sometimes get that one wrong! He bought me my first dictionary and whenever I asked how to spell a word he would get said dictionary out, look up the word, pronounce it, spell it out and give me all the different definitions before handing it to me to see for myself. He let us call him baldy when he’d been to the barbers. He rubbed his stubble on my face when he needed a shave. He brewed his own beer and wine from scratch when we were young. He took us on the cinder track picking blackberries, elderberries and sometimes dandelions to make the wine. He was clever and could turn his hand to most things, He could fix almost anything, and we nicknamed him “Mr Fixit” He’d chase us up the stairs laughing and calling “Aye, we always do this!” I can’t remember how this started, but it continued until we were grown up. (Although maybe a little more sedately as we got older) He gave us everything we needed without spoiling us. If you wanted to know something, you always asked dad, because he always knew. He kept the manuals for every gadget he bought, and always knew where to find them if things went wrong. He was an able DIY man and was always on with some job in the house. Painting, decorating, a bit of plumbing, and was able to complete these jobs to a high standard. He gave me £100 all to myself on my 14th birthday. He took us to Rome, Malta, and Cyprus, and taught us to always respect local customs. (When in Rome, do as the Romans do) He had silly little sayings (e.g. If I don’t see you through the week, I’ll see you through the window!) He always smelled nice. He was handsome. He always wore a suit and was very dapper. He bought a pair of jeans in his 70’s and didn’t mind when me and Cath giggled at the thought of our dad in jeans. He put his overalls on for even the smallest task, like checking the oil level in the car, or checking the tyre pressure. On the morning of my 16th birthday I woke up at 8am to the sound of the record player up full blast playing “Happy Birthday Sweet 16” He was still climbing up onto the roof in his 80’s to check something or other. He laughed when in my teens I called him an “old fogey” Thereafter when ever I wanted to join him and his friends or older family members, he’d tease me and say “You sure you want to be with us old fogeys” He made me laugh till I cried, impersonating me in his interpretation of me “bumming fags and drinks” in the pub when I was 18. He never liked any of my boyfriends (except for “Even Stephen” who helped him sand down the front door) but always seemed to get on well with Caths’ fellas. He was a fantastic granddad. He teased Kirsty about not staying at his house when she was due to stay, let her draw faces in the condensation on the windows even though it made them look a mess, and when she was older played “Hotels” with her when she stayed, answering her “letters of complaint” and serving her breakfast. He would always ask Ailsa “Where’ve you been all my life” to which she would answer “I haven’t been around all your life granddad” They thought it was funny. He would always ask Nick “Got any gum chum” before giving him a stick of Wrigley’s. One hot day, when Kirsty was very small, he tied a sand bucket full of water to the washing line. He told Kirsty, Anthony and Scott to go see what was in it, and then yanked the line up into the air, showering them with (warm) water. They squealed and laughed and made him do it again. (about 100 times!) He played the fool for his grandkids. He fixed my car. He didn’t shout at me when I wrecked his car. Even in his 70’s he was prepared to fight if it meant protecting me (bringing the dog for backup!) although it never came to that thank God! After mum died he always asked me to go to his works reunion with him (and the old fogeys!) even though he had lady friends. Sadly I didn’t go to the last one because I was working, so I don’t think he went either. That makes me feel sad and sorry that I didn’t swap a shift to go with him. He had endless energy, walked everywhere and put us young ones to shame. He never appeared drunk to me, even when he’d been out all day on his "Naval Days"……… I’m sure he had hollow legs. He taught us to be respectful to other people, and to always be polite, no matter how annoying someone else was. He taught us right from wrong. He taught me the “old one two” (give em a cauliflower ear) although I never used it! He was always there to bail me out of trouble. He looked after mum, by himself, before she died. He had lovely friends who cared a great deal about him. Everybody loved him, his sense of humour, his generosity, his caring nature. He didn’t want anyone to know he was so ill and told me to tell anyone who asked that he was just having “tests” He wouldn’t allow visitors as he didn’t want anyone to see him ill. He taught us dignity. He refused to be put on the waiting list for the hospice, saying that “someone else might need that bed more than me” He tried to hide his illness from me and Cath in the beginning, because he didn’t want us to worry. He didn’t want us to cry or be upset. He never complained about being ill, or my clumsy attempts to look after him. He insisted I still go to Egypt despite him being so ill, and even lent me money to finish paying for it. He wouldn't hear of me cancelling. He sat and listened when I got back, chattering on about all the exciting things I'd seen and done, even though he was tired. He was independent, he was a fighter. He was a loving father, grandfather and great grandfather. He was only diagnosed in August, and left us 3rd Nov. He was my hero. He was my dad.
