what really matters...

Life is full of people. Some are just acquaintances, some are important. And some really, really matter.

Today, I want to talk about someone who really matters. My Dad.

Born in 1930 in Co. Cork, Eire. Dad lived there until the age of 6 when the family relocated to England and moved to the village of Box, near Bath. He grew up during the war years, and had completed his National Service and was married with 2 children before the swinging 60’s were out. From the stories I have heard, I have a feeling he used to be a bit of a scoundrel. After the breakdown of his first marriage, he married my mum in 1975 (on Valentines Day no less) and I was born nine years later.

A little about my Dads personality – he is most accurately defined as having a quirky sense of humour. It’s that odd that it’s even filtered down through all three of us ‘kids’ and his grandkids. But more than that – he is a sweet man, very loving, and he has always been there when he’s been needed. Very definite political views, a lifetime of experiences and skills – he is quite unique.

I have lots of memories of my Dad. Lots and lots. We’re still making memories, but the ones from when I was little seem more special somehow.

During school holidays we used to go on adventures. Lots of them when I was little, but we still continued right up until I left school – and maybe once or twice through Sixth Form. We used to explore the moors, the little villages, the rivers and streams, the castles and big houses. I also spent many happy days playing around the beach at Watermouth Cove. It was always fun and it was always different. I think in those trips I saw more of Devon and Somerset than I ever will again.

One of my abiding memories (from when I was very, very, young) is of Dad’s vegetable garden. He grew everything from Carrots and Cabbages to Gooseberries and Blackcurrants. I even I had my own vegetable patch with a few seeds thrown into the soil with a lot of hope they would grow. But Dad’s garden was really something. We used to test all the produce before it left he garden – especially ‘purple ice-creams’ (Purple Sprouting). Its all grown over now, it has been for many years. But the memories remain.

During my early school years we had to spend two hours waiting after school for my mum to finish working. We spent the time sat on the seafront in Combe Martin reading the delights of Roger Red Hat and Billy Blue Hat. And that was really how I learnt to read. Not just learning though – I love to read even now. We would then play on the beach, explore the rock pools, and in the summer have an ice cream.

Dad is older now. He’s not too well and not up to doing much at the moment. He’s still got that sense of humour though. He is still my Dad. And I love him.

Here’s to many more memories.