My Dad's Birthday

August 12th. It’s my Dad’s birthday today. He’s dead by the way, so I suppose it can’t really be his birthday, can it?

Anyway, if he was alive today, today would be his birthday.

I’m not one for going over the cemetery, buying flowers for the grave, saying a prayer in church or anything like that. Just thought I’d remember a few things about him today. He was a character that came from a long line of characters.

He was tea-total, unlike me. Alcohol just gave him a migraine so he didn’t drink. But he could enjoy himself without a beer. He played the piano. Not concert pianist style, but Mrs Mills, Chas and Dave, Les Dawson  style. If you could hum it, he could play it. Couldn’t read music, wanted to, but never found anyone who could teach him. He just played. Pubs, clubs, anywhere where there was an old Joanna, the old man played.

He was a grafter, never out of work. All manual labour. From Fords at Dagenham to delivering coal on his back. He always made sure there was money on the table for Mum.

He liked a bet. So do I, by the way. The Sporting Life would be spread out on the floor and he would pick his horses every Saturday. He’d have a yankee, super yankee, round robin, Heinz 57, doubles, trebles, fourfolds, fivefolds and only spend three quid!

Of course there were days when he’d go off the rails a bit and Mum would have to hide from the rent man. But hey, who cares.

I bought a greyhound. We went together to see every race. It won at Romford at 14-1. The look of joy on his face will stay with me forever.

He played snooker. Very well.  Miss-spent youth? You betta believe it. At the local club back in the day the table to play on was Number one. If you could hold your own on Number one table you were a good player. Dad was always on Number one. Mum sometimes had to ring the snooker hall to remind him to come home.

He boxed. Amateur of course. He boxed at featherweight for the Army in the 50’s. Won medals for it. He loved boxing, probably more than any other sport. For my sixteenth birthday in 1974. He bought me a ticket to see Ali v Frazier live at the local cinema. No Sky back then. If you wanted to see a live big fight, it would be broadcast on the screen at a local cinema in the early hours of the morning. Me and Dad went to see all of Ali’s fights.

In his early days he was a rascal. If you crossed him, that was your lot. He never forgave. Family meant everything to him. Upset one of us and you upset the family. No going back and you had to suffer the consequences. He softened as he got older, but there was always that look. That look that said “ Be careful old son or I might just bite your head off.”

We went to Lingfield races one day, he hadn't been very well. My mum and sister came along. We had a large win. I have a photo of him standing holding a fistfull of money with the biggest grin on his face you can imagine. I'm sure the pain that day just went away for a while.

We went boxing, racing and fishing together. Today he would have been 82. He passed away a few years back.

 So no going over the cemetery, no saying a prayer, just a few lines to remember him with.

God bless you Dad.