Nearly 2 months since the last post. What an eventful 2 months – just one wedding and a funeral, but that’s quite enough. Time to move on, and to start posting a bit more regularly, but before moving forward, I’d like to look back by sharing part of Dad’s “Eulogy”. My words about Dad were part of a larger eulogy that included our childhood memories, read by Ros and my niece Megan and a moving poem read by Pauline.
Dad was born in a cottage on Forest Road, Huncote where his parents lived with his grandfather who had a market garden and orchard behind the cottage. Eventually Huncote Leisure centre was built on this land, now visible from our home in Croft, and so, in one of those neat circles of life, I can look across the fields to the home of my father, grandfather and great-grandfather,
Dad was christened James, a name that often appears in our family tree, but was promptly nicknamed “Jimmy”, a name that does not often appear in our family tree, and to which my grandmother heartily disapproved. And so it was that for virtually all of his life James was referred to by his middle name. My sisters and I lost count of the number of times that we told hospital staff “I don’t care what your notes say. It’s Arthur.”
Throughout his life Dad has shown a desire to approach things in his own way. He and mum shared a passion for cycling, and when Dad saw a tandem advertised, he purchased it. The tandem was in Sheffield. Dad was in Leicester. The solution? Catch a train to Sheffield after work, and then cycle, on his own, back to Leicester. Dad never complained about the distance or the Derbyshire Hills. His only grumble was that his stop for supper at a favourite fish and chip shop was abandoned because the shop was closed by the time he got there. This tandem became the family transport – Mum and Dad cycling, me on a child seat at the back, and Ros in a wooden sidecar
As the family grew with the addition of Pauline, a car became a necessity. Dad was not one for modern vehicles, and his first car was a Morris Series E, which I believe ceased to be produced in the 1940s. My favourite was the next car, a large Triumph Renown. I recall a trip to Devon, a long journey in those pre M5 days, but even more so for us. Every time we stopped at junctions or traffic lights the Triumph stalled, and had to be re-started with a starting handle, exhausting for Dad, and embarrassing for the rest of us. Dad always insisted on carrying enough tools in the boot of all of his cars to cover all eventualities, even in a modern car when a diagnostic laptop would have been more useful, an indication of his engineering background.
Dad’s employers asked him to fly to Geneva for a conference, but Dad opted for an alternative travel arrangement – catch the sleeper train which stopped overnight in Paris. Thus he got a night out in the French capital. Unfortunately, the train stopped in sidings, and so Dad had to climb down out of his carriage, and cross various railway lines, to enjoy a night on the town, before returning to scramble back up onto the train.
Dad’s alternative approach was also a feature of our home life. All three of us have commented on his extensive use of string. Everything is tied up with string, from hosepipes, to documents. Stepladders are secured with string. Computer cables are held in place by string.
Dad coped well after we lost Mum in 2010, with home cooked meals, at regular times in accordance with his biological clock. Breakfast was served first thing in his morning, say about noon, and then Dad would maybe pop into Lutterworth. He always complained that banks shut too early, before lunch, which in his case was around 6pm. Thankfully Ros is also a bit of night owl, and was able to answer his 11pm queries about cooking dinner.
Dad continued to cope until a couple of years ago, when, looking back, we can now see that some of Dads decisions were not as sensible as maybe they should have been, even accounting for his own unique approach to life. Life was beginning to challenge Dad’s fierce independence, and he found this immensely frustrating, often feeling the need to dispute opinions that differed from his own.
Anyone who has known Dad well recently will know exactly what I mean if I say “Should have gone to Spec Savers”. Dad was certain that another optician in the town, who had served Dad perfectly well for very many years, had prescribed the wrong lenses, and a no doubt innocent remark during a subsequent visit to Specsavers confirmed this as far as Dad was concerned. Our suggestion that maybe the problem was his habit of keeping all old specs, and sometimes picking up the wrong pair, was rejected. I know that he shared this grievance with many of you on many occasions.
Dad felt it totally inappropriate that he should be fined for staying in Morrison’s car park for three hours, just because it had a two hour limit. Dad won this one, arranging to visit Customer Services and sign in as a “visitor” with unlimited parking whenever he went shopping.
We all agree that the battle that started Dad’s final decline was one that he lost and which he took personally. We had expressed our concerns about Dads driving, and Dad reluctantly agreed to keep to local roads, and drive in daylight, but then accepted an invitation that involved returning home in the dark, and the night proved to be foggy. Thankfully Dad’s erratic driving was spotted by the Police, who stopped him, guided him home, but reported him, and Dad lost his licence in January 2015. This was not only a major personal blow to Dad’s independence; it was the first time that he was unable to fight back.
It seemed that from this time Dad not only became increasingly frustrated by life, but also began to decline physically. In late 2015 we noticed Dad’s reduced appetite. For the first time he couldn’t finish a Sunday roast, when he visited us. It soon became clear that this was not a temporary symptom, and we set off along a bumpy road of hospital tests, which, to say the least, Dad was not enthusiastic about. Dad was finally admitted to hospital with unrelated thrombosis, and it while he was at LRI that the result of a previous test diagnosed cancer.
Surprisingly Dad settled in well at hospital, enjoying the company and attention. His character changed completely, and he became content and amenable. It was Dads suggestion that his final care should be in a nursing home, and we were lucky to find an excellent residential home in Sutton-in-the Elms. Sadly Dad only enjoyed the pleasant surroundings, the caring staff and his many visitors for just a few weeks. There was no battle with cancer, no pain or discomfort, just a rapid decline, with Dad eventually slipping away in his sleep with family beside him.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
