My parents.

I must not go any further without mentioning my parents for without them I would not be here today . My father was a quiet lovely hardworking man who loved his pipe his horses and my mother, not quite in that order of course. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word and would not harm a fly. I remember going to work with him, he was a tanker driver with Irish Shell. The big powerful petrol truck ,the sinews straining in the muscles to contain the power of the engine in his hands. We would stop and have tea from the flask and sandwiches by the side of the road, it was exciting to be out in the country and to see how easy it was for my father to converse with all the people he would meet in his travels. The other thing that I remember about him are silvermints sweets he would always purchase at the start of the day. My mother on the other hand worked in the home, which I can see looking back wasn’t an easy task, the old black gas cooker, no washing machine and all those clothes and dishes, work, work, work, never hungry, never sad ,that I can remember anyway, my mother had to be a wizard in philosophy, economics, relationships, a cleaner, a chef and a friend ,but was not shy at times to produce the wooden spoon, enough said. They both loved the bingo, their only escape from the daily running of the home, both teetotallers although never objected to any of their children drinking. The old photos of my parents beam the love and affection that they had for each other. I admire my mothers strength and her unwavering religious belief, seen especially after the passing of my father, which must have been a real test of all that she believed in. Of course she had lost her confidante and friend, but none of this seemed to impact on her everyday job of keeping her family together.

A short excerpt from a piece I wrote some time ago.

And a poem remembering my Father