Today my late father would have been 100. Unfortunately he died in May 2006 at the age of 86. He was surprised to make 86.
He was about 67 when my parents moved from my childhood home in Waltham Cross to the outskirts of Norwich – somewhere my father unexpectedly found he didn’t like. I don’t recall my mother ever saying what she thought – she was one to just get on and make the best of what was there – but Noreen and I were delighted as we both love Norwich.
He didn’t expect that he and my mother would have more than a few years there. So they made their bungalow comfortable, but he admitted later that had he known they’d have almost 20 years left they would have done a number of things to adapt the bungalow more to their liking. This, plus the fact that he never adjusted to having a stoma following bowel cancer surgery in his late 70s, made his last few years exceptionally miserable.
In many ways Bob was a “miserable old git” who believed that life and everyone were out to get him and his money. If there was a negative take on anything, he’d be right there. Whether this was because he was depressive, or vice versa, or both, I’ve never worked out. His depression could have been partly genetic as his father was also depressive; and his fairly awful childhood through the depression preceding WW2 would only have exacerbated it all.
Probably because he’d never been allowed to achieve academically, despite being able, in retrospect he put a lot of covert pressure to succeed on me as a kid. This, together with the depression and general angst, left me with a very negative attitude and has doubtless contributed to my depression. Luckily I managed, in my 40s, to somehow (I still don’t know how) to a large extent overcome the negativity and let much of the annoyances and stupidities of life just wash over me.
Bob also viewed me as profligate, lacking in common sense and a failure – because his values and common sense didn’t match mine as I beat my own path through life: I didn’t get a proper academic job, refused to be a teacher and sold out to the commercial world.
Having said that he was clearly loved when he worked, for a few years in the early 70s, as a personnel manager, and went out of his way to support his staff – even in one case where one of his junior staff got pregnant out of wedlock and he gave her support against both her parents and his colleagues. In that sense he was quite progressive – indeed my parents were decidedly bohemian, as evidenced by the fact that they lived together for two years following the war while my mother’s divorce was settled. And that I was encouraged to call them, and anyone else, by their first names.
I also have to appreciate that I was encouraged (by both parents) to read, to think, to know about history, and to understand natural history and the environment. There were books in almost every room when I was growing up, and none were off-limits. I recall he bought Lady Chatterley’s Lover as soon as it became available; I read it in my very early teens and found it terminally boring. There was also a copy of Havelock Ellis on the living room shelves, which I devoured at 16/17 when I had my first serious girlfriend.
I’ve never quite forgiven Bob for the effect of his overriding negativity on me, and the constraints (I felt were) placed on me as a kid; although I recognise that he was doing the best he knew how, and I am extremely grateful for the very open, liberal and bohemian upbringing. All of this clearly shaped me, and once I managed to throw off the worst of the negativity, has made me the slightly maverick thinker I like to believe I am today.
Happy birthday Bob, wherever you are!