Not so long ago and not so far away, my father was my teacher. I learned from him in different ways; through lesson, observation and emulation. Amongst so many other things, he taught me to swim, I watched him work, and I copied his writing. His was a glinting calm presence, a wordless reassurance that … Continue reading Barefoot in the City.
Yesterday, it would have been Ted Hughes' birthday, and a chance remark from a friend reminded me of the poet's fatherly advice in the final paragraph of this letter, sent to his son Nicholas in 1986. It struck me as something my own father might well have said, too. 'The only calibration that counts is … Continue reading How Much Heart.
Reading 'Hurry Up and Wait' by Maira Kalman and Daniel Handler, I was stopped by this: 'When I was a kid my father would say, if you get lost, don’t look for me. Stay there. Stay there and I will find you. He’s gone now.' Instantly reminded of my complete trust and faith in my … Continue reading Lost and Found
Gordon Stanley Weller, born 23 June 1918 in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
In the first week of August, 2011, my father died after a long illness. He'd just made 93 when he was declared out. We hadn't seen each other in a long time; my mother acted as 'gatekeeper' to that relationship and to describe her as a difficult person is polite. Once he'd died, she made … Continue reading Good Night Irene