It is my late father's birthday on the 5th of June. He was born in 1926 in Douglas on the Isle of Man and passed away on the 4th of August, 2015, aged 89.
His voyage through life was a journey that many children today would not be able to imagine: from scrumping apples, following a coal train to gather the fallen coal, wearing wooden clogs and leaving home to fight in WW II.... his was a life of a man who could wield a shovel, get dirty and still smile at the end of the day.
Like all of you who are reading this, we have a special place in our hearts for our parents. If you did not, you would be on twitter, shrieking about the loss of our planet or the right of infants to die because their mothers chose for it to be so. Instead, anyone who is here with me at the moment will be what I call " ONE OF US. "
People who still honour and love the privilege of life, the joy of life and the wonder of a childhood gifted to us by loving parents and the love of a father's and mother's protection. So I hope you enjoy this.
This is my tribute to my Dad. The same but different to YOUR father.
When my Dad was a little boy, he was brought up in the depression. He had mild polio as a kid and, as a young man serving in the British Navy, contracted TB. He grew up in a hard working and basic family unit that relied upon itself.
I can speak little about my father's early life: after all, it was in a world where I was no more than a twinkling in his eye. I equally know little about his life on the Isle of Man, save the stories he told me about the Moordie Doo Dog , Peel Castle, the Fairy Bridge, or the storms that raged on the quay in Douglas.
He was part of the occupational forces in Japan and we have photographs he took when he was there.
The boys cared and gave damn.
After he came from back Japan, he was demobbed
While on shore leave, serving in the South Pacific, after the war had ended, he happened to pop into New Zealand. and was sent to visit a farming community where he met my Mum. A redheaded feisty firebrand.
He was conquered and for the next 66 years, he was a man in love.
colourised image thanks to my daughter. Mum and Dad
I remember the times he played in the backyard with us and the times I sat as a little girl and cuddled in his precious arms and felt his love. I remember the fun we had. I remember the sound of his voice and the soothing lilt of his voice when he sang.
In fact, Mum and Dad met around a piano and we became their chords and melodies that have carried on for our years of life and love.
It was not long before they gave birth to the boys and a girl that we write so frequently about here on Patriotrealm. After all, it was my father who inspired the idea of a website that drew its energy from patriotism and family love. His initials Paul Raymond became Patriot Realm.
A real man. Not some mumbo jumbo lovey dovey silly spectre of a man. He was a real man.
I remember when I was about 16 years old. I went to a dance class and it was old fashioned waltzes and foxtrots. There was a young pimply faced chap who had a job and a car. Clean shaven and thoroughly respectable. He asked,me if he could meet my father. I said NO. But he came up to meet my Dad and attempt to ask me out. Dad greeted him.
With a giant shovel.
I have never seen a red Triumph Herald retreat so fast in reverse. Ever. I still have the image in my mind of a man chasing a car down a laneway and then declaring to me “I don’t care what you say, he wore winklepicker shoes. And I do not like pointy shoes. “
And that was an end to it. I never saw that young man again. Even at Dance Class. It was as though he never existed.
Dad put an end to him. As he did, many others.
You see, Fathers do things without thinking. They react emotionally through love. That is their role.
My father never once reacted with cruelty or unkindness. He always reacted from his heart.
Today, fathers are not allowed to do what they instinctively feel. And that is a tragedy.
To hug, to act and react. They are, after all, men. Probably the worst thing on this planet right now. ...
When men are allowed to be men, protectors and carers, hard workers and simply themselves, people like my late Dad are empowering the rest of us.
As a daughter, as a woman, as a free thinker, I want old fashioned men and not these excuses for males who wimp off at the first sign of conflict.
Bring on the Shovel.
I want our men back.
But Happy Birthday Dad. I miss you.
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