Letter to baby George!

Dear Baby George,

Before I get started I’d like to welcome you to the world! It’s a crazy place, filled with wonder, beauty, love, laughter, hopes and dreams and so many amazing things. I know you’re going to love it!

Guess I should introduce myself. Hi, my name is Unkie Dave! I’m a brother like you. I used to get into all sorts of mischief with your mother when we were younger, and we shared many good times together. She is one of the few people I have the utmost respect and admiration for. I could not be more proud of her or your Dad. Never have I met two people so in tune with one another than your parents.

And let’s not forget your sister, Daisy, who, like my sister, will be there for you no matter what happens in your life. You will need each other for so many reasons but always remember that it is acceptance, friendship and support that will bind you together. Few relationships in our lives can match the bond between a brother and sister. Siblings are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

I’ve thought a lot about what to say to you in this letter, and if one day you might read it. I have a gift for writing, for creating make-believe worlds and characters, but when it comes to writing what is in my heart I feel a great sense of joy and humility. There are no falsehoods here, no plots, no half-truths or epic stories, just my words of advice and hopes for your good and prosperous life.

Happy Birthday!

Okay, so you won’t be a year old until July 4th, 2012, but your mother gave birth to you so therefore it was indeed a happy birth day! Birthdays are fun times, family & friends come together to celebrate with cheer and laughter, and cake. Never forget the cake!

Birthdays are moments of fun and excitement, possibly equalled only by Christmas for all the excitement and anticipation, and cake! One thing you should always remember on your birthday is to give your parents a hug, a smile, a phone call, anything to let them know you are grateful for everything they have done, and still do, for you. You should get to know your parents, spend time with them whenever you can and cherish those moments like gold dust. Like your sister, they too may need your support in the future.

Life, the Universe & Everything!

Life is a strange and wonderful thing. I didn’t understand how precious it was until the last few years. You should savour every moment, good or bad, never be afraid to try something new and never be afraid to ask anything. A lot can be lost if you don’t ask. If you don’t like the answer then ask for it be explained. Don’t be afraid to argue, this isn’t a bad thing, but remember not to let strong negative emotions rule your argument.

Communication can unlock doors you may not have known were there.

Worrying is something we all do but try not to spend too much time worrying about those things over which you have no control. It is wasted energy you can best put to more positive uses. You may worry about a test in school but it won’t have an impact on the outcome.

Simply do your best, no one will expect any more from you.

As you grow you’ll learn so many amazing things, like toes! Oh how you will love your toes! I’m pretty sure all babies are fascinated with their toes. Some things you will like better than others, but that’s okay, don’t feel bad because you don’t like broccoli or olives! I don’t like pork or lamb or really smelly cheese. 

Try something new whenever you can.

Chances are you’ll find your way in life and what you’re good at. You might be the sporty type or have a flair for design or art, or you could be gifted academically. Play to your strengths but never give up on a challenge. You can be anything you want and never let anyone tell you otherwise.

You are in charge of your own destiny.

Many rewards come through being adventurous, whether that means skiing down a mountain, travelling through an unknown place or trying a Chicken Madras! You don’t know till you try! At the same time you should know your limits, never be pushed or forced into something you know is wrong or dangerous. Peer pressure can help you overcome obstacles, good friends can push you to do better, but at the same time it can be hazardous.

Keep a cool head!

At some point you will hear the phrase “When I grow up I want to be…” and you’ll likely say it yourself. Follow your dreams and your passions, use them to bring success and happiness in your life but remember to share that with others. Don’t worry if you don’t know what to do with your life, I know people who at 40 still have no idea what they want to do with theirs. Take pride in what you do, no matter what that may be.

Be patient and you will find your niche in time.

Love & Laughter.

Love comes in many forms, love for music, dancing, art, writing, sport and so on. Love for your family is unconditional, trust, honour and respect them. If you take vows before your peers on your wedding day don’t just think of them as words, but truly understand the meaning and promises you make. Whether you believe in God or religion is beside the point, you are making those vows to your loved one and that is what matters.

You will know when love comes to town. Trust me.

Never let a day go by without laughter. If you can’t share this with anyone then try to laugh anyway. It can soothe a weary heart and lift your spirits better than a headache tablet. Life without laughter is like a pencil without lead, you can have as many as you like in your pencil case but without that lead to scribble on the page they are useless. Don’t forget to smile. Imagine talking to someone on the phone, smile as you speak and that will come across in your voice.

Laughter can give you hope and help lift the spirits of those around you.

Growing Up.

Don’t be too eager to grow up, a lot can be lost whilst looking to the future. Plan, dream and hope but enjoy the present at the same time. Life is full of moments, both good and bad. Appreciate the bad times because they serve to highlight the good times.

If your parents tell you off it isn’t because they want to be nasty to you, they do it because they are your teachers, they are your biggest supporters, the people you can ask anything without needing to fear the answers. Since the moment you were born your parents opened the George Fan Club and they will never close it.

Trust your parents, they are wise, fair and trustworthy.

School can be a magical place without needing to be called Hogwarts. It will play a massive part in your life. You may make life long friends at school, and no matter where your life leads you try to stay in contact with them whenever you can. They will keep you grounded and remind you where you came from and how you all started on the path of life together. Chances are your school teachers will know you before you know them because of your sister. Enjoy your studies, enjoy playtime, enjoy your friends because you will spend a lot of time in their company over the years. You won’t always get along with everyone and avoiding confrontation is hard.

Use your brain not your anger to work through confrontation.

And then we come to girls! Yucky girls! Playing kiss-chase or giggling or calling you Gorgeous George, trust me, they will call you that! As you get older try not to be too cavalier or cocky, confidence not arrogance is far more appealing. Don’t just show women respect because that is expected of you, do it because you should honour those that give birth to us and usher in the next generation. As for everyone else, respect those who deserve it and those who have earned it.

Don’t be reckless with someone else’s love or their affections.

As for the rest…

Above all I want you to be happy, to enjoy your life everything it has to offer. Don’t be afraid of your mind, body, emotions or your spirit, they are yours for life and who else will ever know them like you do?

On a wall in my Dad’s house was a poem written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920′s, called Desiderata. When I was young I loved the words even though I didn’t know what they meant. Now I’m older I understand their meaning and that they offer a good set of morals to live by and a philosophy I think everyone can benefit from. Desiderata sums my thoughts better than I can.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Baby George, I hope your life is illuminated by love, laughter, hope, joy, friendship and prosperity.

Meet my Dad – The Chief!

If I remember correctly there was an Action Man figure in my Dad’s study, sat on a shelf, wearing nothing but his plastic underwear and one commando boot. If you pulled the string on the Action Man’s back he would give commands like: “Prepare to repel invaders!” or “I’m going in!”

I’m not sure how the guy with the sparkling eyes arrived in the study but he’s been defending those shelves for a long time. What a hero! And and Action Man is pretty cool too.

For Father’s Day I was going to send my Dad a funny card in the post, something about my Dad being the best one in the whole wide world, or maybe a funny joke about farts to amuse and entice a chuckle. That didn’t really feel like enough somehow, a bit lame or lacking in depth. Instead I’ve decided to rattle off a bunch of memories I keep fresh and untarnished in my special memory vault. If you’ve read or seen Stephen King’s Dreamcatcher, you’ll know what I mean.

Before we get started, meet my Dad, he’s the happy chap on the right, next to my sister.

My Grandad – a rare breed.

My Grandad was one of a dying breed of people, kind, caring, charitable, funny and a fountain of knowledge he was only too happy to share when asked. My recent post about old drivers prompted me to finish this piece about a very important person in my life, one of the few people I had a lot of respect for.

In bed at night I read for a while, turn off the light and fall asleep thinking of about how the next chapter of my novel will pan out, but recently I’ve given a lot of thought about how to write about my Grandad. I actually started this post several weeks ago but stuck it in drafts because I couldn’t work out how to sum up his life and my feelings for him in such a short space.

In truth I could write a good book about him, more than one I suspect, and maybe one day I will, in the meantime I hope this post will do justice to a man who I consider to be one of the most sincere, honest and loving people I have ever known. Apologies in advance, it is rather long and I don’t have my usual array of photos.

Bert.

My Grandad, Herbert – or Bert to his friends, was born in 1920. He never really told me much about what he did in World War 2, but I got the feeling he didn’t want to share his experiences, maybe that kind of emotional depth was something he didn’t want to relive. I’ve heard the story about how he and my Nan met many times, and how he said to his mother: “Mom, one day I’m going to marry her.” It seems back in the olden days, well, the 40′s anyway, when two people got married they understood the true meaning of “for better for worse” and a life long commitment was not taken lightly.

Aside from the dark times when my parents divorced, I had a happy childhood, and a significant part of that was due to the impact my Grandparents had on me and my sisters life. We spent holidays together, both in the UK and abroad and saw them on a weekly basis. I can’t document every facet of my Grandad’s life so I’ll talk about how I remember him.

The Gardener.

My Grandparents lived on a nice estate, nothing special, decent houses, quiet streets, nice. They were fortunate to have a decent sized back garden, half of which was used by my Grandad to grow vegetables. I doubt if I’ll ever see such a well-tended and cared for veg patch. I’ve seen plenty of gardening programs on TV where the “expert” teaches their audience how to grow stuff, special tricks of the trade and all that stuff. Some of it is useful but when I think about my Grandad’s approach there’s no comparison.

He knew his stuff better than most. At times I believed the reason why he could grow such amazingly tasty food was because he was in touch with the plants, he understood how they worked. I’d step into his greenhouse and my mouth would start watering, the ripe tomatoes were insanely tasty! He grew all sorts, onions, leaks, peas, runner beans, lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, radishes, potatoes and succulent strawberries!

There was a solemn element to him when he was in the garden. I’d watch him from the window as he tended to every leaf and every bud with patience and grace.

Sunday’s.

I remember spending the weekends at my Grandparent’s. On Sunday mornings we’d make a trip to the swimming pool, and without fail my Grandad would manage to sneak up to me under the water, like a silent crocodile, and thrust a sudden foot into my face! Wet and happy we’d head home where a mug of Bovril would be waiting, heaven! Sunday lunch was a wonderful affair, gorgeous smells, steamy kitchen, home-grown veg never tasted so good, and it hasn’t since those days.

Sunday afternoons were funny, my Grandad would fall asleep in his armchair, mouth open, snoring away whilst we watched the TV, Bullseye and The A-Team, marvellous!

The Bung.

My Grandparents owned a holiday home, sounds quite lavish but it wasn’t as grand as you think. On the River Severn, in a huge field, a few dozen of these holiday homes had been built as a country retreat for people to enjoy peace and quiet. The chalets, or bungalows, came in all different shapes and sizes, single story buildings made out of wood, raised off the ground on concrete blocks just in case the river flooded. They didn’t have electricity or running water when I was a young kid, but I think they do now.

Making the trip to the “Bung” felt like a huge ordeal, a long tiresome trip, which probably only took no more than a couple of hours in reality. But it was worth it! We’d haul a huge wagon across the field with our bags, food and batteries in it, then take it to a tap in the centre of the field and fill huge plastic containers with water. Rain water was collected for washing but I don’t remember there being a bath…there must have been, bath time clearly wasn’t much of a memorable event for a young lad!

We often spent the summer holiday at the Bung, long summer days walking along the river, fishing, hiking through the woods, camping out, poking through the caves, building dens and enjoying all the things that kids these days don’t have a clue about. Thinking about it now it seems like such an old-fashioned way to spend your summer – no video games, no cars, no music unless you had a Walkman (yes the one with the tape!) and no TV either.

Actually that’s a lie. We did have a TV at the Bung. It was a tiny black and white thing. Under the building was a platform that had a whole range of car batteries on it. These powered the lamps and the tiny fridge. Sometimes we’d be watching the TV and the picture would start to shrink and fade because the batteries were running low. Imagine that today! Unthinkable! Back then it was just another fun aspect of being away from the modern world.

To sum up my time at the Bung, I’d have to say it was an idyllic place where every day was a new adventure. I miss hearing the put-put-put sound of the petrol power lawn mower as my Grandad made his way around the Bung. I miss trekking across the fields by the river with my Grandparents and my dad, hot sun, flies, boats on the river with people waving, and at the end of the long walk…a river side pub, bottles of Vimto and cheese and onion crisps as a reward.

Our long walks through the fields and woods were times when my Grandad would talk about all the plants and flowers, explaining what they were and how you could use them, which ones were poisonous and which were edible. Indeed my sister and I were a little cautious when told if we chewed on a certain leaf it tasted like other foods. He was right too, there are plenty of edible leaves around.

Scrumping.

Both my dad and my Grandad were avid wine makers, in fact my dad had made some amazing wine that rivals the cheap junk you buy at the store. They would make wine out of anything and everything, apples, pears, elderflower, elderberry, you name it. I remember one particular scrumping trip I went on with my Grandad, the one where the large branch hit me on the head so hard it knocked me onto the ground from the weight. The idea was simple, we’d scramble through the undergrowth then my Grandad would shake the tree and we’d gather up the apples.

The branch that hit me must have been dead wood. I know it hurt like hell. My Grandad might have been old but he could move pretty damn fast when he needed to. I’d barely had chance to cry out and he was there, shoving the branch aside and scooping me up off the ground, checking my head and hugging me. I was okay with just a big bump to show for my efforts, oh, not to mention the mass of apples we used for the wine!

Cutting Grass.

When I was around 17 I spent a lot of time with my Grandad mowing lawns. My Grandparents had been a big part of the local Pensioners Club until it closed. But they stayed in touch with their friends and my Grandad would visit many of them and tend to their gardens. I have happy memories of pushing the mower up and down while my Grandad chatted away with his friends, drank tea and ate a biscuit or two. When they paid him for his time he would slip me a £5 or £10 note for my hard work but in truth I would have done it for free.

Around that time he started having problems with his stomach or bowels, I wasn’t really sure. He’d make light of it even though I can now see he was in considerable pain. We’d tour around the old folks and work magic on their gardens, they really did look amazing when it was done, beautiful lines on the lawn, weeds removed, borders tended to, lawn edged and rubbish taken away.

I used to drive my Grandad’s Austin Maxi, a goliath of a car, bright orange and a gear stick I had to wrestle into place. It was quite unlike anything else I’ve ever driven.

Often my Grandad would take me out on a driving lesson. It’s funny because I was never nervous with him unlike when in the driving instructors car. My Grandad was patient and offered good advice, especially when it came to backing up, I hated reversing at the time!

On Sunday’s we’d find an empty car park, remember when Sunday’s meant shops were closed? He would show me how to reverse into an empty parking bay then pull out, move along and back into another. I can still smell the interior of his Maxi, a sharp plastic and wood smell with a tinge of soil and tomatoes. Wish the car I drove smelled like that! It was a reassuring, solid smell.

It’s funny how we remember some things so clearly where other memories fade. I can remember every moment of the time I spent with my Grandad when we were cutting grass.

Party Trick.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about this as it might gross some people out, but I figure what the hell, my Grandad deserves to have his party trick shared! I don’t remember the reasons why but at some point he had an operation that removed the chunk of cartilage in his nose. This meant that he could push his nose flat against his face, a strange sight to see.

Sometimes when something tickled his funny bone, he would take off his glasses and push one of the arms into a nostril and out of the other one, then let his glasses dangle from his face!

My Nan would always tell him off but my sister and I would fall about laughing!

No one else’s Grandad could do that!

Ow Bin Ya?

My Grandparents come from the West Midlands, more specifically the Black Country. This title was earned due to the industrial revolution and the amount of soot that covered the buildings from coal-burning and coking. Most of us know and recognise different accents, in the US the New York accent is different to that of Texas for example. Scottish, Irish, Welsh and English all have their own distinct flavours, and within those are the regional accents. We know the London cockney accent, Liverpool, Cornwall, Birmingham etc.

What many don’t know is the vast array of accents in the West Midlands and in particular that of the Black Country, or more precisely the language used. The Black Country dialect is a wonderful thing to hear, the way words are changed and spoken sounds almost as if it’s being said backwards!

When my Grandad talked in this dialect I was amazed, I loved to hear how these words rolled off his tongue as if he were speaking a foreign language. And on occasion I got to hear him talk to his friends in this way, and I would stare at them understanding about 1% of what they said! Things like this:

“Ow am yow?” – Translates to: “How are you?”

“Where bin ya?” – Translates to: “Where have you been?”

“Bay too bah.” – Translates to: “I’m not too bad.”

“Yo ay arf saft.” – Translates to: “You’re very silly.”

“Yo dow arfmek milloff.” – Translates to: “You don’t half make me laugh.”

There was even a sign posted in at a busy road junction, written in the Black Country dialect. I’m hard pushed to translate it all so I’ll refer to Wikipedia instead. In English this reads:

“If you’re stupid enough to come down here on your way home, your tea will be spoilt.”

Which basically means that the road ahead is pretty busy so by the time you get home your evening meal will be cold and probably in the dog.

Aside from a number of books and websites about this amazing language you can even buy The Old Testament – In the Dialect of the Black Country. I remember reading a copy when I was younger and it really was like reading a new language. If you want a strange and quirky present for someone I totally suggest you get them this just to see the expression on their face as they try to read it!

It’s worth noting that the change of the word ASK to AKS which has been used in recent media, is not a new thing but originates in the Black Country.

I’ve not lived in the West Midlands for about 12 years now and as such my accent has softened considerably, noticed by many of my friends, with the exception of one who is from Birmingham and can recognise the occasional twang in my voice. I refuse to pronounce it Barth, Parth, Glarse etc. It is Bath, Path and Glass. I will not agree that the Queen’s English is the only proper English since very few people speak like her.

However, when I speak to my Nan or my dad on the phone I am very aware of slipping back into that dialect, instead of agreeing with “Oh yes” I tend to say “Oh ar” and instead of “You’re not” I used “Yo ay” and it’s kinda nice to feel those seldom spoken words rolling out.

One memory I value above many is how people greeted my Grandad with: “Ow bin ya, Bert?” And the goodbye which consisted of: “Keep art the ossrode.”

The Flu.

I moved into a flat when I was 18. It didn’t have any heating and the first winter there brought me a nice dose of the flu. That’s the only time I’ve ever had the flu and I don’t want it again. I had a little portable hot air heater, several layers of clothing, a sleeping bag and a duvet over me but I still felt like death. I managed to get to the phone box in the street and phoned my Nan to ask her what my symptoms meant. She told me to stay warm, take pills and get hot drinks inside me.

About an hour later they were knocking on my door. My Nan was fussing around and I insisted I would be okay. But my Grandad wouldn’t have any of it. He told me I was to come with them and stay at their house until I was better. No if’s, no buts. I was going and that was the end of the discussion.

Hospital.

I’m sorry, I can’t remember dates very well and my Grandad was in and out of hospital a number of times. On one particular occasion my dad, my sister and her boyfriend at the time, and myself were visiting my Grandad. He looked quite bad but had a smile on his face. We talked and laughed, the usual stuff you do when visiting someone in hospital.

We were talking about the drip stuck in my Grandad’s arm and the bag of liquid saline stuff on the stand next to his bed. It was running low. My Grandad made a comment about it being swapped over soon, and he hoped it would be something tasty like roast beef and gravy. My sister’s boyfriend didn’t get the joke and assumed that was indeed what would happen, a drip that tasted of yummy roast dinner.

Even now that raises a smile when I think about his puzzled expression as he looks from the drip to my Grandad’s sly smirk and back to the drip.

The Worst Night.

When my mother died when I was about 19, I remember crying. She had been an absent mother. I’m sure my sister might see things differently. Whilst I got on well with her my relationship was not like that of my friends, how could it be when she left when we very young? I have never told anyone this before but that night when my Grandad died I thought I would never be as upset and distraught ever again. I was numb. In my late teens I had several bouts of insomnia and for weeks after that night I barely slept.

I remember getting a phone call from someone, I can’t remember who, maybe my Nan. They were trying to find my dad who was in a pub not far from my flat. I called the pub and spoke to him. Things were urgent and he arrived at my flat in minutes. We walked to his house and because he had been drinking I drove us both to the hospital. I wanted to drive fast, to get to my Grandad before something bad happened. But it would have been so much worse had the police stopped us. So I stayed within the speed limit even though I wanted to tear through the dark streets as fast as I could.

At first we couldn’t get in, the main entrance was closed so we had to walk around to another one. My Nan tripped on a curb and fell over, someone helped her up, I don’t remember who.

The nurses ushered us inside and we made our way through the half-lit corridors, as quietly and quickly as possible. We were too late to say goodbye. My Grandad had died not long before we got there. I don’t know where this came from or who told me but I remember someone telling me that he had said something along the lines of: “Let me go” or “I want to go now.” Maybe he said that to a nurse, I don’t know. It could be that I imagined it.

My dad, Nan, sister, step-mom and me were there, someone else too, I don’t remember who. My dad was crying like I’d never seem him do before. We said our goodbyes and I kissed my Grandad on the cheek. He looked asleep and it felt as if anything might wake him up. But he wasn’t snoring with his mouth open.

My dad stayed the night with my Nan and my step-mom drove me home. I remember being alone in my flat thinking that a few hours ago my Grandad was alive. I cried most of that night and tried to ignore that horrible cold hollow feeling in my chest. I’ve not felt that sensation as deep or for as long since then, and even though I know I will again…Jesus, I don’t want to.

I didn’t cry at his funeral. I’m not a public crier. I prefer to keep my emotions under wraps until I can take time to deal with them in my own space. One thing that got to me was when they carried my Grandad inside the church and my Nan placed a hand on his coffin, as if to say one last goodbye. Man that caught me off guard, sucked all the air out of my lungs and robbed me of my energy.

Reliving that night right now is painful. I don’t mind admitting that I’ve had to stop and start writing this over a dozen times. I knew when I started this I would eventually arrive at this point, that the cold hollowness would make a return. It has. I feel trembly and so incredibly low. But you know what? I don’t need to visit a grave stone to pay my respects. Feeling these emotions, both good and bad are how I remember my Grandad, that is how I show my respect, by replaying the important moments of my relationship with him.

My Grandad died in 1995, aged 75. I think of him every day, usually with a smile on my face.

I miss him terribly.