Today, well, yesterday - for it is just past midnight now- it was Father's Day in the UK. I had already been thinking about my Dad even before I remembered it was a special day. This morning I was texting my niece Emma about our family ability to hand letter posters - a skill taught to me at the kitchen table and I discovered, taught to her by her dad who must have learnt as I had done, to hold the brush steady, resting one wrist upon the other and make the strokes just so, as our Dad had done years back in the 1930s when it was his job. Before the War changed everything.
I have been thinking today about a very special day when my Dad took me on my own to Battersea Fun Fair. I was ten and this was a great treat. It was wonderful. I had been to the fair on Wimbledon Common but Battersea Park was spectacular. It had the Water Chute and the Big Dipper. It was a vast Pleasure Park, a real treat. We spent £5. I knew this was a lot of money, but I didn't realise how much it really cost until I read Dad's letters after my mother passed away. I read that he took me to the Fun Fair when Mum was in America with Barbara and they were worrying about which stamps they could afford and under what circumstances a phone call was merited. I had forgotten the month and the year and only remembered the event. When I pieced it all together I understood the significance and great generosity of this day out. And that it was one of the last days before the black clouds came.
My Dad was nearly always tired, very often worried, occasionally cross. He worked so hard to make our lives better than his had been. On that summer's day when his cares were at their greatest he put on his jolly smile and jokey manner and we went to the Fun Fair. He made me laugh and I had fun. My brave, strong, kind Dad.
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