1936 -
© Ricky logie 2008
Michelle’s Memories of Dad
My father was a truly honest, charismatic, conscientious and oh so loveable man who sorely missed his family when they all started growing up and moving further away. He and my mother brought up a large family with modest means. Out of the eight children they raised I’m proud to say that because of my parents, we are all decent honest people who were taught to respect all people, no matter who they were.
My father worked for Sir Anthony Nutting. He was a kind man of distinction who had had a political career in his younger days. He owned Achentoul, the estate that my father worked and lived on. Sir Anthony thought of the people on Achentoul as his "Scottish Family". My Dad and indeed the rest of his family loved and respected him and it was a sad day when he passed away. My Dad loved Achentoul and he spent long hours in a job that he so obviously enjoyed.
He worked long hours in a job that he so obviously enjoyed. He complained little,
worked hard and although he may not have been rewarded enough, in our eyes, financially,
he was rewarded in the fact that whatever job he did it was always a job well done.
He worked all hours despite the fact that he may, at the time, have been injured
or unwell. My dad had a few serious mishaps throughout his working life and Liz mentions
that in saying that sometimes he took dangerous short-
My dad was always hungry for knowledge. He had a large collection of books, manuals, encyclopaedias. We would wonder what on earth do you want a book like that for, or will you ever read that. But every now and then he would disappear and you would find him nose first in some book or rather. He had an amazing ability to soak up what ever he read. He used to drive us all mad by reading all the information on the food labels and regurgitating it. If you took something unusual in to the house, the first thing you knew he was going to say was, “ Where was that made, what’s it made of, or where does that come from.” He also had this terrible habit of reading books in the bath. Needless to say, tired out from his daily toil, he would fall asleep and the book would end up in the water, become twice the thickness it was. As if that wasn’t bad enough, usually the books were ones he’d borrowed from his daughters!
My dad may have come from a humble background, but he could hold his own with best of them. Often invited to drinks parties it made me proud to see my dad deep in conversation with everybody throughout the course of the evening. The next day the host would come up to me and say “What a lovely man your father is, or how knowledgeable he was.” Apart from bursting inwardly from pride, all I could say was “I know”.
He was a lovely man. He had a wicked sense of humour and loved a good laugh, even if it was at his own expense. We did play many a prank on him and gave him many a surprise, but it was a real joy to see the look on his face on the dawning of realisation. We have all had many laughs these days since dad’s death, but what makes all our stories and giggles so pleasurable was that even though we were having a laugh about some of dad’s escapades throughout our lives, my dad had laughed with us just as much at the time.
My dad loved playing his accordion and was self taught. He didn’t read music, but had learned to play by ear. I was always in awe that dad only had to hear a tune once and would pick it up straight away. He loved playing on his “boxie” and we loved to hear the sound of it wafting through the house. He played at my wedding and I was immensely proud that he and my sister Liz played my husband and I’s first waltz. Dad had real talent and had previously played in a band which took him many a mile. People were always asking him to play his accordion at parties and were disappointed if he hadn’t brought it with him. His favourite tune was “The Dark Island”. He would be a millionaire if he had a pound for every time he was asked to play it. We thought it very fitting that to accompany him out of the church today, he, for a change, would have it played for him.
Although my Dad was a bit of a traditionalist he was also a thoroughly modern man. He was very open minded. He was never afraid of trying new things and usually mastered them, although any time I was visiting there was this little plea, “Would you put some money in my phone for me.” The internet was one of the things that fascinated my dad. He would spend hours on it looking at sites. It was through this medium that he managed to contact cousins in New Zealand. But typical of dad, instead of the usual length of email he would write huge epistles. Not only was he very eloquent verbally but equally so in written form.
He also liked to dabble in cooking, although we didn’t always appreciate his mix of ingredients. I never really thought that icing sugar went with grouse!
He went to New York and Canada in July 2001, two months before 9/11. He ventured on to Broadway, 5th Avenue, up the Empire State Building, Ellis Island, Time Square and China Yown. He was photographed on Ellis Island with the Twin Towers as the backdrop. I remember him saying that he went up a walk up one of the major streets in New York City, just a little bit different from Kinbrace, and him saying that he had stopped to ask directions and blethered to this person and that. We were all thinking, My God you could have been robbed or something equally abhorrent, but he seemed quite unphased and took it all in his stride. That was typical of Dad. Didn't matter where he was he usually looked for good in people.
My Dad visited Cape Breton in Canada and stayed in an area that was famous for Scottish immigrants and a mecca for Scottish music. Ironically it was a place called English Town! My dad, who had an interest in people and places around him and far away, had realised one of his dreams to travel. He must have got the bug, because a few years later he and my mum visited Dubai where my sister Trixie lives. Dad being a bit of risk taker at work, was very naughty and passed across the border into Oman illegally, albeit he had only just stepped out of the car and walked 20 yards. He was fascinated by the architecture and the volume of building going on.
My dad had been married to my mum for nearly 52 years and that is no mean feat in today’s climate. They had their hard times, sad times but there was a whole lot of happy times. Everybody that came to their house always commented that it had a happy atmosphere. More often than not any friends of ours that came to visit for a weekend with us, came back and sometimes came back to visit without us. Mum and dad had this natural ability to make people feel at home in theirs. As well as having eight children of their own some of our friends became like honorary children.
I wasn’t with my dad when he died or even nearby and this is a fact which I will always regret. But in a way I’m glad I didn’t see him in the hospital when he was at his poorest. I see him in my minds eye as a strong, robust man, head down, contentedly hoeing his flower beds, the sun on his back and not a care in the world.
Dad, God Love You and I’ll see you again.
By Michelle