I had a few sleepless nights before writing this – the greatest worry being how to paint an honest picture of my dad politely! He was certainly not without his shortcomings, too numerous to list here – though not to mention the wine, the smoking and the swearing wouldn’t seem right! He’d expect nothing less of me than a cheeky insult or two. But those of you who knew him well have your own recollections of all that.
As his daughter, I have so many memories of my own to share it’s hard to know where to begin. We didn’t talk about feelings much, but I know dad was immensely proud of me and of Nico and I making him a granddad when we had Giorgia, Maia and Max. He loved to boast about the things I’d done – my teenage years were plagued by him asking me to impress his friends at inopportune moments, “Say something in French, Anna!” and I’d cringe and weedle my way out of it.
It’s thanks to dad though really that our family has been infiltrated by Italians. He loved Italy and we went to Sorrento several times when I was young. We also ate out a lot in Italian restaurants – the favourite being Pinocchio’s in Christchurch. It was there that I met my first serious boyfriend, but his jealous ways made me put an end to that relationship, only to replace the Neapolitan with a Sicilian a few years later! Dad never openly admitted to Nico, but he was always impressed by his ability to mend and create things out of nothing. He approved of my choice of husband and in his heart knew a down to earth man was in for the long haul.
I will remember a man who was proud of his appearance, a man who had more than 50 pairs of shoes, too many shirts to mention and a small black hair-comb secreted in a pocket wherever he went. I knew he cared about his hair – my last gesture was combing it after he died. He’d have been pleased not to go out looking scruffy. I even did his eyebrows and beard.
Working outdoors kept dad tanned and he was proud to show off how dark he went. In fact he lived life with his shirt off as much as possible. It was hard to get him to button it up or roll his sleeves down. However when he went out, he took a lot of time and trouble to choose the right outfits, preen himself and co-ordinate his belts and footwear. The shoe passion reminds me of how much care he took cleaning them. He’d always grumble about the state of mine, but I know he secretly enjoyed the satisfaction of cleaning them for me! He should have been in the army!
Dad was as proud of his house as he was of his appearance. Nothing was ever allowed to be out of place for more than a second. Rebecca and I would panic if we split so much as a drop of water! He liked things super tidy, he didn’t use the hoover much, but one of his favourite gadgets was the dust buster. In fact at one point I believe he owned 3 of them! I struggle with this OCD tendency too and dad has passed the tidy-up gene on down the male line. Max is one of the tidiest 6 year olds I know. Not a bad attribute for a boy.
I’ll forever associate certain foods and drink with him; the ubiquitous red wine (however cheap and nasty), char grilled calamari, anchovies, pickled walnuts, pate peppernum, tiramisu and crème caramel. He loved his food. He was always impressed by Maia’s adult tastes.
I won’t forget his voice - I can still hear him – talking to his mother on the phone, the conversation always starting with “Wotcha, Doll!”, threatening me as a child with, “You’ll be for the high jump!”, shouting “Marilyn!” to get mum’s attention. And the swearing – Billy Connolly is the only one who did it better. We don’t know where all the swearing came from as nan is sure she didn’t teach him any of it!
The noise of a drill or a rake grating across gravel will always remind people of him. But then there’s the sound of music too – a childhood of Barbra Streisand, Bonnie Tyler, Queen, Barbara Dickson , Status Quo and of course one of his favourites, Olivia Newton John.
Dad loved to talk. In fact mum and I had to rescue unsuspecting strangers from him on many an occasion. He wasn’t a wordsmith or particularly eloquent, but he was curious and verbose. He liked to bombard people with unsolicited advice, particularly with regards to DIY which gave our friends and family may opportunities to practise stretching their patience. But he was always kind and his comments were well meant and you knew he’d lend a sympathetic ear in times of need.
It’s easy to think about his passions. Building and repairing things – the moat, our old front porch, numerous panes of greenhouse glass, my ensuite bathroom. DIY – no job too big or small, no tool too much of an overkill for the task in hand. How cruel it was when motor neurone disease robbed him of these past times. He was amazingly stoical and brave perhaps he couldn’t really believe it was happening to him?
His love of botany bought him and mum together and they had 23 happy years running the nursery together. As a child I couldn’t understand what was so exciting about plants. Dad would sit for hours in the greenhouse pricking out seedlings with his wooden dibbers. He’d get backache planting wall flowers and weeding herbaceous perennials. Mum and dad worked so hard growing and selling plants six and a half days a week – and what did we do on their half day off? We went and visited another nursery or garden centre! I used to find it so boring traipsing around yet more greenhouses! Little did I know that, years later with only a small balcony in Milan, I’d find my own green fingers and my inner gardener. In fact before the arrival of his grandchildren, I used to do quite well on the gardening front.
He also loved animals. He worked as an oceanographer at Southampton University before I was born. He used to breed mice. He liked his fish – and made a moat especially for them. However of course his main passion was birds- the whole of the side of the bungalow used to be flanked by aviaries. He spent hours on the hobby. He’s passed this love on to me and we now have a parrot too and one day I hope to get some ferrets, because dad would have thoroughly approved.
Dad loved spending money on clothes, cigarette cards, Christmas decorations and gadgets – I am pleased to inherit his Christmas lights, his disco ball and other objects mum just simply doesn’t appreciate! Nico knows where my penchant for illumination and high wattage light bulbs comes from!
I hope I have also inherited his generosity – because he was always generous with his time and with his money. Neighbours could knock at any time of day to borrow a tool or gadget from him. I will always remember when he and mum came to visit us in Spain and we went to the department store El Corte Ingles, I was looking for a dress for Christmas. I couldn’t decide between 3 and he bought them all!
There are reminders of him everywhere and he’ll not be forgotten. I know I’ll miss him, especially when I have to face the next social injustice – like a parking fine and I won’t be able to hear him rant on about it. He was an entertaining dad – not always deliberately it has to be said! All bark and no bite - always ready to defend his family. He even had an ebony stick by the - bedside, ready to clobber intruders with! Thank God he never had to use it.
I loved him and it was a privilege to be by his bedside at the end. He is laid to rest with a picture of a sunrise that Giorgia drew, a poignant gesture and one that made us smile. I hope that when the grief has passed, we will all reminisce and remember the funny and kind man my dad was.