I am glad to say that I have over forty years’-worth of happy memories of my father that I will always cherish. I’d like to share just a few of them here with you….

A fond memory of mine is of sitting on my Dad’s lap, age seven or so, in the living room at Clearwater Way, in Cardiff, reading poems together at tea-time. Favourites included Eleanor Farjeon’s “Cats Sleep Anywhere” and “Daddy Fell into the Pond” by Alfred Noyes. It was my Dad’s way of sharing his love of literature and reading, with my brother and me, in an age-appropriate way.

I also remember and appreciate the physical effort he put into teaching me how to ride a bike. So many balmy summer evenings spent encircling Roath Park Lake, with my Dad, then in his mid-forties, energetically running alongside me, holding onto the back of my saddle, to steady me. What a feat of endurance and dedication that must have been for him, and so typical of his parenting-style!

Then there were the countless family holidays spent visiting castles, cathedrals and other historic buildings, with my Dad enthusiastically and knowledgeably pointing out architectural details – flying buttresses, Norman arches and perpendicular Gothic windows. Is it any surprise that my brother went on to study architecture and that I can still distinguish Ionic columns from Corinthian ones?

He had a strong work ethic and wanted his children to study hard and do well academically, but my Dad also considered it important to be a rounded, cultured person. He took us to see countless operas performed by the Welsh National Opera, and hosted lively “Circle 44” evenings in Woolaston Avenue, where friends of all ages would perform songs and dances or recite poetry for each other’s enjoyment.

My Dad’s encyclopaedic memory was legendary – not only for scientific facts and figures or historic dates and times – but also for keeping up with the lives of our friends and acquaintances. So often when chatting to him about some friend or other, my Dad would interject “Didn’t this Adam once have a reclining bicycle?" or some such detail, that I had long forgotten!

My Dad had a deep interest in Indian classical culture, teaching himself Sanskrit, and translating verses from the Hindu scriptures to better his own understanding of Hinduism. His knowledge was so vast, that many friends asked Dad to officiate at their children’s weddings, instead of a Hindu priest, and indeed, he also officiated at mine – carefully choosing suitable scriptural readings to create a unique and memorable marriage ceremony.

Ever since I can remember, my Dad loved gardening. Nurturing new plant cuttings in recycled yoghurt-pots on every window sill. Carefully tending them with rice-water, and spent tea leaves. Yet, it was only in the last five years, when I finally developed my own love of gardening, that I began to use him as a horticultural helpline – phoning him as and when questions or crises arose! So, a few months ago, when my Dad gave me his precious plants to look after, as he was no longer able to himself, I felt touched and honoured to be the custodian of his floral treasures.

Ultimately, I remember my Dad as someone who always put his family first – whether it be helping his children with their homework, or uprooting himself after 35 years in Cardiff and moving to London, in order to live close to my brother and me, or prioritising being present for every single one of his grand-daughters’ birthdays in Nottinghamshire. I really couldn’t have wished for a more wonderful Dad than the one I was privileged to have.
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