I was the middle one of five children brought up in a happy home environment.
My earliest memory of my father was the day I started school. I was four years old. There were lots of children starting on that day and there was a long line of chairs down the corridor. Each child was sitting on a parent’s knee waiting their turn to go into the Head Teacher’s office to be welcomed into the school. My dad was talking constantly to me trying to put me at my ease. He was very good at making people feel comfortable. He always knew the right words to say in any situation.
Through my school years he was always there to help with homework or music lessons. He would always make time to work through difficult problems.
My father was an amazing storyteller. He could tell a story on any subject. His stories weren’t always in words. Every Christmas morning there were five sacks (pillowcases) of presents. To identify whose sack was whose we had to look at the pictures he had attached to the sack. The pictures told a story depicting each one of us in a familiar situation.
His stories were magical. Some were just funny, others taught a lesson but all were enjoyable. I hope his stories go on giving pleasure to people for many years to come.
Hucklow June 2010