My Dad (Ronald Andrews 1935 - 2015)

I haven't done a lot of work on this blog of late, having needed all my spare time to concentrate on other things. But bearing in mind that buried in the depths of its Older Posts are several obituaries to a number of people who have had some impact or another on my life at some stage or another, it would be perverse if I were not to use it to record my deepest love and gratitude to a man who was there for me for over 54 years of my life, and whom I have been without for only three long and sorrowful weeks.

The following is a tribute that I was honoured to have written and read out at my father's funeral at Hanworth Crematorium on Wednesday, 16th December. As I cannot improve on it, I republish it in full.

Dad, I miss you, but these few words at least will live forever:

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My father was born on 14th August 1935, here in Hanworth. But at a young age he moved to 82 Octavia Road on Isleworth’s Worton estate. The fifth of six children, this is where he was raised.

He was, by all accounts, popular amongst the youngsters on his estate. Kids would call round and ask if he would come out with them to play football, over on the green or in the streets as kids did in those days.

After leaving school at fifteen he went into window cleaning, going on to set up his own business which attracted not only domestic customers but also a number of shops and industrial clients around Hayes, at which he earned a fairly good living. He met Mum and they married in April 1959, and between them they managed to buy their own house at 40 College Road, where I was born in 1961.

I have some clear recollections of Dad from College Road. Cutting myself with his razor that he’d inadvertently left lying around as I tried to copy him shaving, sitting on his lap and pretending to drive his car home along the quiet residential street. One memory in particular remains with me. Despite being only about three or four I had at the time a fanatical interest in motor cars, and it was a source of pride to me that I could identify every make and model on the road. Dad would indulge my enthusiasm by taking me for walks around the local streets and listening patiently as I pointed out the Anglias and Consuls, and Morrises or Austins. Even at that young age he was keen to help me develop. He was never too busy to take me out.

CHESTNUT GROVE

In 1965 the family moved to 33 Chestnut Grove, where I grew up, and where he and Mum lived ever since. It was a larger house, which was just as well as in 1966 my sister Ruth came along.

Both I - and a little later Ruth – went to Worple Road Primary School, where Dad had cause to be particularly embarrassed by my bad behaviour as the headmistress was also one of his customers on his window cleaning round, and he regularly had to endure tales of my exploits whilst applying his chamois to her double glazing.

Dad was a big supporter of Brentford Football Club, and as a kid he would always take me along. He would talk me through the teamsheet and in due course I would become as familiar with the set-up at Griffin Park as I had been years before with the cars on College Road. One amusing incident from around that time sticks with me. Dad and I were at a vet’s surgery in Hounslow and a guy in there with a dog thought it hilarious that we had taken our tortoise along to have its gammy eye seen to. We both instantly recognised the man as the Brentford defender Tommy Higginson.

BUTLIN'S AT CLIFTONVILLE NEAR MARGATE

Every Sunday morning Dad would take Ruth and I to visit our Auntie Barbara and Uncle John, who still lived at the Octavia Road property, and he would drive us with our cousins Lisa, Anne and Steven to a local park, or to the river, or to somewhere else where we could play and have fun.

Possibly my fondest memory was of the summer holidays that we almost always spent at Cliftonville, near Margate. Back in the day Butlin’s had a number of hotels in the town, and each year we would spend a week in one or other of them. Hotel life in those days was much different to today. Dinner was a set meal served at a set time, and if you didn’t get there for that time you missed out. We would sit at bench tables with other families, interacting with strangers. Each hotel had a TV – just the one, mind – and if you wanted to watch BBC1 you would go to one hotel, BBC2 and ITV were shown at other hotels. Although the rooms were quite posh, the bathroom was along the landing and would be shared with several other families. There were amusement arcades and a ballroom in one hotel, a shop in another. They were happy times.

My father would take me fishing on the old Margate Pier. I loved fishing – Dad hated it, yet he would patiently linger for a couple of hours while I indulged my hobby. Once I was fishing with a handline and there was an almighty pull on the line, so violent that it left my hand and went flying into the sea. Although I’d lost my tackle I was so excited at the thought that I’d hooked a fish so big that it had pulled the line from my hand. Dad though went racing down the steps onto the lower platform of the pier, where two youths were laughing hysterically about their prank. Somehow he managed to persuade them very quickly to hand me some of their own tackle as compensation. Although they were probably only about thirteen I considered at the time that he was quite heroic.

Other times we would go swimming in the pool at the Queen’s Hotel. In his day my father was a powerful swimmer.

One other recollection I have from Cliftonville was when we took advantage of our proximity to France to take a day trip to Calais on a one-day pass. I think it was 1978. It was the one and only time that my father ever left the UK, and the culture shock that he felt was palpable. Dad never had any desire to travel abroad, which was just as well because we later discovered that his birth had never been registered when he was born. He didn’t possess a birth certificate, which would have made getting a passport very difficult.

FLITEFORM

When I went to senior school Dad demonstrated his interest by becoming part of the Parent-Teacher Association. And when I went on to college to study for a degree he travelled up to Manchester with me on the train on the first day. More culture shock.

As Dad became older he climbed down from his ladder and took up paid employment, first with Fliteform at Heathrow making aircraft fittings and later with Richmond Council. All this time he put up with me as I got into all manner of trouble, and tried to get me out of it whenever he could. He was also an occasional painter and decorator on his days off, and he took me along sometimes to help me earn a few bob, even though I know he despaired of my uneconomical approach to this kind of work.

Socially he liked to end the day with a relaxing drink – or, in his prime, about half a dozen relaxing drinks. He was a light and bitter man (for the benefit of the under 40s amongst us a light and bitter was a cocktail involving half a pint of bitter in a pint glass topped up with a bottle of light ale). This led to a lot of misunderstandings whenever we ventured to any of the more modern, trendier hostelries in which such a tipple was unheard of. My father’s typical “gertcha” moment.

In retirement he loved his gardening, but more than anything he loved his three grandchildren, whom he doted on.

ISLEWORTH ROYAL BRITISH LEGION

Most recently, for many years Dad was proud to have been the Poppy Organiser at the Isleworth British Legion. In recent years he would raise over £20,000 each time for surviving ex-service personnel and their families. This is the hard, thankless, painstaking work for which I hope he will be remembered by many.

I have found myself wondering over the last week or so why it is that I haven’t cried more over losing Dad. Whether maybe there was something wrong with me. It’s not that we weren’t close – we were. Or that I didn’t love him, because I did - and I do. I think the reason is this. Dad did everything in life that he wanted to do. When he had no more reason to drive, he stopped driving. He had no ambitions or desires to travel. He had worked hard and was satisfied in his retirement. In his last year or so he discussed handing over his work for the Poppy Appeal. He looked after his grandchildren. He spoke of his future passing not with fear or with sadness, but with an air of calm inevitability.

I’ll always remember my Dad with fondness and gratitude, but also with a sense of thankfulness that he did more or less everything he wanted to do; achieved more or less everything he wanted to achieve. I hope you’ll do the same – it’s what he would have wanted.

69 Years And Still Waiting

Belated commiserations to Brentford FC, who gave their all during a spirited second half at Wembley on Sunday at the Johnson's Paint Trophy Final against Carlisle United after having gone a goal down during a disappointing first half.

They did well to get there, and in the event were the width of a goalpost away from extra time.

It was a great experience for my son Joe, my father, my brother-in-law, my nephew and his friend, and my first time at the new stadium.

A big thank you to Vic London and to all at the Isleworth Royal British Legion who organised the double decker bus that got us there and back, and to Di for the bar and barbie beforehand.

It has been 69 years since Brentford last won a cup final. Maybe next time?

A month flies by

I've done it again, haven't I?

This time virtually a month has flown by since I last got around to updating this blog. Again this has been purely down to pressures of work, not just in my councillor role but also the need to make a living and keep the kids in food, pocket money and everything else they seem to have become expert in demanding at strategic times when they know my resistance is not at its best.

Since I last posted I have had the honour of attending the annual Remembrance Day parade in Isleworth, which in terms of public support was certainly the most popular that I have ever witnessed. Councillor Paul Fisher laid the wreath at Isleworth War Memorial on behalf of the community of Isleworth whilst Councillor Shirley Fisher represented the Mayor in the absence of Councillor Dr. Genevieve Hibbs, who was unwell (Councillor Jon Hardy meanwhile laid the wreath on behalf of the Mayor at Brentford War Memorial). It is was a pleasure to see the Mayor, Councillor Paul Lynch, arrive at the Isleworth Royal British Legion after the event and spend some time speaking to ex-service people, councillors and other members of the public, and he made a return visit some days later to present the Poppy Organiser Ron Andrews ("Dad" to some!) with a badge of recognition for all his hard work at a special event for those of us who had assisted with poppy selling, which this year saw yet another record collection (an achievement repeated over the last several occasions), this time in excess of £21,000.

One activity which I took part in later in November and which is worth mentioning was a canvassing exercise on the Worton estate. Not canvassing for votes (this time), but calling on locals on behalf of the residents' association - Residents of Worton Estate (ROWE) - seeking their views on what improvements they would like to see at the Community Centre. I found people by and large surprisingly receptive and positive. Whilst as a seasoned canvasser the patter tends to come naturally in any event, I was ably assisted by the indefatigable Kim Dobson, who first asked if she could stick with me because she was nervous and then barely let me get a word in once the doors had been opened!

Kim is a truly dynamic example of the kind of community activist who has been let off the leash by the election of community councillors and the emergence of a local Area Committee dominated by a community leadership ethos. I'm biased of course, but I really do believe it would be a tragedy to throw all this energy and positivity away by reversing these exciting advancements when we go to the polls in May 2010.

On the 24th it was Borough Council, and I felt compelled to make what had probably been the most difficult speech that I'd ever given there when the time arrived to discuss a raft of budget proposals which had been submitted for consultation. It is to the credit of the Leader of the Council and the Lead Member of Finance that these proposals were being presented early in the process for consideration - under the old Labour administrations they usually came to us on the night in March that the decision was to be taken! Nonetheless due to a combination of what I believe to have been the understandable over-zealousness of our Conservative coalition partners in wanting to publicly promote their low-tax agenda in the run up to both the national and local elections and, I suspect, a certain amount of mischief-making on the part of some senior officers and chief officers of the council, the process had bypassed the Community Group entirely and thus I argued that, under the circumstances, it would be unreasonable to expect us to take joint ownership of it.

Bizarrely the opposition Labour Party would appear to have stepped up its attacks on us since I delivered my speech, suggesting that they would probably prefer the Conservative budget to pass through unhindered, I suspect both for propaganda purposes and also because they fear the challenge of having to present a credible alternative budget which somehow manages to reconcile their expressed concern for the well-being of our public services with their own new, imposed low-tax position. With the demographics at the council chamber being as they are it will be interesting to see how this all pans out.

At the Annual Meeting of my Church the following evening I was re-elected as a Deacon, for which I really am grateful as with my various duties I have not been as active with the Church in recent times as I would have liked to have been in. It truly was humbling to be reassured by my fellow members that they still considered my contribution to be worthy of acknowledgement in this very important way.

On Tuesday this week Councillor Paul Fisher and I were with a gathering of residents from Heron's Place as well as representatives of various local civic and amenity groups discussing the proposed extension of a footpath along the river with planning officers from the council. Many of the same residents and activists were also present at the meeting of the Isleworth & Brentford Area Committee (IBAC) two days later at which a frank and vigorous debate took place on the local authority's plans to move towards electronic-only access to planning documents, a laudable objective in an environmental sense but one which has sold residents short by being so clearly money-driven.

Last night a goodly number of us met at the recently reopened Magpie & Crown in Brentford to take stock of where we stand with friends and enemies, opponents and colleagues as we drift closer to the confused scramble that will be the May 2010 local elections. Judging from the mood of colleagues - old faces and new recruits, several of them former adversaries - I believe we will be ready for whatever is thrown at us and will emerge from the contest stronger, more knowledgeable, better organised and more streetwise than we have ever been before.

Lest we forget

Just as we do every year, myself and several ICG colleagues have been helping the Isleworth Royal British Legion to sell poppies at a number of local outlets including the large Tesco stores at Isleworth and Osterley.

The Poppy Organiser at IRBL is my father, Ronald Andrews, and it is probably fair to say that other ICG members make up the larger part of the selling team that has seen collections increase steadily each year for the last several years.

In Isleworth the parade itself, which takes place this Sunday, has also been growing. At first this may seem odd, with the number of ex-servicemen ever decreasing for obvious reasons, but Isleworth of course is a community in which civic participation is now actively encouraged across the board. Whilst a dozen or so years ago the parades would be attended only by ex-service people, a few Legion members and a small gaggle of local dignitaries, it is now possible to count in the hundreds the number of ordinary, everyday members of the community who come along to honour those who gave their lives for us all. I believe this is a welcome development.

It is a fitting tribute to the gallantry and valour of these brave people that their memory should not only be being kept alive, but that awareness of their sacrifice should actually be increasing.

If you are reading this article before November 9th and haven't yet bought a poppy, please pop along to Tesco or another local vendor and do so now.