Where do I begin? When did I first know how much I loved my Dad? Was it my first thought on the day I was born? Was it genetic? Was it when I realized how cloned in actions, lateral thinking, independent thought and ideas we were? Dad was practical, active, fun, friendly, a great listener, a fulfiller of family dreams, an amateur champion cyclist and effective behavioural modifier when needed. I could be strong-willed at times.
He was born in 1917 in Hulme, inner city Manchester, third child, first son of six children, to his mother’s third husband, who turned into a bullying alcoholic and violent father. Poverty was everywhere in those days and all the children had to work from a very early age, to compensate for their inadequate father who left when Dad was twelve. Dad had to grow up quickly.