Dance With My Father; A personal blog about Father's Day

In some countries, including the UK and France, June the 19^th is Father’s Day and as such, many people will celebrate and be thankful for their father.  

Not everyone will join in with the celebrations. For some, their experience with their father was negative or perhaps even abusive, negating any desire for an ongoing relationship . For others like me, the reason is more simplistic. Their father has passed away. There is no one to call and say hi to on Father's Day, no one to visit and take a bottle of scotch to. It is a day for reflection and memories.

When that life changing call came, I felt my legs go from under me. Someone, I don’t recall who, held me up and helped me to a chair. My mind was numb with disbelief and shock.

At the age of only 56, my father had died. He had not been unwell, but had a massive coronary thrombosis and had died instantly. He was in the back of a taxi of all places, the driver of which, drove immediately to a police station, but it was too late. He was gone. I had moved from Lancashire to Derbyshire only three days earlier. I had said goodbye to him, we had hugged, joked and said goodbye.

How could I have known that it was to be my last goodbye?

At only 56 he was gone







I stood now in a stranger’s kitchen trying and failing, to get my emotions under control. There were no mobile phones in 1981, but someone had managed to track down my closest neighbour and rung them to ask them to go and get me. They were so kind and drove me to a railway station some miles away where I was met my by beloved Aunt. I wept and I sobbed, until I made myself sick. I was in a nightmare from which there was no escape. And what of my mother? She had idolised him; oh God, how would she ever cope. I knew she wouldn’t.

Me and my brother with my lovely mum






At the age of 21, it was my first close encounter with the death of a really close family member – a parent. I had lost grandparents of course, but while I mourned their passing, it was not the same. This was my dad. My DAD for God’s sake. He couldn’t be dead, he just could NOT be dead.

I could not claim to have been close to my dad, in fact, he was a rather distant father. Growing up, he was someone who was in the house on occasion, but did not really interact with my brother and me. I recall mum pestering him to take us out for the day, which he did, with bad grace. He was not a family man, he was a business man, and a busy one at that. He was often abroad in Germany where he had a branch of his textile business. However, when he returned, he would always bring me marzipan and chocolate off the ferry. He never forgot. I actually hated marzipan, but that was not the point. My dad had brought me something, he had thought of ME.

Dad with one of his cars







Dad was a golfer and a Freemason – two activities, which kept him out of the house for most of the time, much to my mother’s disappointment. When I became a teenager, dad and I were little more than strangers who passed through the same space now and again. If I was really stuck, he would take me to work in the racing stables, where I was a groom. We hardly spoke, he really was like a stranger to me, and I found I had nothing to say to him. He must have said something to my mum because she tackled me about it one day. She said that dad told her I hardly spoke to him in the car on the way to work. I felt angry and snapped at her, “What do you want me to say to him mum? I don’t know him”. She was shocked, but knew it to be true. He had invested little time in his children and as a consequence, our relationship was strained and distant.

Always one of the lads - here's dad on the wall



After this incident however, he began to make more of an effort, and I guess, I did as well. Not having much in common made it difficult, but things started to improve.

One overriding memory I have of my dad is of New Year 1977. I was a "know it all" teenager (is there any other type?) my friend Nick and I had decided to go to the pub and see the New Year in. Mum and dad had agreed, but dad wanted to know how I was getting home. “Oh” I said airily, “We’ll get a taxi”. Dad warned that there would be few available taxis around at midnight on New Year’s Eve, but of course I didn’t listen.

Well, we had our night of fun and of course, as predicted, the taxi did not turn up. However, instead of ringing mum and dad from the phone box in the pub, Nick and I decided instead to go to some unsuitable teenage boy’s house along with a gang of other teens. (I can’t believe how stupid teenagers are at times)

It was all perfectly innocent. We listened to music, smoked a few B&H and before I knew it – it was 3 am and definitely time to think about getting home. “I know” I said having a brainwave, “I’ll ring my dad, he’ll come and get us”. Oh the foolishness of youth. I had not given one thought to the worry I had put my parents through that night. They had no way of knowing where I was or who I was with. I rang the number and within a millisecond, dad snatched up the phone; “Where the hell are you” he barked.

I told him.

“Wait there” was all he said, and hung up.

“Is he coming?” asked Nick. I assured her that he was on his way but added that he sounded a bit cross. We heard his BMW coming from about half a mile away, engine roaring, wheels spinning. I looked at Nick, “Mmm, I think he IS quite cross” I observed with all the stupidity of a 17 year old.

Dad in Germany on the steps of the hotel we stayed in. The car is THE BMW from that famous New Year's Eve!






Cross? He was blazing, but managed to remain polite as I had my friend with me. He dropped her off at her house and we sped home in awkward silence. Of course, when I got in there was a scene as my mum was in tears, and dad remained furious for many days.

However, not long after, another family member had a baby girl. My dad congratulated them and said, “You never know, if you’re really lucky, when she’s older, you’ll get to go pick her up at 3 o’clock in the morning”.

He looked at me and he winked. I was forgiven.

One of the last Christmas's we got to spend together. Yikes on the wallpaper mum!





We became closer after that and when he died, my emotions were dominated by anger. I was so angry that he had left me when we were starting to have a grown up relationship. I dreamed about him every night. In my dreams I was looking for him, and when I found him I would say, “There you are, I knew you weren’t dead” and he would wink at me and say, “Yes, but don’t tell anyone else”.

I felt his loss like a knife in the heart. I didn’t think I would but I did. I felt cheated. A few weeks after he died, I discovered I was expecting my first baby. I was bereaved all over again. He would not get to see my baby, I would not get to introduce her to her grandpa. It was unfair, so damn unfair and I grieved for him all over again.

I would walk down the street watching people going about their business and I wanted to scream at them, “Stop it, stop just getting on with life, don’t you know my dad is dead?” It was ridiculous, but at the same time, it consumed me and I could think of nothing else.

As I suspected, my mum did not cope, and just a few years later, she also passed away. While I grieved for her, there was not the fierce, raw emotion I had felt at the loss of my father.

Me and mum in her garden where she grew all our fruit and vegetables





Nothing has ever felt so painful.

He was a popular man, and his funeral was dominated by men – golfers, Freemasons, friends, business associates and more. There were literally hundreds of mourners and the police had to be called to direct the traffic.

I shall never forget the sound of all those male voices, which to me sounded like a Welsh Male Voice Choir. When they sang Bread of Heaven, I simply lost my legs again and collapsed on the seat in a complete trauma of grief.

It took me years to move on from the loss of him. I still cannot listen to the Luther Vandross song Dance With My Father, nor can I bear to see all the Elvis videos, where he’s with Lisa Marie as it reminds me too much of my own loss.

Photos like this one make me so sad




Good memories? Yes, of course, I have those too. He loved Jazz and if he was home on a Sunday, the house would be filled with the strains of Count Basie, Art Tatum, and of course great music such as Glenn Miller and the like. I have always loved music, and we shared an appreciation of Manhattan Transfer’s “Chanson D’Amour” and Elkie Brooke’s “Pearl’s a Singer”. I remember his sense of humour and his handsome smile, and the smell of him. He smelled of Old Spice aftershave.

He was the only person who called me Kate instead of Kathy (Freya is a pen name remember) and to this day I don't like anyone to call me Kate - it was dad's name for me. 

So for all those of you who still have a father, make the most of him; listen to him, he knows more than you and he’s the only one you have. Mine was not perfect, he was certainly no angel, but he was a gentleman, and he had that rarest of qualities - integrity. 

I still miss him, I will always miss him.

He was, after all, my dad.

Please do visit my website at www.freyabarrington.com

Or find me on Facebook; www.facebook.com/freyabarrington

Freya

If I Had A Hammer

It’s been 2 months since we moved into our new home in the Cote D’Armor region of Brittany and our renovations continue apace. Steve is somewhat of a machine when it comes to getting the work done. Up at half 5 or 6 o’clock at the latest, he soldiers on day after day, hardly stopping for a break. He’s usually exhausted by 6 or 7 in the evening, and will predictably fall fast asleep on the settee by 8pm, missing the latest happenings in our favourite TV shows, namely, Nashville, NCIS and even Game of Thrones! When it comes to watching the next one, and they do the “Previously, on Game of Thrones” he will inevitably say, “Hang on, we’ve not seen that one yet”, while I assure him that we most certainly have seen it, but remind him that he fell asleep precisely 30 seconds into it. Poor man L

Shhhhh don't wake him

When we first moved into the house, a host of differing needs clamoured for attention; the first task for Steve was to prioritise what had to be tackled first. Thankfully, the house did have electricity, albeit of the antique variety, which required replacing as soon as possible. We were also thankful to have mains drainage, which did work of a fashion. For me, getting the kitchen in working order was top of the list and thankfully Steve agreed.The old kitchen consisted of a sink, a cooker, a dresser and a couple of manky old work surfaces. 

The kitchen "before"

"Before"

Also taking up space in one corner was an enormous old radiator, which Steve discovered weighed a ton!

Old and very very heavy!

He spent the next couple of weeks, replacing all the worn plumbing fittings, ripping out the nasty bits and gradually I saw a real kitchen emerging. 

Plumbing things in

I DID help!

Bright tiles, new sockets, units and cupboards all appeared. The old cooker and sink were steam cleaned, scrubbed, disinfected and restored to useful working order. 

Slowly slowly everything got done

It received a coat of paint, some new appliances, and then the finishing touches like the lampshades, blinds and accessories brought it all together into what I’m sure you will agree is nothing short of amazing J

Ta Da!

My stunning new kitchen. I love it!

We bought the main bulk of kitchen units, wiring, plumbing supplies, tiles, lighting, wood etc at a huge store called Leroy Merlin in Saint Brieuc, which is roughly 40 minutes away from us – they have stores in many other places too. Stocking pretty much everything you would ever need for home and garden, Steve was like a kid in a sweet shop. We made sure we had a store card as Leroy Merlin offer one of the best discounts we have found here. We paid €9 for a store card for three years, but the benefits are huge. With a one off discount of 15% we chose to use this at a time when we had spent almost €2000 on kitchen units, a heating system and much much more. It was a discount well worth having. You also get the chance of a free home delivery and regular discounts on all purchases. Their after sales service is excellent – returns do not require a receipt as long as you have your store card, and are hassle free. If you have to order something, which is not in stock, they will write to you to let you know it has arrived. We can highly recommend this store as one of the best AND in our opinion, one of the most reasonable in price.  

After a typical trip to the DIY store

I speak reasonable French, Steve speaks none. However, the vocabulary required for a renovation project is way beyond my capabilities and I soon discovered that my French English dictionary was absolutely essential when we went to the store. On one occasion I forgot to bring it and we spent a frustrating hour trying to work out which product was wood preserver, and which was simply wood varnish. Our discussion went something like this;

Steve; So, which one is it?

Me; (Reaching into my bag only to discover I don’t have my dictionary) Oh damn, I’m not sure – I’ve forgotten the dictionary.

Steve; Why have you forgotten it? You know we need it.

Me (sulkily) I KNOW we need it, I didn’t forget it deliberately. Let me try and work it out – peers at the dozens of products on display

Steve; Well? Which one?

Me; No idea

Steve; This is no good, I mean we have to remember the dictionary next time

Me; We? We have to remember it? You mean I have to remember it, you don’t remember anything

Steve; You know what I mean

Sigh, you get the idea.

Thankfully we found a helpful member of staff who spoke English and could help us, but I never left my dictionary at home again – I, not we J

As well as working on the kitchen, Steve was also busy doing a million other jobs alongside. He was rewiring, refitting plumbing fixtures, putting up stud walls to make 2 of the bedrooms into en-suites, knocking massive holes through to make a new doorway and on and on.

New doorway in progress

Yikes, the DUST!

The other main DIY store we used is Bricomarche; we have one close by in a place called Rostrenen, and have become regulars! I think we might be invited to the staff Christmas party at this rate J Again, we got the store card to qualify for 10% discount and have found staff to be helpful and polite. Bricomarche stocks most of what we require for day to day renovations. We managed to place an order for a home delivery of sand, ballast, cement and wood, which was another big step in learning how things work here. Bricomarche also sell a smaller selection of home furnishings, curtains, blinds, wallpaper, paint etc, which is useful for me as when Steve is off spending an hour perusing plumbing fittings, I can disappear to find floaty curtains J

One thing we have found invaluable is our walkie talkies, and the staff have become accustomed to the mad English who go round their store communicating with each other in this way. It’s great as I can wander off and find even more red kitchen accessories, and Steve can find me if he needs me to translate something. We get some funny looks though J

Bricomarche has the added bonus of having Intermarche next door – a massive supermarket with the best strawberry tarts we have found anywhere. They also have a decent café for snacks, coffee or a full blown sit down lunch, so loved by the French.

Mmm treats

One of Steve’s biggest tasks has been rewiring the whole house. This is a Hard Job (capital H, capital J there) and at times, I have been called upon to assist in;

Wire holding

Wire passing

Wire pulling

Wire poking

The dreaded rewiring

These are important Jobs for which I am given detailed instructions, but at times, the rolls of wire take on a life force of their own and behave in a way, which makes Steve’s life a misery. Snagging, kinking and generally badly behaved wire results in a lot of strong armed pulling and comments such as, “For goodness sake it’s your job” as he tries to make the wire go where it’s supposed to go. The wiring on the stairs was particularly irksome – feeding all the way around the kitchen, up the stairs and into the living room, it looked like spaghetti junction and I was called upon to help.

Steve; Can you just give me a hand here

Me; (Pleased to be needed) Of course, what shall I do?

Steve; Right (any job which starts with right, is a serious one) I need you to hold this wire and when I say, let it feed through. Don’t let this one (indicates another wire) come through as well, and watch that the trunking (black pipe which the wire lives in) stays where it is.

Me; (a bit daunted) Okay

Steve; And don’t be touching any wires you’re not supposed to be touching

Me; Eh? How can I not touch any wires I’m not supposed to be touching? How can I possibly know which wires I’m not supposed to be touching?

Steve; Just do what I said

Don't touch what you're not supposed to be touching! Err okay then

All under control now

And so it goes on J Like a lot of men, Steve thinks that because he knows what he means in his head, then everyone else should also understand. I dread being asked to go fetch tools or other things from the room where such things are kept.

It's in there somewhere doesn't really help!

Steve; Can you fetch me my pliers with the yellow handles please? Not the red ones, oh and my 4” drill bit as well.

Me; (nervously) where might I find them (knowing that all tools and metal bits of drill look the same to me)

Steve; They’re all in there somewhere

See what I mean? All in there somewhere, that’s not helpful at all.

So far, it’s been great fun; we’ve learned a lot – I’ve learned what a 4” drill bit looks like for a start and I can thread a wire like nobody’s business J 

Ha! I've got this wiring business sorted

We know which stores are the best ones for us and which ones are not so great. As well as Bricomarche and Leroy Merlin, we have used Conforama, which is another big home furnishing store, which sells white goods, furniture and bigger items. Their delivery charges are pretty steep, but you can hire a van from them at a reasonable cost. Leclerc is another good supermarket to rival Intermarche and of course we have good old Lidl for those unbeatable offers they have on all the time, which keeps us going back for more.

What we did find was that a trailer is pretty essential when tackling a renovation project. We only wish we had bought it immediately as we have paid out several hundred euros in store charges for bigger items such as the sofa, fridge freezer etc, when we could have done it ourselves with the trailer. 

Delivery comes at a price

The decider came when we had cleared the garden and had so much rubbish to move, it would have required paying someone to take it away. We bit the bullet, got the trailer and took it to the dechetterie (rubbish tip) ourselves. Every town has its own dechetterie which is a real bonus when you have as much rubble and rubbish to get rid of as we have!

The all essential trailer loaded up for the tip

And so we press on; Steve has achieved truly astonishing results in the few weeks we’ve been here. He is making a home for us to be proud of. We love the village we live in. I particularly enjoy my daily walks to the boulangerie for their unbeatable fresh baked bread and pastries. 

Our delightful boulangerie

Easy to see why I am a daily visitor here!

Here is the little bar/cafe, which we frequent when we get a minute, 

The cafe/bar, the hub of any French village

There is also the beautiful countryside where I now spend so much of my time as we now have a rescue dog – oh yes, did I not mention Merlin? Sigh, just what you need in the middle of renovations – a dog! Not just any dog of course, but a highly strung, nervous wreck of a Grand Basset Griffon Vendeen. More about that madness in another blog J

Steve and I collecting the lovely Merlin from the SPA refuge in Quimper

Please visit my website at www.freyabarrington.com for more details about me and my writing. Many thanks

Bye for now.

Freya