My Dad.

Today, March 11, is my Dad's birthday.

Frank was born in 1882 in a village in North Devon, in England. Dad was the fourth child of a family of ten children, six boys and four girls. Times were hard back then. His father was a merchant seaman, absent for many months at a time, only coming home between voyages for short periods, just enough time to reacquaint himself with family life and start another new baby on the way. 

The children grew up living with aunts, uncles and grandparents, as the tiny cottage by the sea wasn't big enough to hold all the children. 

When my Dad was a young man, he would walk early in the morning to the nearby town, spend all day unloading the sailing ships that brought coal across the Bristol Channel from South Wales, load the ships with local strawberries for sale in the Welsh markets, and then walk the five miles home at night, perhaps catching a ride on a horse and cart, no cars back then, just to do it all again the following day. 

Later, he worked at a builders supply yard hauling lumber, concrete, bricks etc. All physical work. He was a strong man. During WW1 he went to Herefordshire and worked in a munitions factory. 

Dad married his sweetheart Rowena in 1908. But things didn't go smoothly. They had a child, but the child didn't live. I don't know if it was a girl or a boy, my Dad never mentioned it.  After the loss of the child, Rowena became ultra-religious and spent most of her time at the local church. I think that was a hard time for my Dad. She died in the 1930s. 

By this time, Dad had purchased a strip of land on a south facing slope overlooking the sea and had built a bungalow. He planted 3 acres of strawberries, which was to become his major source of income. And not only strawberries.... he grew all his own fruit and vegetables, including some extra that he sold, raised chickens and of course, there were always fresh eggs.

One day in May when he was working in the strawberry field (everything done by hand back then, no tractors or machinery), a woman called to him over the hedge asking the price of the strawberries. They chatted for a while, money and strawberries exchanged hands, and then my Dad invited this nice lady to come and have tea with him the following day. 

Kath must have liked the way he made the tea, or perhaps it was the strawberry jam and scones that tempted her. Six weeks later they were married. That was back in 1941. I arrived as quite a surprise to everyone four years later. 

I suppose my childhood was a little different from that of my friends, as my Dad was so much older than other dads, but he was a great dad to me. He played games with me, and he let me help him in the garden. His pet name for me as a child was Patsy.... I have no idea why. Dad lived a long and active life. The bungalow and the strawberry fields were sold in the early 1960s and we moved to the main street of the village, where Dad continued to raise all his own vegetables in the small back garden until his death in 1977, in his 96th year. He celebrated two Silver Wedding anniversaries.... one with each wife. Not many people can claim that! He gave me away at my wedding and got to meet one of his grandsons, happy events that he never thought he would live to see.

Happy Birthday to my Dad!