Joe, as we called Albert, was a brave man.
He must’ve been, to have taken on the challenge of rearing two, admittedly near-perfect, children. Of course, Joe wasn’t only brave, he’d fallen in love with my mum. Love conquers all but taking on the task of fathering two teenagers, model or not, was a learn-by-doing task and, for me at least, our road was initially very rocky.
Joe literally had a license to kill but, unlike James Bond’s life of Riley, Joe worked hard. Very hard. At least that’s what he told me! Joe was used to manual labour, a six-day week since leaving school at 15. At the time this conflicted with my school studies. Joe, who’d always have a adage or proverb at hand from a vast library in his mind, would say “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know!” and he was right. He knew every person and their dog.
All of a sudden there were fences erected the length of the Forth bridge which needed constant creosoting, anything which didn’t move was painted or varnished, acres of hay-fever inducing grass to mow and endless piles of bricks, timber, sand, stones and cement which were regularly dumped on the drive and needed moving behind our house. And on occasion back to the front of the house the next day!
But it wasn’t all work and no play, although it sometimes seemed like it, and our first “holidays abroad” were because of Joe. Many of them spent with John, Doreen and Johnathon. And there were lots of birthday and New Year parties with Joe’s siblings, Harold, Lilly and Bill who’d famously make the journey from “London”.
Joe loved his football. He bought the tickets for Stoke City and took me along with Kenny and Mike for three exceptionally cold and wet seasons where I enthusiastically clapped the dire performances to keep from freezing.
Joe loved watching wrestling, which rubbed off on Alannis, and darts. Every Wednesday he’d escort my mum to a local pub where she’d play for the Draycott Arms’ darts team.
Jill / invasion of the body snatchers
I’m just the gardener.
I was to achieve good exam results (even though the exam questions weren’t about creosoting and mixing cement) and, after a couple of local jobs left for Germany. Left alone with my own household I suddenly discovered that Joe’s chores had prepared me in the best way possible for an independent life.
When he came to visit with my mum I’d always try to get revenge by setting ever larger tasks around my house which climaxed in building a double-garage, which we completed in a couple of weeks.
Despite, or maybe because of, the language barrier Joe and my mum found no problem integrating in to life in Germany when they were over and found themselves joining many parties and celebrations with my wife, Tave’s, family.
Whenever we met up we were like old-friends. Family. Lots of memories to reminisce and laugh about at from the past and lots to do and see for new memories.
Once you were “on the right side” of Joe he’d do anything and everything for you, if he could.
He was hands-on “it won’t get done by just looking at it” and I remember him with a smile on his face when we met, although that maybe because Tave was always by my side.
Joe bravely came to live with my mum and her two children, in Dilhorne over forty-years ago and would remain the ever adoring husband till his last breath.
During our visits from Germany, last summer, he reflected on the past and on his family.
When Joe left us in December he’d had a chance to reflect on the 40 and be proud of what he’d done.
A loving family which he’d helped nurture and grow, just like all the many flowers and plants he cared for over the many summers.
Our road together may have been initially rocky, but were able to quickly sort out any problems and enjoyed a fantastic father son relationship and Joe was more than well prepared for when his grandchildren, David and Alannis, joined our family.
Towards the end he’d taken the chance to say his goodbyes and he asked me the last time we saw each other:
“We did alright, didn’t we And?”
You did more than alright, Joe!
license to kill Tave and 007 and Joe always positive with house, job (not her parents). Strike while the iron’s hoz!
When composing Joe’s eulogy I found I was writing page after page of memories and stories and that was goodto remember Joe by but something which isn’t suitable for a synapsis.
We’ve all got our memories of Joe so I’ll sum up with ….
40 year marriage anniversary
THROWS————–
In that time window I’d set-up their expensive stereo in the garage to record the songs from my first band, Guillotine. Which set up, “practised” and disappeared into the night, before they arrived back after closing time.
Song & Verse 