PLAN
Our introduction
The Teenage years
Flying the nest and marriage
Helping hand and advice
The final years/letting go
Take reading-glasses/Flachmann(?)
25
Understandably Lou and I were on our very best behaviour when our mum took us on our first outing with: “Joe the butcher: license to kill!”. Joe decided shortly afterwards to be there for all three of us. He moved in and resolutely took on the task and responsibility of rearing two, sometimes difficult (*cough*), pre-teenagers.
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Joe had earned his wage with long-hours and physically demanding manual labour: the polar opposite of my life of Riley in school and higher education.
“You don’t know you’re born!” he’d say.
“It’s not what you know, it’s who you know!”
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But we learned to accept our differences and get along. I did everything I was told and Joe told me what to do.
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“Andrew! Can you just …?”
It was THE phrase, from his large repertoire of idioms, I would particularly learn to dread.
Joe erected fences the length of the Forth bridge which “just” needed constant creosoting; anything which didn’t move “just” had to be painted, varnished or wall-papered. Acres of hay-fever inducing grass “just” had to be mown every Saturday and endless piles of bricks, timber, sand, stones and cement, often making our house rival the local builder’s yard, “just” needed shifting here, or there. And, on occasion, back to there and here the next day!
18
On one occasion, a flat-bed artic backed its way down the lane loaded with concrete pipes almost wide enough for me to walk upright in! Fortunately my mum convinced Joe they were too large and sent them back on their way. I’d still be digging the trench now if they’d had been unloaded.
XX
And it was, of course, a very proud moment for me when Joe introduced me as “This is my lad!”
XX
“Rubbish! Absolute rubbish!”
Joe loved his football. Shame his local team was Stoke. He bought us both season tickets for the Potters and took me along with Kenny and Mike to watch several years of exceptionally wet and miserable seasons. And, yes, the weather was awful too.
Joe loved watching boxing, wrestling and darts. Every Wednesday evening he’d escort my mum to a local pub where she’d play for the Draycott Arms’ darts team.
22
But we all know Joe’s biggest hobby, obsession even, was gardening. The greenest sausage fingers in the land and, of course, dressed down in his old clothes and cap and shoes which had been rescued several times from the dustbin it proved the ideal ploy to send unwanted sales reps, or the like, back on their way.
“Is the owner of the house in?” they’d ask
“No. I’m just the gardener.”
33
Joe loved to travel. We drove to Cornwall and Devon and he would sing along to his Country and Western cassette tapes with a voice which rivalled any of the artists on the tape!
Our first “holidays abroad” were made possible because of Joe and many were spent with Doreen, John and Johnathon.
And we looked forward to celebrating New Year parties with all Joe’s siblings, Harold, Lilly and Bill who’d famously start the journey from “London” more often than finish it.
22
I flew the nest and landed far away in Germany where I realised that Joe’s “chores and odd-jobs” had, in fact, been the best preparation for an independent life. Perhaps too much so. I’d tell my sister “I thought I was turning into Joe!” because I was switching off lights and closing doors to save money.
My sister and I had a joint wedding blessing, in this very church, in 1996 which brought all the (very large, extended) family together.
Despite, or maybe because of, the language barrier Joe and my mum found no problem integrating to life in Germany when they were over and found themselves joining many birthday, wedding and anniversary celebrations with my wife, Tave’s, family.
My parents flew over with suitcases loaded up with oatcakes, salad cream, tea and tongue. We visited many places, the first time a Rhein river cruise. But I’d always have a job or two lined up culminating in our building a double-garage with my translating not just German to English but metric to feet, inches and yards.
“I wish I could come across more often to help you.”
he’d always say and when Joe said that, you knew it wasn’t empty words.
And Joe’s positive “strike while the iron’s hot!” attitude is something Tave especially dearly remembers as encouraging words which gave her extra motivation and drive in her very successful career.
Then he flew back to England to help my gran, Jean and Lou out with jobs and tasks around her home and business.
Once you were “on the right side” of Joe he’d do anything and everything for you, if he could.
He always saw the best in a situation and had a hands-on “it won’t get done by just looking at it” attitude – those were, in fact, the very words I said to Tave, before we built our garden shed together this summer.
“I wish I could be there to help you.” he said over the phone
“You’ve got a good wife, Andrew!” he’d say, as he’d accept a bottle of Asbach brandy and a month’s supply of dark chocolate off her.
Joe’s sage advice was always sound and based on the school of hard knocks and real life. He’d always be supportive towards things you were considering, if he thought it a good idea.
Joe bravely came to start a completely new life with my mum, Lou and myself, in Dilhorne, back in 1978
In November last year Joe and Josie celebrated 40 years of marriage.
He was the ever adoring husband, a model-father and the over-adoring grandfather.
Before Joe left us in December he’d had time to reflect on what he’d achieved.
He was surrounded by a loving family, which he’d helped nurture and grow, and of which he could be and definitely was very proud.
Our road together started ########## rocky but 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!
“Didn’t matter what you were on the outside, if he liked who you were on the inside (non judgemental)”
“Do pay attention, Bond!”
“Mum’s garage a car welding and spray-shop.”
“Lou’s L driving”
“Watch paint drying or grass-growing”
“Today!”
unconditionally came to care for us
Beautiful singing voice
Wouldn’t cry over spilt milk (or spilt Asbach!)
Song & Verse 