Tally-ho, Dad! You always cut such a dash
My DAD was a colourful character who had a life-long interest in Victorian taxidermy. He amassed an enormous personal collection of stuffed animals that included birds of prey, an elephant’s foot and a gazelle’s head that he once — to my mother’s dismay — hung above the cooker when we were away on holiday.
Dad played first- class rugby for Abertillery, Newbridge and Newport United, was a committed cigar-smoker and an avid collector of antique swords, blunderbusses and Zulu spears.
He turned our spare bedroom at home in Newport into a Sword Room where he and fellow sword enthusiasts, known affectionately as the Stuffed Owl Society (SOS), met every Tuesday to drink whisky and to polish their sabres.
But most of all, he was a warm, brilliant and entertaining dad.
On his return from National Service in the Malayan jungle (where he was startled to encounter a rare black leopard and an enormous python on the same day) he developed a keen interest in trade unions and local politics and, in 1963, became the youngest councillor in Wales, aged just 27.
During his career at Newport’s Business Statistics Office he embarked on an epic battle to introduce flexible working hours — a privilege appreciated to this day by current employees.
He was also tireless in his empathy and support for those who, like him, had experienced life’s darker side.
Dad’s childhood in Pontypool, South Wales, was sad and lonely. His father was a miner who was a good man, but worked all hours, and his beloved mother Edith suffered severe depression. She took her life when dad, an only child, was just eight years old.
An aunt stepped in to help, but she was cold and distant and dad retreated into a solo world of animals and his own imagination. Perhaps it was because of his childhood that he was determined to cram so much in.
He developed a keen interest in military history, particularly The Charge of the Light Brigade, about which he became a well-known authority and public speaker.
He captained the local veterans’ tennis club and ran a writer’s group. He loved to dress up in full military regalia and some of his rarer items saw him appearing on the TV shows Flog It! and Dickinson’s Real Deal.
In later life he became a regular contributor to The Countryman’s Weekly, always signing off his column, ‘Tally-ho!’. He and our mum, Val, who met at the Majestic Dance Hall in Newport in the early Sixties, married in 1965 and had two daughters: me and my younger sister Lynne.
While mum did not share his passion for taxidermy, she was usually supportive — although once she told him a stuffed giraffe was available to buy as the owner was moving to a bungalow.
Delirious with excitement, he drove to the address, only to discover it was a practical joke. Bitterly disappointed, he sulked for days.
Since his sudden passing on his 83rd birthday, this and dozens of other wonderfully silly anecdotes about Dad comfort us in our grief.
His funeral was as individual as his life — huntsmen with hounds blew Gone Away on a hunting horn, the service was full of his own poetry and his catchphrase ‘Tallyho’ was spelt out in forest foliage.
I will always be grateful to have been his daughter.
Roy Evans, born on april 3, 1935, died on april 3, 2018, aged 83.