Railwayman Dad put four of us through private school
The family joke was that our Dad never sat down. he was always working in the garden or fixing something in his shed, never relaxing.
When he eventually fell ill and was unable to make his daily walk, he found the inactivity hard to cope with. he was a grafter until the end.
Born in Stoke-on-Trent in 1935, he joined the Merchant Navy at 15, becoming one of the so-called Vindiboys who learned their seamanship on the training ship Vindicatrix.
he travelled all over the world, but his naval career ended after a fall on deck in which he broke his back. he spent several months recovering in Australia.
At the age of 20, he married my mum Terri and they had a long, happy marriage. The year before he died, they received a telegram from the Queen congratulating them on their 60th wedding anniversary.
Most of Dad’s working life was spent on the railways — he clocked up 35 years with British Rail. Just before retiring he suffered a terrible shoulder injury when some youths pushed him on the track. It left him in severe pain for years.
he died from mesothelioma, a rare form of lung cancer usually related to exposure to asbestos. Dad never stood a chance, but he was cheerful and resilient, hoping there would be a miracle cure because he desperately wanted to be there for Mum.
By a horrible twist, Mum had cancer diagnosed a year before Dad even knew he was ill. They didn’t talk much about it, but Dad said right from the start ‘we will get through this together’ and he threw everything into helping Mum, doing all the household chores.
Dad worked so hard to give us a good life — all four of us went to private school, which must have meant huge sacrifices for our parents, who were not rich.
he would have called himself a ‘very ordinary’ man, but to us, his five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, he was extraordinary.
he was a kind, cheerful man who always had time to chat with anyone.
When we were children, we all went on camping holidays and later Mum and Dad got into caravanning. It would never occur to them to stay in a hotel!
After they retired, they decided to move to a little French town called La hayedu-Puits, in Normandy. Dad couldn’t speak more than a few words of French, but he still managed to engage his new neighbours in conversation.
he always wanted a burial at sea so, after his death, we brought his ashes home and had a little service in Cornwall, then went out in a boat to say our last goodbyes. We are all lost without our Dad, but remember him with great pride.
Michael John Davies, born December 31, 1935; died January 28, 2018, aged 82.