TALKING ABOUT MY DAD
THREE WRITERS ON THEIR FATHER-DAUGHTER RELATIONSHIPS
‘I was a daddy’s girl and my father was my rock’
VERONICA HENRY, 52, WRITES MOVINGLY ABOUT THE FATHER WHO WAS HER ROCK, AND HIS LOVE OF IRELAND, WHERE HE GREW UP.
EVERY DAY IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DIVORCE, WHEN MY MARRIAGE HAD FALLEN APART AFTER 25 YEARS AND MY WORLD HAD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN, ONE MAN CALLED ME EVERY DAY. “THIS IS YOUR DAILY COMFORT CALL,” MY FATHER WOULD SAY, AND EVEN IF WE DIDN’T DISCUSS MUCH, I WOULD KNOW HE WAS THERE FOR ME.
SADLY, THE BROADEST PAIR OF SHOULDERS AND THE TWINKLIEST PAIR OF EYES WENT FROM MY LIFE OVERNIGHT WHEN MY DARLING DADDY DIED SHORTLY AFTER HIS 80TH BIRTHDAY LAST YEAR. BUT, IF EVER THERE’S A CRISIS OR A DRAMA, I CAN STILL HEAR HIS REASSURING VOICE, WITH ITS HINT OF COUNTY KERRY: “ACH
NOW, EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT.”
I SUPPOSE I WAS A DADDY’S GIRL, THOUGH IT’S ONLY NOW LOOKING BACK THAT I REALISE IT. I WAS THE FIRSTBORN, A SHY, STOLID BOOKWORM. WHILE MY MOTHER LOOKED AFTER MY EXTROVERT, MISCHIEVOUS YOUNGER BROTHER, MY FATHER WOULD TAKE ME TO THE BOOKSHOP TO FEED MY HABIT. HE WAS IN THE BRITISH ARMY (AS THE TOKEN IRISHMAN HE WAS ALWAYS KNOWN AS PADDY) AND LIFE WAS A ROUND OF CURRY LUNCHES AT THE MESS, PACKING CRATES AND ARMY QUARTERS. I REMEMBER HIM AND MY MOTHER HEADING OUT FOR “DO’S” – MY FATHER RESPLENDENT IN HIS MESS KIT, MY BEAUTIFUL MOTHER IN A DRESS SHE WOULD HAVE MADE FOR HERSELF, GLAMOROUS AT HIS SIDE.
ETERNALLY PATIENT, WHETHER TEACHING ME PERCENTAGES, GIVING ME DRIVING LESSONS, OR PLACATING THE HEADMISTRESS WHEN I HAD STEPPED OUT OF LINE, HE WAS THE ARCHETYPAL ROCK. NO MATTER HOW MANY UNSUITABLE BOYS I DALLIED WITH, HE WAS ALWAYS THERE, EVEN THOUGH HE MIGHT NOT HAVE APPROVED OF THEIR BLEACHED HAIR OR LEATHER TROUSERS.
ALTHOUGH FOR MOST OF MY LIFE WE
LIVED IN ENGLAND, MY FATHER WAS BROUGHT UP IN IRELAND DURING THE WAR, BY HIS GRANDMOTHER AND A PHALANX OF DOUGHTY AUNTS AND LOYAL RETAINERS. AT SUPPER, HE WOULD REGALE US WITH TALES OF THE CHAOTIC, ANGLO-IRISH MAYHEM. I WOULD LISTEN, RAPT.
ONE SUMMER, WHEN MY BROTHER AND I WERE TEENAGERS, HE TOOK THE FAMILY BACK TO THE SHACK, A DECREPIT BUNGALOW
WITH A WRIGGLY TIN ROOF OVERLOOKING THE ATLANTIC AT DOOKS BEACH ON THE RING OF KERRY, THE MOST WESTERLY TIP OF IRELAND.
HE INTRODUCED US TO COOMASAHARN LAKE, SAID TO BE BOTTOMLESS, WHICH THE PIXIES WOULD DRAG YOU DOWN INTO IF YOU WEREN’T CAREFUL. THE CRAZY MADNESS >>
Even if we didn’t discuss much, I would know he was there for me
OF PUCK FAIR, WHERE A GOAT WAS CROWNED KING, THE STREETS WERE CRAMMED WITH TIPSY REVELLERS AND A GYPSY WOULD TELL YOUR FORTUNE FOR A SHILLING. WE LEARNED TO FISH FOR SALMON AND GALLOPED ALONG THE SEVEN-MILE BEACH AT ROSSBEIGH…
IT WAS ENCHANTED, SLIGHTLY MAD AND THERE SEEMED TO BE NO RULES – A WORLD AWAY FROM OUR SENSIBLE, MIDDLE-CLASS HOME COUNTIES EXISTENCE. MY MOTHER OBSERVED THE SHENANIGANS WITH A BEMUSED HORROR, WHILE MY BROTHER
AND I WERE GLEEFULLY ENTHRALLED. MY FATHER WAS UNPERTURBED BY THIS CRAZY WONDERLAND, FOR HE HADN’T FALLEN DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE: HE’D BEEN BORN IN IT.
AND THIS PEEP INTO A MOLLY KEANE WORLD, WHERE THE GIN AND TONICS WERE UPSIDE DOWN – THREE PARTS GIN TO ONE PART TONIC – MADE ME REALISE WHERE HIS MOST ENDURING TRAITS HAD COME FROM, SUCH AS HIS CONVICTION THAT OUT OF CHAOS WOULD EVENTUALLY COME ORDER. HE’D ALWAYS RAISE HIS HAND AND BAT AWAY ANY ANXIETIES
YOU HAD: “DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT, NOW.” AND HIS ENDURING LOVE OF A PARTY.
AT HIS FUNERAL, I READ A POEM BY
THE IRISH POET DEREK MAHON. AS I READ THE LAST LINE, THE CONGREGATION SMILED IN RECOGNITION OF HIS CATCHPHRASE: EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT.
THIS SUMMER, I WANT TO MAKE A TRIP IN HIS MEMORY. GO BACK TO THE BEACH AT DOOKS. FEEL THE BREEZE ON MY FACE AND DRINK A PEATY GLASS OF PADDY WHISKEY IN HIS MEMORY. AND ALTHOUGH AT THE MOMENT IT DOESN’T FEEL
AS IF IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT EVER AGAIN, MAYBE IT WILL BE. Veronica’s new novel
THE FOREVER HOUSE
(Orion) is out now. ROWAN COLEMAN, 46, FELT REJECTED AFTER HER PARENTS DIVORCED, BUT THE KINDNESS AND GENEROSITY HER FRIENDS’ FATHERS SHOWED HER HELPED HEAL THE HURT.
I LAST SAW MY DAD WHEN I WAS 20, ONE OF A HANDFUL OF MEETINGS THAT HAD TAKEN PLACE SINCE HE LEFT OUR FAMILY
FOR A NEW RELATIONSHIP WHEN I WAS 12 YEARS OLD. I DON’T REMEMBER TOO MUCH ABOUT THAT LAST MEETING, EXCEPT IT WAS AWKWARD AND STIFF. WHEN I LEFT, IT WAS WITH A SENSE OF HEAVINESS AND FINALITY. I KNEW I WOULDN’T TRY AND SEE HIM
AGAIN BECAUSE THE SENSE OF DISTANCE BETWEEN US HURT TOO MUCH.
ONCE, I WAS A DADDY’S GIRL – HIS MIRROR IMAGE – ARTISTIC, OUTGOING,
FULL OF FUN AND ENERGY. MOST EVENINGS I COULD BE FOUND SITTING AT HIS FEET DRAWING, OR WATCHING TV WITH MY
HEAD ON HIS KNEE.
ONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS HE SECRETLY MADE ME A BEAUTIFUL GEORGIAN-STYLE DOLL’S HOUSE. TO THIS DAY, IT WAS THE MOST WONDERFUL GIFT I HAVE EVER RECEIVED; IT MEANT SO MUCH TO ME BECAUSE HE HAD MADE IT.
WHEN MY PARENTS DIVORCED, IT HIT ME HARD AND IT FELT LIKE THE CRUELLEST REJECTION, LIKE HE WAS LEAVING me, REPLACING me. A FEELING THAT LINGERED LONG INTO ADULTHOOD,
NOT HELPED BY THE EASE WITH WHICH HE SIMPLY CUT ME OUT OF HIS LIFE.
A FEW YEARS AGO, MY HUSBAND ADAM ASKED ME IF FATHER’S DAY WAS VERY SAD FOR ME, AND I WAS SURPRISED BY HOW I FELT. IN A WAY, IT IS – I WILL ALWAYS MISS THE DAD I ADORED AS A LITTLE GIRL – BUT IN MANY OTHER WAYS IT ISN’T AT ALL.
YOU SEE, I’VE HAD LOTS OF DADS
IN MY LIFE. AS A TEENAGER, MY BEST FRIEND JENNY’S DAD STEPPED INTO THE BREACH MORE THAN ONCE, CHEERFULLY FERRYING US BOTH TO VARIOUS PARTIES
AND PICKING US UP FROM PUBS, IGNORING THE FACT THAT WE SAT IN THE BACK OF THE CAR PRETENDING NOT TO BE DRUNK AND GIGGLING LIKE LOONS. HE WAS ALWAYS KIND, TOLD TERRIBLE JOKES AND NEVER LET US DOWN, WATCHING OUT FOR BOTH OF US WHEN WE GOT TANGLED UP IN MADCAP PLANS TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN LONDON – AND FETCHING US HOME.
WHEN I STARTED UNIVERSITY, IT WAS DIFFICULT TO SEE OTHER KIDS BEING DROPPED OFF BY FATHERS
WHO PROVIDED TVS AND CHANGED LIGHT BULBS. I ALWAYS ARRIVED ALONE, ON
A TRAIN, LADEN DOWN WITH LUGGAGE, WITHOUT A DAD TO PUT UP THAT BOOKSHELF.
ONCE AGAIN, AMONG MY FRIEND’S FATHERS I FOUND GREAT KINDNESS AND GENEROSITY; DADS WHO STOPPED AND HELPED ME WIRE A PLUG, OR FIGURE
OUT MY HI-FI. AND FROM EACH OF THEM, I LEARNT SOMETHING THAT MADE ME A
LITTLE MORE RESILIENT AND INDEPENDENT.
OVER THE YEARS, I HAVE AWARDED MYSELF A NUMBER OF IMAGINARY DADS. AT CHRISTMAS MY DAD IS NIGEL SLATER, >>
‘I haven’t known my real dad for over 20 years – but I’ve had plenty of other fathers in my life’ Over the years, I have awarded myself a number of imaginary dads
BECAUSE VIA THE TV HE TEACHES ME HOW TO PREPARE A GOOSE AND MAKE RED CABBAGE TASTE GOOD, AND ALWAYS ANSWERS MY TWEETS. BRIAN MAY IS ANOTHER OF MY FAVOURITE IMAGINARY DADS. I LIKE HIS KIND VOICE AND CRAZY HAIR, AND THE WAY I THINK HE’D SPEND HOURS TEACHING MY CHILDREN TO MAKE THEIR OWN ELECTRIC GUITAR AND SHOW ME HOW TO WORK MY TELESCOPE. I IMAGINE US GOING ON LONG WALKS
AND PROTECTING BADGERS TOGETHER.
MY IMAGINARY WRITER DAD WAS TERRY PRATCHETT. I MET HIM ONCE A LONG TIME AGO AND HE WAS SWEET, FUNNY AND INCREDIBLY ENCOURAGING. WHEN HE
DIED, I MOURNED HIM DEEPLY.
IN THE PAST TEN YEARS, THOUGH, THE GREAT BIG DAD-SIZED HOLE IN MY LIFE
HAS BEEN FILLED BY MY WONDERFUL FATHER-IN-LAW, JOHN. JOHN IS CLEVER, INTERESTING, FUNNY AND KIND. I COULD
SIT AND TALK TO HIM ABOUT A HUNDRED THINGS AND NEVER BE BORED. HE IS A WONDERFUL FATHER AND GRANDFATHER, AND IT’S A TESTAMENT TO THE FACT THAT
I AM MARRIED TO A MAN WHO IS THE FINEST FATHER TO OUR FIVE CHILDREN THERE COULD BE: PLAYFUL AND FUNNY, PATIENT AND LOVING.
SO, ALTHOUGH I’VE LIVED MOST OF MY LIFE WITHOUT MY DAD, I HAVEN’T
BEEN SHORT OF FATHERS TO CELEBRATE
AND BE GRATEFUL FOR. AND THAT
INCLUDES MY MUM, WHO TOOK ON
THE JOB OF TWO PARENTS AND MADE
ME THE PERSON I AM.
THIS FATHER’S DAY I WILL BE SURROUNDED BY DADS, SOME OF THEM REAL, SOME OF THEM IMAGINED, AND
ONE OF THEM ACTUALLY MY MUM – AND I COUNT MYSELF VERY LUCKY TO HAVE
THOSE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE. Rowan’s latest novel, THE SUMMER OF IMPOSSIBLE THINGS (Ebury Press), is out on 29 June. ANTONIA HODGSON, 46, HAD A FATHER WHO
BOUGHT HER ACTION GIRLS, NOT BARBIES, BUT MORE THAN
THAT HE GAVE HIS DAUGHTERS THE GIFT OF CONFIDENCE.
MY DAD HAS FOUR DAUGHTERS AND NO SONS. THIS COULD HAVE BEEN A DISASTER. HE GREW UP IN A VERY MALE-DOMINATED WORLD: TWO OLDER BROTHERS, A BOYS’ GRAMMAR SCHOOL, AN ALL-MALE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE FOLLOWED BY TWO YEARS OF NATIONAL SERVICE. THEN MARRIAGE AND, SUDDENLY, GIRLS – EVERYWHERE! A HOUSEFUL OF GIRLS! ON PAPER, YOU COULD HARDLY PICK SOMEONE LESS PREPARED FOR THE JOB.
LOOKING BACK, I THINK THIS ACTUALLY WORKED IN OUR FAVOUR. MY DAD NEVER LEARNED HOW GIRLS WERE “SUPPOSED” TO BE BROUGHT UP. IT DIDN’T EVEN OCCUR TO HIM TO SET LIMITS ON OUR AMBITIONS. AND BECAUSE HIS OWN MOTHER HAD WORKED
ALL HER LIFE, IT ALSO DIDN’T OCCUR TO HIM THAT WE WOULDN’T HAVE CAREERS. AS A WORKING-CLASS BOY, HE UNDERSTOOD THE POWER OF EDUCATION, AND THE FREEDOM THAT COMES WITH FINANCIAL INDEPENDENCE.
I WAS BORN IN 1971, THE FOURTH AND FINAL DAUGHTER. I WAS NOT PLANNED, TO
SAY THE LEAST. “IF YOU’RE PREGNANT, I’LL GIVE UP SMOKING,” MY DAD TOLD MY
MUM. SHE WAS, AND HE DID. I LIKE TO REMIND HIM THAT I PROBABLY SAVED HIS LIFE. “YOU TOOK YEARS OFF ME!” HE REPLIES, WHICH IS THE CORRECT DAD RESPONSE.
PERHAPS IN PART BECAUSE HE LOST HIS OWN FATHER SO YOUNG, HE WAS ALWAYS VERY INVOLVED WHEN WE WERE GROWING UP. BUT, LIKE ME, ESSENTIALLY HE’S AN INTROVERT – HAPPY TO BE IN COMPANY,
BUT THEN AT SOME POINT IT’S, “WHERE’S DAD?” AND HE’S SNUCK OFF SOMEWHERE QUIET TO RECHARGE HIS BATTERIES.
THIS IS WHERE WE CONNECT MOST CLOSELY, I THINK – AN UNDERSTANDING THAT COMPANY IS GOOD, BUT SOLITUDE IS VITAL. THAT AND COMEDY. THE ONLY BEDTIME STORY I REMEMBER HIM READING TO ME WAS A BOOK OF Goon Show SCRIPTS.
THEN THERE’S OUR SHARED LOVE OF POP DIVAS: DUSTY, BARBRA, DIONNE, WHITNEY. ON LONG CAR JOURNEYS (I SEEMED TO SPEND MOST OF THE 1970S AND 80S IN THE BACK OF A CAR), I WOULD DREAM UP STORIES TO
FIT THE SONGS – ALL THOSE DRAMATIC
TALES OF HEARTBREAK AND PASSION.
WHAT I APPRECIATE IS THAT, BY BOTH ACCIDENT AND DESIGN, HE RAISED ME
AND MY SISTERS TO BE INDEPENDENT, CONFIDENT AND AMBITIOUS. INSTEAD OF BARBIES, HE BOUGHT US ACTION GIRLS – THE OFT-FORGOTTEN 70S ALTERNATIVE – WHO WORE JUMPSUITS AND JEANS AND CAME WITH THE TAGLINE, “SHE MOVES IN SUCH AN EXCITING WORLD”. A SMALL EXAMPLE OF SOMETHING THAT WENT DEEPER FOR BOTH MY PARENTS – A BELIEF THAT THEIR DAUGHTERS COULD DO AND BE ANYTHING THEY WANTED.
LAST YEAR, MY DAD TURNED 80. AT THE END OF HIS BIRTHDAY MEAL, HE RAISED A GLASS AND SAID, “I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I’M VERY PROUD OF ALL MY DAUGHTERS.” I THOUGHT THAT WAS LOVELY. ON A DAY THAT WAS ABOUT HIM, HE MADE IT ABOUT US.
MY DAD ENCOURAGED MY CREATIVITY. HE UNDERSTOOD MY NEED FOR BOOKS
AND MUSIC, AND TIME ALONE – ALL THINGS THAT HELPED ME BECOME A WRITER. MOST OF ALL, THOUGH, I’VE NEVER DOUBTED HIS LOVE. AND THAT GIFT IS BEYOND PRICE. W&H Antonia’s A DEATH AT FOUNTAINS ABBEY (Hodder) is out now.
Although I’ve lived most of my life without my dad, I haven’t been short of fathers to celebrate ‘Dad encouraged all his daughters to become empowered women’ He raised me to be independent and ambitious