Here’s to my dad.. a funny, freckled-faced, book-loving working class, globetrotting, boy from Fife who achieved so much. Thank you for all those wonderful memories
My dad died earlier this month. I wasn’t sure whether to write about it but I decided I had to – for two reasons.
To honour the extraordinary life my dad lived and to express my heartfelt thanks to those who cared for him in his final days.
My dad John Anderson was born in 1944 in Kirkcaldy to doting parents Arthur and Annie.
A few years later his brother Ian came along. My dad was a gifted pupil. He went to Dunfermline High School where he excelled and won a scholarship to prestigious St Andrews University, gaining his degree and going on to do teacher training at the University of Aberdeen.
That’s where his life story gets interesting...
I don’t know what possessed the freckled-faced working class Scot to leave for East Africa but off he went in the late 60s, first to Uganda where he was awarded another degree from Makerere University, then to Kenya.
I vaguely remember my dad mentioning a government scheme which I assume wanted newly-trained teachers from the UK to join the staff in African schools and I’ve always been in awe of the fact he actually did it.
This young man who had barely travelled set off on an adventure that would see him become coach of the local district football team and a treasured part of the faculty.
He lived a life that was so different from what was mapped out for him in the east coast of Scotland where he grew up.
I picture him during his time in Africa looking suave, stylish and sunburnt as he headed to the nightclubs of Kampala where he was destined to meet a beautiful young woman – who is of course my mum.
They lived a blissful life together in
Kenya and he often described dream-like locations such as Homa Bay, Nairobi and Mombassa. In 1980, they had me in Kisii (I was child No6) and decided to return to Scotland.
For my mum it was a massive culture shock, especially as the first place she visited was the multi-storey flats in Dundee where my grandparents lived.
For my dad his priority was to get a job and find a home for his family.
With all his impressive teaching qualifications it wasn’t long before he got a position in Cowdenknowes secondary school in Greenock and we found a house in nearby Port
Glasgow.
Many successful years in teaching followed until his sense of adventure returned and he accepted a job with
BAE Systems in Riyadh, Saudi
Arabia. Again, no place place for a fair-skinned redhead from Fife.
But that was my dad. He loved to
travel and he and my mum visited Canada, Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong to name just a few. I was with them on trips to Paris, Venice, Stockholm and New York, where he stood in wonder at Times Square, wandered round the world famous Wall Street and pored over all the names of the immigrants who entered Manhattan through Ellis Island.
History was his passion, he loved to go back in time. He also loved books which is something he passed on to me. As a child he introduced me to CS Lewis and Louisa May Alcott. As my dad fell ill the biggest indicator that
something was wrong was when he stopped reading.
The man who devoured gargantuan titles such as The History of The World uncharacteristically ignored the latest Ian Rankin novel that sat by his hospital bed for weeks. He passed on February 9 after a back fracture led to numerous infections, the last of which he wasn’t strong enough to fight.
Many times I’ve read the phrase “They died surrounded by family” and my dad truly was. I now know how powerful that is. He was bombarded with love at the end of his life, with my siblings and I taking turns in holding his hand for three days as he slipped away from us.
The sadness of that time will stay with me forever but even the darkest moments were made bearable by the nurses of ward J South in Inverclyde Royal Hospital who
looked after my dad with the highest level of care and respect.
They comforted us at our most vulnerable and terrifying time. I will never forget their kindness and understanding.
And then the brilliant carers when he got home who visited him and gave him daily encouragement and helped raise a smile.
Now begins the formalities of organising the funeral and everything else that goes on after a person dies.
It’s tiring and emotionally exhausting but it’s keeping me busy and acting as the distraction I desperately need.
Looking back on my dad’s life, I realise so much of who I am comes from him, my love of books and writing, my sense of adventure and passion for travel.
He was a boy from Fife who went on to achieve so much more than he was ever supposed to and that is the core of who I am.
I’ve never allowed barriers to hold me back, I’ve kicked down doors and forged my own path and that fearlessness is passed down from my amazing father and my amazing mother.
She’s now the focus. Supporting her through this heartbreaking time, she was a devoted wife till the end.
I know her life will never be the same after losing her husband, her John.
A dear friend sent me a quote that resonated deeply: “The business of life is the acquisition of memories, in the end that’s all there is”. And I have so many wonderful ones.