The end of an era

He was a family man, a proud man, and a fighter, but the thing I will remember most of all about the last few months was his grit. He never complained about the pain he must have been feeling, and was always pleased to see a familiar face at his bedside.
I shed a tear or two today - it was impossible not to for this giant of a man. He always had my respect, I don't remember him ever doing anything to move this from my heart and I pray that I will be judged to be half the man he was, if I am I will be proud of my lot. And if you are too I shall be just as proud.

Well Zander, the big, big man this blog is all about has passed on today. The 3rd of December 2009 will go down in the family archives as the day of days. It is your father's birthday, your great granny's birthday too, and also now marks the passing of two of your forebears, Kenneth Ernest Nichols, your great grandfather, and also his dad, your great, great grandfather Wilfred Nichols. It's strange how things happen with dates.
Never fear the approach of this day though, neither he nor I would want that. It should always be a special day to you, it marks things that bind your family together, births and deaths are intertwined and whilst you should treat it with respect it's also a time to celebrate.

Marathon darts

Another thing with your great granddad was that he loved his whisky, and would often as possible drink it. He put away a bottle of Jonnie Walker Red Label once, saying he'd drink it only when his first grandson was born. That bottle was stuck away in the bottom of the wardrobe for more years than I can care to remember, both me and Geoff (my older brother, your great uncle) had two girls and no boys so it was down to gt uncle Michael to do the deed, which he duly did when Tyler came along in about 1993.

Another new year that I remember was when his friend Jimmy had his son James and his family staying over the holiday period, they were at our half-way house for the first-footing after the pubs shut and his two grandkids were making themselves useful, taking the empty glasses and getting them refilled. After a few hours it was time for the whole troupe to make their way to Jimmy & Freda's for more steak pie and first-footing, and the grandkids again made themselves useful, refilling the glasses. One thing this did was keep everyone drinking - lots! Both me and Ken were on the whisky, and it was going down by the tumbler full, no shots! I remember we got into some sort of discussion which almost turned into an argument, so we decided that when the Royalist (pub) opened that evening we'd have a game of darts to settle it.

Well, we were both so drunk it was difficult to even see the board, let alone score, and it must have been some sort of record, but that single game of 301 took almost two hours, both of us ending up on double 1, and neither being able to hit it for love nor money. In the end, with all the family and friends begging us to give up, Ken hit it with a lucky shot. He never let me forget that he'd beat me, even though it was nothing to be proud of.

Drunken serenades

In Mkt Harborough Working Mens' Club there was a group of ex-pat Scots who used to congregate at one end of the bar - it was nick-named "Scot's Corner", mum and Ken used to be 'honorary members' having a lot of Scottish friends. Notably John and Jeanette Milligan, and Jimmy & Freda Pitkeithley. When we lived in Nithsdale Avenue it was part-way between the town centre and where Jimmy and Freda lived and we were often subjected to a 'carry-out' party with a crowd of their pals descending on the front room to play music, sing and drink some more (this was when the pub opening hours were 6.30pm - 11.pm on Saturdays) as there were no long opening hours in those days. It was commonplace to have a roomful of 10 to 15 people in all stages of drunkenness. The main thing in all of this was that there was rarely any trouble, all being more than happy to sing and drink rather than argue. Mind you, your great granny would make sure they stayed in line!

New years day was the highlight of these 'gatherings'. Mum would put a steak pie of massive proportions in the oven first thing in the morning, then her and my aunty Betty would go out along with Freda and any other of the wives who were up for it, whilst Ken would meet his Scots pals for drinks in the club. Come closing time (about 3.30pm at those times) they would all make their way back, "first footing" at our house. Mum would serve up the steak pie along with potatoes and peas while Ken would fetch out a bottle of his favourite tipple, whisky! These days were a real family occasion, with all their friends and their offspring, sometimes over 30 people crammed into a small front room. The whole scene was bedlam on occasion, but I never missed these special days, breaking off from my own celebrations with my pals to make sure I got back in time for some pie!

If the mood was really special Jimmy and Ken would take it in turns to sing, Jimmy's favourite was "My Way" by Frank Sinatra, where he would knock the light fitting whilst singing, Ken's was "Ruby" by Kenny Rogers. This didn't stop anyone else from taking a turn, but it's these two I remember above all others.

You've painted up your lips
And rolled and curled your tinted hair
Ruby are you contemplating
Going out somewhere

The shadow on the wall
Tells me the sun is going down
Oh Ruby
Don't take your love to town

It wasn't me

That started that old crazy Asian war
But I was proud to go
And do my patriotic chore
And yes, it's true that
I'm not the man I used to be
Oh, Ruby I still need some company

Its hard to love a man
Whose legs are bent and paralysed
And the wants and the needs of a woman your age
Ruby I realize,
But it won't be long i've heard them say until I not around
Oh Ruby
Don't take your love to town

She's leaving now cause
I just heard the slamming of the door
The way I know I've heard it slamming
Some 100 times before
And if I could move I'd get my gun
And put her in the ground
Oh Ruby
Don't take your love to town

Oh Ruby for God's sake turn around

The only time

The one and only time I have heard that Ken sort of "lost it" was when Michael (Gt Uncle) was still at school. He brought home a letter once and when opened mum was fuming! It was from the deputy headmaster "Basher" Andrews as we'd called him, a big man with quite a temper - he had played opposite "Pancho" Pearson (PE teacher) once in the staff/pupils rugby match and gave Pancho two black eyes! Anyway, the letter stated that he'd given Michael the cane for smoking whilst walking down Burnmill Road wearing his school uniform. Mum was all ready for going up there and giving him a piece of her mind (and a lashing with the cutting edge of her tongue) but couldn't get any time off work to do so. Ken said he'd go up and have a word. Mum wasn't too happy about that but had to give way, but thinking that Ken would be his gentle affable self and not make too much of a fuss over it.

Imagine her (and our) surprise when he came home and related what had happened in the meeting. It had all started off fairly innocuous but Basher made the mistake of gloating over the fact he'd caned Michael, Ken did something then that mum has always been proud of, he grabbed Basher by the lapels and dragged him across the desk between them. "I've never had cause to hit any one of my sons, so don't ever think it is something you can do, no matter what the reasons!" It still makes me smile when I remember that, it was so unlike him, but at the same time so true to what he believed in - he has never hit any of us kids, not when we were small or when grown up, it's something he never needed to do, for one reason we wouldn't give him cause to - if something was said it was meant and we never needed another reminder, but nothing was ever meant with any malice, just to make sure we knew where the line was and not to cross it.

I don't think anyone else stood up to Basher like that, either before or since, though he never stayed long at Robert Smyth school after that!

Hero

The house in Nithsdale was built on a much smaller plot than Langdale Walk, only a very small front garden, just enough for a path and a little wall, the back wasn't much better, the house being hemmed in on two sides by the corner house and the first one on the next street. It didn't matter too much though, us kids had the old railway line over the road and the huge expanse of Little Bowden 'rec' at the bottom of the road where we could lose all track of time and annoy the parents!

I remember going down there with Ken one time to mess about with either a football or cricket bat, I was only about ten or eleven, there were a load of older kids coming along the row of trees and I wanted to move out of their way, he wouldn't have anything of the sort and made me stand my ground. The older lads did a detour round where we were playing, I was well impressed with the 'old man' for that! My hero!

The early memories

The first thing that I can remember about Ken is when he brought home a car, it was a Standard Vanguard, from the 1950's. It was a dark colour, not sure whether it was grey, black or what, don't remember that too well, just that it had a bench seat in the front and that us lads used to play in it when it was parked at the end of the back garden. The house (bungalow) was in Langdale Walk, new when the family moved in, and had a huge garden - well a lot bigger than the houses you see built these days!

I remember Ken retelling a story of when he and some pals took this car to the local garage to be filled up. It was an ex war department car and as such had a 39 gallon (over 170 litres) petrol tank. He said the attendant (it wasn't self-service in those days) couldn't believe it as the petrol kept going in! Years later the same trick was used in a spoof TV series taking the mickey out of people.

Ken married my mum in 1953, and Geoff & me soon came along, moving from their first house in Angel Row (now a car-park) to Langdale Walk. They stayed there for a number of years, moving into an older but bigger house in 1964, by this time the family was complete, Michael coming along in 1960.

The first job I can remember him having was as a dustman, though I think this was probably before my actual memory, but can remember being told of it. He then moved to working in the building trade, where he spent a great deal of his working life. He must have been a real decent bloke, and a good workmate as there was always at least one of his work pals round helping with any project he was doing at the time. On Saturday mornings he sometimes did overtime or worked outside his contract (a job on the side) and on a rare occasion he would take me and Geoff in with him to help. I remember being the one who would burn all the rubbish, in an old metal brazier, it was great in winter, and the trip there and back was usually spent sitting on the engine cover of the lorry, the warmest place in the cab in those old days!

When I was still small Ken used to go out on a Saturday night with his pals, bringing us boys a bottle of pop and a packet of crisps home. We used to look forward to waking on a Sunday morning and finding them waiting for us.

The reasons

This is a message to the newest member of the Nichols family, from someone who loves you so very much and is saddened by the fact that you'll never know the man who helped to shape your life by shaping mine! Kenneth Ernest Nichols, my dad, your great granddad, a real giant of a man, not in size but definitely in stature!

Ken, as his three sons (me, Geoffrey & Michael) used to call him - we never called him dad, this stemmed from when the parents lived with your great granny's sister while waiting for their house to be built, our cousins Robert and Phillipa were also in the same house, and whenever a question was asked it was always "go and ask Ken" rather than dad, as there was already another dad in the household, Rob & 'Flips' dad - so our dad got to be Ken, and as time went on he wouldn't have it any other way, I think he was rather proud of this - he remained on first-name terms with all three of his sons right through our lives, to the end.

He was such a man that I don't think any of us ever fell out with him, he was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

I write this to give you an inkling into the type of man he was, the kind I hope I am and the sort I would love you to be. It matters not whether you are a brilliant scholar, a superb sportsman, scientist, politician or philanthropist, dustman or road sweeper, what really matters is the sort of man you are, and how you treat people is reflected in how they treat you. I will always be proud of you whatever course you life will take, all I ask is that I can also think you are modelling at least a small part of your being on the man that had a hand in modelling you in the first place.

Ken was already very ill when you were born, your life starting less than 200 metres from where he lay in pain and confusion over his ailments. I will never forget the look on his face when I took your photos in to show him the evening of the day you entered the world. It was the first proper piece of recognition I had seen in his eyes for over three weeks, visibly softening as he gazed at the pictures on my little netbook. With the so contrasting images of you, just into the world, and Ken, nearing his exit, November 2nd 2009 will be etched in my mind for all time.

It would be such a shame for you to grow up without knowing this man, so over the coming pages I hope I'll give you at least an impression of him.