Forty-three Years On

My father passed away forty-three years ago today.  Regulars will know that I've written various pieces about his life, and our relationship, during the last ten years of blipping.  You can click back, a year at a time, to find them, if you wish.

Being confined to our house under lockdown, I thought I'd sit in his Sunday afternoon chair - a G-Plan piece purchased by my parents in 1968 but still with us in our front room in Barcelona, today.

I'm holding the Bible he inscribed for me on my 10th birthday, fifty years ago, and the copy of Scot's Quair, which I inscribed for him at Christmas 1976, just four months before he died . . . see extra.

He was a dear father and, like all bereft sons, no matter their age at the time of their father's passing, I miss him with all my heart and hold his memory close.