A Tribute to My Dad by Kelly Harding
Well, here we are again. What feels like moments ago, I was reminiscing the life of our darling Mum and offering painful goodbyes. Yet, in the blink of an eye, I find myself back at my laptop composing a tribute to the other main character in our lives – The Legend that is our Dad, Sir John Parsons.
Dad was born in Brixton, London on 25th June 1946 to parents Walter and Ethel Parsons, joining his brother Roy, who was 13 years his senior. Dad recalled post-war life in London well; his brother married when Dad was just 8 years old and, therefore, Dad spent much of his childhood with friends and would tell us of the mischief they would get up to, playing on old bomb sites. School life was fairly unremarkable for Dad who left to embark on the world of work, initially in the city.
London was always one of Dads greatest passions. I don’t think a day of his 79-year-long life passed without the mention of a 97 horsepower London Bus.
I recall only a few weeks ago, at his home, one of the nurses displayed an interest in his extensive model bus display. The chap asked about engine sizes and questioned his favourite manufacturers … Dad’s reply was “Quite honestly, mate, I haven’t got a clue, I just like the red ones!”
He would speak of London as “Gods’ country” and proudly gave us a full education on cockney rhyming slang before we could speak English! Mornings would always begin with a ‘cup of Rosie’ and he wouldn’t leave the house without tapping his pockets in search of his ‘dog and bone’! Dad and his family remained in London where he worked in Photography as a printmaker, a job that resulted in a long-lasting hobby for Dad and, later, me too.
His family then made a move out of London to Petts Wood and Dad initially continued to commute, meanwhile riding motorcycles and partying hard in what he described as the ‘unbelievable’ 60s. Multiple new job roles were explored during this time, primarily involving nightlife and booze – both resulting in some tricky situations for Dad.
I recall the story of a stripper failing to arrive at a hen party event at one of his venues, so Dad took the role on himself – he expressed his surprise at how wild hen parties could be and how his poor velvet suit could never be recovered! A life in the licence trade was discovered and it became a profession and lifestyle that he never looked back from.
In the mid 70’s Dad moved into Sussex to a pub of his very own, The Cinque Ports in Hastings. It was during this time that a beautiful young lady arrived for a job as a barmaid, a lady that would end up as Dad’s forever love, our wonderful Mum. Together, they made a great success of The Cinque Ports and decided to embark on a bigger project out in Kent.
The Oak and Ivy in Hawkhurst was the pub of choice and was where Mum and Dad would reside for the next 14 years. The pub was a roaring success, filled with fancy dress parties, spit roasts and barbecues, and will always be known to Dad as his very favourite ‘boozer.’ Amidst a number of eventful years at The Ivy, Mum and Dad also got married and welcomed their biggest fans – their two adoring children. Their darling son, James, arrived in 1984 and 6 years later in 1990 I, Kelly, came along, completing our Parsons family.
In 1993, we made a move to The Swan in Sandhurst where we spent 19 years running a true family pub.
Dad as front of house, loud and proud, chatting with ‘punters’ and wearing gloriously lairy shirts while Mum held the fort everywhere else and cooked up a storm in the kitchen.
Jim and I were the child labour, waiting tables and polishing the copper bar, yet equally enjoying the generous tips. Pub life as a family meant that we were never apart and were always lucky enough to be able to come home from school to a welcome from both parents.
From his favourite role behind the bar, Dad would always bring out his box of tricks to entertain – namely the Spanish Armada game, whereby two opponents were required to race matchsticks in a tray full of water. Just as they lowered their heads to really get into the race, Dad would slap his hand directly into the tray – soaking both customers, and the bar, and a few surrounding people too!
He always did appreciate what he would call a ‘wind-up’, even filling the fountains of Trafalgar Square with gallons of washing up liquid in the 60s to create a foaming spectacle!
Amongst the jokes, our Dad was one of a kind to anyone that met him. A proud and generous man of fierce honesty and integrity who loved Mum and us so deeply.
After over 40 years, Mum and Dad finally left the pub trade in 2011, to retire to Camber. It was after their arrival in Camber that they welcomed their deeply adored Grandchildren, Harmony, James, Jensen, Poppy, Eliza and Hudson. Referred to as his ‘saucepan lids’, Dad couldn’t have been prouder of each and every one of them.
Throughout retirement, Dad continued his love affair with the pub, this time as a customer, yet equally as memorable to all who crossed his path. He soon became recognised for his fleet of mobility scooters, terrifying Mum, Jim and I with the speed at which he seemed to shoot up the road in them!
Camber was a village that Dad became very passionate about, stating it to be the friendliest place he had ever lived. This is also something that Jim and I had the pleasure of discovering in recent months as Dad’s health declined and we all moved in with him. During this time, we were able to make treasured memories together.
Dad was so delighted for this time with Jim and I, George and Emily, the in-laws that he loved like his own, and each and every one of his grandchildren. Dad was thrilled to be able to witness Jim marry Emily, just three weeks before he passed.
With a much-enjoyed retirement, loving family and fun fuelled profession and past, Dad made it abundantly clear that he had had a wonderful life. While, as a life-long Daddy’s girl, I may selfishly wish for more time, I must also remind myself of a poem I recently discovered by Edna St Vincent Millay. It reads
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!
The poem symbolises a life lived fiercely and intensely, albeit at the cost of longevity. Much like the life our dear Dad lived and loved. With that in mind we must wave him off to continue his light by being reunited with our darling Mum. They never were any good at being apart and clearly, just 17 weeks was too much to bear.
Until we meet again, Daddio, we will use every ounce of the strength you’ve given us to carry on. We couldn’t be prouder than to be called your children and can’t thank you and Mum enough for the lessons, support and abundance of love you gave us. We promise to strive to use it to make you proud.
We hope it’s filled with warm plates, kippers, and an endless supply of your homemade wine, up there – but, most importantly, filled with the love of your much missed Junie. Not a day shall pass where our hearts wont long for you or the comfort of those big hugs. With every fibre of our being, we adore you and, as promised, we shall wish you luck as we wave you goodbye.
Sweet dreams Daddy.
