Family

These have been coming out at random but it seems kind of natural that family has popped up straight after the rant that was the previous chapter.

My family is no stranger than anybody else’s but sometimes it feels like we were brought up by the CIA we don’t (as of yet but you never know) open up to each other we keep ourselves to ourselves some people might disagree I like being who I am and I might not get on with all of my family at the same time (who does) and I certainly don’t think that they are perfect (well we are compared to some) but here is a brief history of our secretive little clan.

I will be honest I don’t know my dad’s side of the family at all I know he had a brother called Robson who had two sons (the same age as me and my brother) I met my uncle once (that I can remember and the sons a couple of times, the last time I don’t believe I was particularly nice to either of them, one grew up to be a GP and one became an eye surgeon more power to their elbow! am I bothered to meet them to be honest I wouldn’t be as hostile towards them as I was then, but I doubt I would cross the road if I knew who they were. I never met my grandparents from my dad’s side so I suppose no great loss there then, if they had been that bothered they could have, because they lived directly across the road from my mum’s parents (but that’s a whole different story).

My Nana and Poppa lived in a small village called The Dene my Poppa was from Govan and was a hard little ginger Scotsman with a fierce temper (and yes although I never met him he died in 1963, I inherited ginger in my beard and that self same temperament) he came to work in the steel works at Consett at a time when unemployment was at unbelievable levels, and my Nana was his second wife, his first died years before, My  Nana was lovely (aren’t all Nanas) she was always a quiet thing, I loved her dearly (we all love our grandparents when in actual fact they are just carbon copies of our own parents who we usually fight with hahahaha) I remember when my Nana died she withered away before our eyes, it’s the first time we lost somebody that I was aware of and I still have the memory of her lying in my parents bed with the curtains closed I still have the last Christmas present she ever gave me a brown silk tie and its one of my most prized possessions.

My mum also had a fierce temper but was really good at holding it in check and before she had her stroke she was quick witted and independent, after the divorce she brought up two strong willed boys and put us before everything which I believe didn’t help her health her only pleasure according to her was having a smoke (it’s a habit me and my brother never picked up) she didn’t ask for nothing but worked as hard as anybody could, I get my work ethic from her, we only ever fell out once (or twice hahaha) and we always picked up where we left off  the very next day! my mum wasn’t one to hold a grudge ( so god knows who I got that trait from) she loved life and never complained and if truth be known you she had plenty to complain about. She loved music and even some of the music me and my brother liked including Rainbow (Stargazer being here favourite) and Manowar (Battle hymns “play the one with the drums”) we had fun at her expense after her stroke and she was mortified when she called the Pope a silly twat when in actual fact she meant twit!  We never ever let her forget that and there were many other times when she got muddled but that was a classic. She was (no surprise there) a fantastic cook, I still miss her cakes (drool) her rice puddings Tatty soup etc etc I could go on and on my only complaint about my mum she never let us do stuff it was always done for us and yes I know her argument that we both worked paper rounds as well as working in our local shop and had our school studies we wanted for nothing and although money was always tight and at times we were thread bare we never went without.

My brother and I fought each other every day totally and completely! he was totally evil to me at times (I’m hoping like all big brothers) but he was and has always been there for me when needed and has fought my corner on more than one occasion, we both share a love of music which I have to admit I blame on him completely and although there is a common thread between us I went off on my own as did he (I don’t think he will ever forgive me for talking him in to buying that single by that well known French heavy metal band Chic the single being le Freak the beating was well worth it) he is technical and a problem solver I’m not he looks like our dad except he has a full(ish) head of hair, he doesn’t suffer fools gladly and just gets on with stuff and if he cuts you out of his life trust me you have less chance than you do with me, he enjoys fine wine and even finer whiskey but suffers now through being diagnosed a celiac so can’t deal with gluten, we didn’t actually get on until I left home then we mellowed having said that he still has an evil streak but now he’s trained to be evil and I really don’t want to piss him off (that much anymore) he’s happily married to someone who I was great friends with and I went through all my school years with, they have one daughter who is so much like her dad it’s unbelievable the only thing we are both glad about is that the Irwin name dies out with us no sons going forward.

My Uncle Keith passed a few years ago and he was the Geezer of my mum’s family he had more edge than a broken piss pot (in  such a nice way) a great bloke who would do anything to help and once ran over three miles in about 20 minutes in his slippers to deal with two unruly boys I’m glad he had those three miles to run cos he scared me shitless that day and yes I got all I deserved, he was  a keen gardener another keeper of family secrets I loved boxing days going to his house and I will always remember when him and his wife (Aunty Maureen) took me to Bridlington in the summer of 1976 for a holiday (when he didn’t have to)and some lady dropped a jar of honey down the bus his quick wit had the driver telling him to stop otherwise he would crash the bus just to get some relief  for his ribs, a proud man who suffered several severe health scares a man who if he had got his hands on our dad would have pulled him limb from limb (bless him).

My Uncle Colin is like me in many ways I was named after both my Uncles Colin George and Keith Campbell to get Colin Campbell my Poppa must have a twisted sense of humour sticking Campbell with Macgregor, again my Uncle Colin reminds me of my Nana with his quiet ways but if he gets riled he’s a bit of a slow burner the main keeper of secrets who when I asked questions about the family history asked me “what did your mother tell you” “nothing” “then that’s the way it’s staying” I still see him wandering the streets of Consett as he likes a walk now and again (although I think it’s just to escape Aunty Ann and his daughter Lindsey).

My Cousin Keith who now resides in Sunny Scunthorpe (with his wife Geraldine) where I used to head off at every opportunity but then I got married and became boring hahahaha we still visit infrequently but I love them to bits and to a degree he was the pirate of the family here one moment then gone the next as a kid I idolised him,(truth be told I still do) he used to look a little like Rod Stewart (well it was the 70’s) with a cheekier grin.

And that’s about it there are one or two others out on the perimeter who sometimes come into view and then disappear just as quick as they appeared and that just leaves the kids.....

The eldest I met when she was about 18 months old and I have to admit I wasn’t a children type of guy but she slowly melted my heart and for about 12 years we were inseparable doing all manner of jolly japes and walks together then at 14 she changed and although we still have many differences I still love her dearly and I know enough that she couldn’t stay a little girl forever, but I have to admit to being disillusioned the way she turned out, all I know is that I can hold my head up high knowing I did my very best for her and was there for her many many times although for reasons known only to herself ,I am now the enemy and will probably remain that way, the bridge is always there but there is only so many times she can pour petrol on it and for it not have it totally destroyed that choice is entirely up to her, she has a lovely son 11 months old (at the time of writing this) and he is a right hand full and just looks like his mother did at that same age and we do the right thing by providing free childcare for not very many thanks! Since this was originally written the eldest has been through the mill and is now hopefully on the climb back to happiness, she has matured into the lovely person she was before!

The youngest is a star looks just like my brothers daughter and has the hair of her father’s Poppa , hard working and caring and totally scatterbrained  bless her not a bad bone in her body (until she gets riled like both her parents) she goes with the flow and can be just a little too laid back for my liking at times but hey ho she seems to be quite level headed and like her mother could get on and make friends in an empty room, has a keen sense of humour and has as yet hidden talents in that deep soul of hers.

My father I leave till last because I don’t really have an opinion of him and I didn’t get really upset about him until when I was trying to discover the exact where a bout’s of my Poppa’s grave ( a thrifty Scotsman buried in an unmarked grave) when the local curate told me all that I needed to know plus a little extra, I wasn’t too bothered about that my grandfather from the other side of the family lived across the road from my mother’s family ( that I all ready knew) but what came as a total shock and sent me into a terrible rage was that he lived at that address until he died in 1982 with his son Norman who never made any attempt to contact his two sons, who didn’t know whether he was alive or dead who lived about three miles away and at that exact time his youngest son worked half a mile from his front door  I try not to dwell on it too much because it’s such a small community where everybody knows each other I struggle to think that some of my beloved family were aware that he was there, this was the first time I had thought of him in over twenty years and now it comes back to haunt me on a regular basis something I can never understand somebody who doesn’t want to know his own children or grandchildren, me and my brother have the same hope that he’s getting buggered in some old folks home..... Ah you can but hope!

Ah and what about the wife I hear you all scream I hope to give the good lady a blog all of her own, it might not be as long as this but it will be heartfelt as always and truthful!