A gentle man...

Born in 1931 into a large family (one of ten children), my dad was the eldest son. He never traveled. He never saw the world. Belonging was important to him - his family and the community in which he grew up. That was enough.

The picture on the right was taken in 1953. He's 21 and he's doing his National Service in the army. Despite the large amounts of booze infront of him, he never was what you'd call a big drinker.

In his younger days he was a sportsman; a professional footballer for a time and a PE instructor in the army. Sport and physical fitness were his passions. He was a true team player.

He wasn't good at expressing his feelings. Emotion was something with which he never felt comfortable. I saw him cry only twice - once when my mother left him and again when his mother died.

He was a simple man; simple in the sense that he never analysed anything deeply. He accepted what life threw at him - he always took the line of least resistance.

He never hurt anyone intentionally. Some said he was too soft for his own good. Some took advantage of his good nature. He raised his hand to me only once. His humour was always self deprecating.

The 1950s was a world he understood. The 60s puzzled him, the 70s shocked him, the 80s dismayed him and through the 90s his comprehension of the world slackened as Alzheimer's slowly took its toll.

He died eight years ago this week.

Today's run at 17:54
Distance	4.03 km	Time	22:03
Pace	5:28 min/km	Cadence	83 spm
Comments: Blustery.