Watching the rioting and looting on the news last week, I reflected on what was going on. Plenty of other people have said some useful stuff about punishments and about causes, and quite a few have mentioned the breakdown of the family as a cause. Many young men now grow up without fathers. I was lucky enough to have a father who stayed with my mother until he died. This is a little of my experience of him.
It’s important to point out that he didn’t have an easy or privileged life. He grew up on a subsistence farm in Canada and had only limited schooling. He returned to the UK and joined the Royal Navy at aged 15. He married my mother at 20 and at 22 he was wounded at Dieppe and lost his right leg and suffered many other injuries. That was the same year my eldest brother was born.
My dad was tough. He stuck with things and didn’t give up. My dad always worked. He did factory work for most of his life, until he moved to Cornwall and started a landscape gardening business at 50 years of age. I learnt from my dad to work hard to get what you wanted.
My dad had authority in our family. In an age when getting a smack from mum or dad was pretty normal, my dad never hit me. We would get a sharp word, especially if we were disrespectful to my mother, and occasionally the threat of a clout, which actually never came. He was also able to allow us to rebel up to a point. He was protective. He supported my mother in parenting three lively boys, who became unruly young men, but we knew not to overstep the mark with her or he would step in. However, when an adult neighbour was rude to me, he went straight next door and had a strong word with him about it.
He was a regular but sensible drinker, and when I was a teenager he would take me to the pub. There I learned that grown men might become more or less intoxicated, but it was a matter of pride to hold your drink, know your limits and continue to behave properly, not foolishly or aggressively. There was always enough money to pay the bills – visits to the pub came after everything was paid and there were savings for an annual holiday at the seaside. We didn’t owe anyone anything.
My dad was respectful of women. He deferred to my mother in a range of important ways. He understood that she was well organised and a good manager of finance and household matters. He understood that her wage, whilst less than his, was an important component of the household income. He respected her as a partner who was different but equal. What he wasn’t good at, he would ask my mother to do, because he trusted her. In some areas she was the dominant partner in their marriage.
He valued education. We were working class and lived in a council house. Neither of my parents was very well educated, having left school quite young in the 1930s to go to work. He always exhorted me to work hard at school. I was to respect my teachers and do my homework. He understood that it was the way out of poverty and the limitations of class.
He encouraged me to develop skills. He took me fishing and shooting, and I had a little boat on a nearby gravel pit. He bought it but I had to maintain it. He was also generous. He always had a few shillings in his pocket as a treat, and was the first to offer to pay for meals and drinks. Even when I visited home as an adult, he would press money on me when I left “to help towards the petrol”.
My dad loved me. I miss him. He probably wasn’t the world’s best dad, he was a long way from perfect, but he was the best he knew how to be. If I had smashed things up or robbed shops, if I had rioted in the streets and been taken to the magistrates’ court, it would have shamed him. I wouldn’t have done that, because I loved him.
Single mums do a really difficult job, and mostly they do it pretty well, with toughness and dedication, but as boys become men they need ways to channel their strength and energy in a healthy way. At risk of being old-fashioned, that’s not women’s work, it’s men’s work, it’s a father’s job to show them how it is done.