I finally sat down to write this...
I used to fly back from Moscow & Istanbul to Edinburgh to see my dying father. I had hours on the plane to tell him how I felt. You can’t fly direct between those destinations ... so I had additional time with connections to collect my feelings
I returned to the Scottish capital several times, rented cars, drove home on the bright side of the road
We went to the beach in East Lothian; ... we went to the Trossachs; where I’d been sent Scouting with Johnny, my oldest* friend ... we went to the borders & watched a single engined plane fly down the Glen. It was similar to a Spitfire. My father was born next to the Spitfire factory in Southampton ... Poles flew Spitfires in the Royal Air Force... that’s & why he always appreciated the Polish love of freedom & was happy to be buried next to the Poles on Costorphine Hill
I knew, & he knew ... that he was seeing these places for the last time. And I knew these were the last journeys I’d make with my father
Our last journey together was to take Inez to the butterfly farm on the outskirts of Edinburgh. But wee one had fallen asleep before we got there. It was the rhythm of the car, the vibrations, his engineering expertise
So I suggested to R.D.B that we make the trek to the forest in Peebles to buy a Christmas tree. This was a ritual we had performed many times when I was learning to drive... & in the years since. It’s a short journey by Russian standards, only 22 miles ... but it’s a twisty wintry road, so it tests all your skills
I chose a tree, Inez continued to snooze, Dad couldn’t leave the car due to the cancer
We then proceeded to the butterfly farm, Inez awoke with typical tardiness ... & Juanita was probably furious on our return that I’d risked the trip
~
After the funeral; where the only flowers were from my clients in Istanbul (who apparently don’t read the Scottish papers) ... I returned to Turkey ... opened my bank statement, saw the Peebles payment for the Christmas tree ... & wept at my desk
In all these hours ... & all those journeys ... I never once told him I loved him. How much I appreciated how he’d supported me... what he’d given me, what he’d taught me
And in mitigation, he never said he loved me ... or even that he appreciated his granddaughter asleep in the back. We are Browns; we show our feelings through sarcasm. If you’re not worthy of our wit, we’re not interested in you
‘You know I love you’
It’s easier to say five words than three
We show our affection through actions. I’d flown back, I got the car, I fought with Juanita for permission for the trips ...
Funny that our final act was killing a conifer tree, a pagan symbol of Winter solstice, hijacked by Protestant Germans, imported to Britain by the Victorians ... & that the only ephemeral foliage at his burial was sent by Muslims ... as he wanted to be stuck under a living tree & have a ceremony without anybody’s Gods
Dad, I know you didn’t believe in Saints ...but you’ll never walk alone
*That last line is football pun ... Dad supported SouThamton ... who play in New Delhi... & Andrew my other best friend & a fanatic of St Mirren would be hurt if I described Johnny as my best friend ... although as Jonathan is a March baby & I’m a summer fool ... he is actually my oldest friend as well
