Family Twig #3

Back: Kath, Evelyn, Nancy, Mavis Front: Rose, Lillian, Rose Snr, Albert (circa 1970)

Another month another funeral, this one seemed even more routine and formulaic than the last. The vicar seemed barely able to go through the motions. The reception was once again held in the bowls club, though at least there was some relevance, as Kath's partner in later life, Ben, was a keen member, and she used to help out behind the bar. Ben came onto the scene after her husband Ron had died, though they never married. The photo above would have been taken around about the time my folks and Kath and Ron and their son Alan went on holiday to The Mumbles, just past Swansea. We stayed in a caravan, and must have enjoyed it as we went back the next year as well. This would have been the summers of '72 / '73. This was the start of a close friendship between Alan and myself, which these days is only renewed at funerals it seems. Though I did say this time that I'd definately be able to pop back and see him more often now the scrap-heap awaits. He seems rather directionless at the moment, but then he's always had a propensity for stasis. Following these holidays I used to spend a lot of time with Kath and the constantly joking, and wheezing, Ron. Alan and I would lock ourselves away and discuss the meaning of life, while listening to the LP's of his older brother (Dai).


Dai was a student/drop-out at the time, no doubt he owned a great coat to accompany this rag-bag of prog nonsense. He was a bit of a hero, because he'd packed in his course to go and sell deck chairs on a beach somewhere. He had no time for us little tykes though. This selection of far out sounds totally transformed my musical landscape, calling into question my unfailing loyalty to the Glam cause, and eventually leading to my casting Slade/T.Rex/Sweet et al aside, and pretending I'd never really liked them anyway. Thankfully this was over-turned by a new pop friendly regime at the end of the decade, ushered in by the all encompassing arrival of post-punk (though it wasn't called post-punk then, attaching labels to things was far too rockist). Around that time Alan moved into the flat I was living in, in Cardiff, not a popular move with Kath, who saw me as being a bad influence and leading her boy astray. When I moved to London he went back home, and settled into a long career at the post office, until one day an altercation with his boss resulted in a punch in the face for the boss and a P45 for Al. In recent years he's been a full time carer for his mum, which was at least a useful way to spend his time, but I guess we will now both have to face up to the New Era that awaits. Oddly enough Dai is about to give up his fifteen year pub tenancy and do something else instead, so he is also on the cusp, maybe it's the Year of the Cusp?