Perhaps it was because my spade was known as "a ladies spade" that I hated using it. :whistle:
My Old Man, suffering from angina at the time, had a heart attack when he was 67 years old. The doctor arrived, examined him in the bedroom and then the Doc and I sat in the kitchen for a cuppa.
When I asked what I needed to do to help the Old Man he replied "Nothing really. He could go in the next ten minutes or last another ten years." I was amazed so I asked him a few questions:
o Smoking? "Oh I know he smokes about 10 a day." His hair, which was as white as a sheet, was actually tinged a ginger brown from the smoke of 60 **** a day.
o Garden? "Oh I know he does a bit of gardening." He had nearly half an acre of garden which he dug with a spade and sold excess produce from the front gate.
o Chickens? "I know he has a few chickens." He actually had 450 of them and sold the eggs from the front gate as well.
o Ducks? "What ducks?" He always lifted at least 40 wild Mallard eggs from the local pond, got a broody hen to hatch them off and then released them back into the wild.
o Pigeons? "I know he has some pigeons." Like 350 of them. Two racing lofts and a retirement loft. Raced "North Road" every week in the summer.
The Doc said "He can keep the pigeons, the chickens and ducks have to go and he will need help if he keeps up the gardening." and walked back into Dad's bedroom. I immediately knew that the Old Man was seriously ill when I heard the doctor say "You're wasting my f*cking time." and the Old Man didn't get out of bed and deck him for using "Pit Language" in the house!
Before Dad got out of bed, I got rid of the chickens and their sheds, bought him a Rotavator, re-arranged the sheds in the garden and laid a concrete path to link the sheds and the lofts together.
Dad enjoyed another ten years of life before the silicosis and pneumoconiosis finally over-taxed his heart and he died ...
... of a heart attack whilst attending a Pigeon Club meeting! :thumb:
Way to go eh? :thumb: :thumb:
dutto i am shaking reading what you have just wrote , it is a mirror image of my father, every thing from the heart attack the pigeons (yes we had a big loft raced north road) use to train young birds from warsop and doncaster, every thing you say is like i could have wrote it about my dad the only difference is he worked at shipstones brewery not the pit. My mother took his old stock birds home (the others were sold at action) He won some big races one i can remember was i think from france nates he won a section or some thing like and got a ��ã1200 that was a fortune to us he bought a car a black austin, so we could go to mablethorpe in october for our holidays(could not afford to go peek time. until he won that cash. My mum is still alive and has a little loft, she has five birds left, funny she came today and told me one had died aged 17, my dad died 8 years back. i dont know how the old girl keeps going , i remember going with him to pigeon club with his clocks and shuttles, i got a bottle of portello and crisps he had a pint of shipos bitter, tears in my eyes mate :thumb: