Now as you can see here’s a man who loved to blow his out… so seeing he’s somewhere else now I’m lighting a candle on my Dad’s 100th birthday.
Where to start? Probably 100 years ago in a tenement in Denistoun in the east end of Glasgow.
Where James Gerard was born, the third of what would be five children, with one not lasting past four years, to joiner George and homemaker Mary.
Whether rich chocolate cake would have been the order of the day then is doubtful.
More jeely sandwiches (jam sandwiches) and tea and, on special occasions, biscuits, but food was always on the table for the Murtys.
And James, or Jim, as he was always known did the same for us.
While gleefully reminding us spoiled kids that he used to eat bread and dripping (the fat from the meat) as a kid.
The patisserie chef in Norfolk
Jim Murty, whose name I proudly carry on, was a self-made man.
Educating himself at night in his 20s after his day job with the corporation.
And then working jobs outside his medical course and then in the summers down in Norfolk.
Where he cheekily boasted to us that he had been a patisserie chef, and sending money home to his family.
Later in life my Dear Old Mum would take him back there to Sheringham where alas the hotel had gone.
Inevitable really as they had lost the best patisserie chef they ever had.
Spain, Portugal and the Irish homeland
The trappings of a doctor’s life, and he also did out of hours work for the police, meant.
We would be among the tranche of early package holidaymakers to Spain and Portugal.
Although with my Dad’s memories strong of his childhood days when every penny had to be earned the hard way.
That was only after camping holidays.
Where my Dear Old Mum never tired of reminding him that she used to have to wash my nappies.
The best holidays of all were in Mum’s heartland of Brockagh, Co. Donegal.
Where the McNultys, who ran the hamlet, or townland’s hotel, held fort.
And where pictures of her 12-strong family cover the boards to this day in the Isaac Butt Heritage Centre.
Empty nesting
As the baby of the family it was my good fortune to get my parents to myself when my brothers were all growed up.
And although they never told me, they must have been pleased when I too took off allowing them to go out and see the world.
America, where Mum’s four brothers had emigrated, was a favourite.
And it was a love for the US and my Irish-American family that I have inherited.
Canada, where Dad’s own father had lived for 20 years and fought for in the First World War too.
And his brother Joe had taken his family out to live and my own brother who married out there and worked too before returning to Britain.
There was Mexico, South Africa too, Russia, India, China and Australia, and only some of them I have got to in the years since.
Glasgow belonged to him
But as much as he enjoyed all those adventures it was home where this proud Glaswegian was happiest.
With his beloved Teasy, who is now reunited with him.
And we, God willing, will one day.
Although not too soon.
DOUCEMENT DAD
