A treasure from my dad

My dad grew up in Ireland in a family divided by the ‘troubles’ or I should say, divided by the invasion and control of Ireland by the English.

In his early 20s he emigrated to England and made a fresh start in Liverpool but in the 1950s there was a harsh racism against “Blacks & Irish” so employment was not easy to secure. 

He was a remarkable man. An eclectic, principled, caring and wise man, who fought for workers rights, who campaigned against the Polaris missile. He loved the countryside, art, sculpture, music, antiques, opera, philosophy, literature and so much more - but most of his working life was spent working as a labourer/pipe fitter.

This painting he did of Ireland hung on the wall of the family home in a makeshift frame for as early as I can remember, in our terraced house in Anfield, Liverpool. It captures rural Ireland and the sort of crofter cottage my dad grew up in.

My mum passed it onto me about 5yrs ago and this year I finally got it cleaned and professionally framed so it now sits proudly on the wall, not in Liverpool, but in New Zealand where I emigrated.

My dad died almost 49yrs ago. I wish I could have sat with him and chatted adult to adult. He deserved so much more than 46yrs.