The Drive In Country Dance Saga

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellow,

Today I flew up to Tauranga to be at the gathering for the passing of Shetland Dad.

Note - a gathering, a ceremony if you will - not a funeral. It's all much more personal and low-key and the cremation was to be a "value cremation". Feefs told me this proudly as she drove me over to her place. 

"No-one knows about value cremation," she added. "But it's two grand less. See, it pays to have someone on the inside of the funeral business."

When I got to Feefs' house Caro greeted me with a huge hug and it was clear that she was very happy to have me there. She's doing really well, by the way. She is obviously sad and it is very strange for her that her dad is no longer here - but it's also a huge relief for her that the scared, anxious man he turned into due to that horrific disease is now free.

Caro seems at peace with things, is what I'm saying. And his actual passing was a healing thing for her. Feefs is the  same and perhaps it's only because the sisters have each other that they've managed to stay so strong.

The sisters had done an amazing job for the gathering. It was like a party that Ronnie would have loved to attend. They had set up a station in front of the tv with all of Ronnie's most prized possessions and got in his favourite food* and had a playlist of his favourite music. 

It was also my dad's favourite music. Gene Pitney, Buddy Holly, The Beatles... My dad also featured in the slideshow of photos on their tv.

As above.

Pretty soon, other friends of the sisters arrived along with some friends of Caro's mum and an old couple from the Shetlands who knew Ronnie back in the day. But not too many of his friends. He was always quite a solitary man, Caro tells me. His friends were his wife's friends. And when they got divorced he had only his daughters. And my dad. 

The two got along well. Despite my dad being the exact opposite of Ronnie with friends EVERYWHERE. This made me happy. 

For this reason, Caro had asked me to speak at the little memorial in Feefs' back garden. The two daughters were to speak first but both were nervous. "I don't think I'll be able to make it through without crying," Feefs confessed.

I decided to try and distract her with humour. "If you make it through, I'll give you $10," I told her. 

"Make it a hundred," she said without a pause.

That is SO Feefs. Always got the head for business, that one. But I agreed. 

"FFS!" said Caro when I told her. And then she went off to even things up by making a similar deal with Craig. 

Their speeches were both lovely. But most importantly, Feefs made it without crying. There was a bit of a pitch-wobble, but no actual tears. 

"That's a hundy!" Craig called over to me. 

Then it was Caro's turn.

She was doing SO WELL. She talked of treasured times with her dad, and of holidays and Wombles.... Then she turned to Feefs and thanked her for taking care of Ronnie in his final years. 

And she BAWLED.

GOD DAMMIT. 

(Later I gave Feefs the $100 and she tucked it into her bra with a satisfied smirk).

Then they asked their mum if she wanted to say a few words. And it was honestly like some horrific black comedy. "Well... there are a few things I could say but I won't..." she muttered. There then followed a long LONG speech about how happy she HAD been before Ronnie... and then her MUM... and THEN... and then there was that OTHER time...

On and on it went. And she hadn't even got up to the 1990's yet. People started to shift uncomfortably. Feefs intervened. There was a pause in the narrative and she POUNCED.

"Okay then..." said Feefs. "All done...?"

"Yeah. Yep. I guess so. Yeah," said mum. 

Follow THAT, Symon.

Fortunately I was prepared. I decided to try and bring back the memory of Ronnie by reading an email he had sent me in 2003, long before Alzheimer's robbed him of who he was. 

"I think because I was boy he told me things he would never tell his daughters..." I said. "Would you like to hear one of his stories now....?"

Well... would you?

Okay - time for another story from Caro's Dad.  This one shouldn't be told nowadays - but it happened a long time ago in the Shetland Isles. It’s  Circa 1961 and Roy Orbison was singing 'Only the Only'.
 
It was at a time when it was considered 'fun' to get pished and drive. No cops in Shetland,  just a group of 'hip' guys who thought they were invincible - and a little old black Austin 7 Car (1936 Model), not to mention beer (boxes of the f*cking stuff) and a huge supply of Woodbine cigarettes and cartons of condoms from the local supplier.
 
Now Shetland tends to get very misty during winter - that means you can't see for more than a few metres at times - and black as!  Well it was off to the 'Country Dance in Whiteness' on a Friday night. Just 4 guys and 6 boxes of beer, in a car the size of a matchbox.    

The front of the car had no seats, so you sat on two wooden fishboxes in the front - lashed to the car floor with ropes.  The fish smell was something awful.

Anyway, the Country Dance progressed, the pish flowed, there were a couple o' shags at some time during the night, the usual heavy bout of fighting, spewing, eating, fighting again, feeling-up anything that didn't have three legs and then it was time to set off back to Lerwick.
 
Out of the four of us, three were just about dead and I was nominated by default as driver.  The mist was really thick now - but a friend of mine, who seemed sober said, “Hey Ronnie, just follow my tail lights, I know exactly how to get back home.”
 
We duly set off - at a respectful distance (like two feet apart) and things were going great.  One of the guys spewed in the car, another sh*t himself all over the front seat and none of the windows worked so we were trapped in there with the smell.
 
And suddenly, the tail lights vanished – I was scared I might lose my pal so I sped up.
 
The trouble was, we were now going downhill at a very steep angle.  Sh*t - speak about going into a nosedive. Well it all ended suddenly in a ditch, 120 feet down from the road. Mind you, it was a gradual heather slope. The only casualty was a broken thumb, the guy who sh*t himself before, sh*t himself again, and the other two never knew anything about it.
 
It was a long stagger home to Lerwick after that, each loaded up with the remaining beer and cigarettes. But the condoms got thrown away. 
 
After that, I got a motor-bike.
 
Ronnie - Caro's Dad (and now you know why she is like she is) 

I do, actually. I know Caro is the way she is because of her dad. Because he taught her to love music. Because he was funny and rude and honest and kind. Caro and Fiona are all of these things. And a big part of them is Ronnie Sharman.
 
Thank you Ronster. Off you go and have adventures with my dad. Try not to fall into too many ditches.

S.

* Toffee-Pops