Rutherford - The living years: the first Genesis memoir

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Contents

To

Angie, Kate, Tom and Harry

I was in a hotel room in Chicago when the phone rang at 3 a.m. It was Angie: Ive got some bad news Dads died. Time really does freeze at moments like that and your heart plummets. Mum had called her: Angie darling, Dads dead. Ive poked him with my stick and hes not moving: hes definitely gone. Mum was in a wheelchair and very immobile she and my father slept in twin beds and the phrase was exactly like her. I could almost hear her voice.

At that moment I couldnt think of anything to say or even discuss arrangements. I was too much in shock. After I hung up I stood by the hotel window and looked down at the car headlights. I was on the thirty-fifth floor and it suddenly seemed incredibly quiet and very lonely. I felt very distant from anything that was happening down on the street I just didnt feel part of the world.

We were in the middle of a six-show run in Chicago playing to 20,000 people a night and were less than a month into our year-long tour. If Id wanted to fly back to England I knew that the band and our manager Tony Smith would have supported me, just as we had always accommodated each other musically. But I also knew that there was nothing I could really do in Farnham. Mum had Angie and my sister Nicky to look after her and my father had taken care of all the funeral arrangements. So Tony Smith and I sat down and made a plan. In two weeks time I would fly overnight to England for the funeral and after the service I would fly straight back by Concorde to California for a show at the LA Forum.

The next two weeks were surreal. I found I could go on stage and get lost in the music for two-and-a-half hours, but then the show would end and the realization of what had happened would hit all over again. There was a sense of security, of safety, playing with Tony and Phil but my own emotions and my fathers death were something we didnt discuss.

There were times in my life when I felt guilty not talking about my feelings, but that was just how I was brought up. I think public school was a large part of it but it was also generational: my father and I belonged to a time when sons didnt tell their fathers they loved them. Id never told my dad that I loved him and my biggest regret was not telling him what a wonderful man hed been in my life.

I arrived in England on 13 October 1986 and went home briefly to see the children. I then drove with Angie to the funeral service in Aldershot. The night before Id been on stage in front of thousands of people, and now I was in a car on the way to an English church to say goodbye to my father for the last time. After that, I would be flying back to LA I knew then I needed some help. I asked Angie if she would fly back with me just for one night. Someone drove to our house to pick up her passport while we were in the church and then it was straight to Heathrow, where we boarded Concorde for the first leg of our journey. Angie was still in her funeral dress and only had her handbag.

We arrived in New York and a car was waiting on the tarmac to take us to the private jet that would fly us to LA. I think it was then that the enormity of it all really struck me. As we flew west, keeping up with the sun, the day seemed endless and yet all the time I was aware of leaving that church in Aldershot further behind, while LA was getting closer. It seemed very still on that plane it was just us and a couple of crew and the sun still wasnt setting. I felt as though Id lost my compass point.

I found out later that two of the people in the audience that night in LA were Elton John and Gary Farrow, his PR. They both knew what was happening and spent the time before the show discussing whether I was going to make it back or not. The band were trying to decide which songs they could play without me or even if they would have to cancel the show. I arrived with twenty minutes to spare thanks to a police escort from the airport.

It may sound self-serving to say that I played that show for my father but when I heard those eerie chords to Mama, that primal, basic beat, thats what I felt I was doing. My father had always taught me that if you had an obligation, you fulfilled it it was as simple as that. That night I was giving something of the right spirit, and I think he would have approved.

When I went to bed and Angie eventually fell asleep, I couldnt stop thinking about how bizarre the whole thing was. Id buried my father in the morning and then travelled backwards in time to play the show. Somehow I also felt that my father had gone on a journey too I wasnt quite sure where either of us were at that point.

* * *

My fathers death hit me the most six years later, following my mothers death in 1992. My sister Nicky cleared out their house and sent me three weathered, leather-bound trunks belonging to my father.

I was still reeling from my mothers death and the fact that we had to sell my parents first and only home in Farnham. It was the end of an era and I didnt really feel ready to look into the trunks in case they stirred up emotions I wasnt sure I could handle. Ive always been one to keep my emotions hidden away. I put the trunks in the attic above my studio and thats where they remained untouched for a few years.

Im not sure when the time is right to deal with the past but it wasnt a calculated thing I was in my studio a few years later having a writers block sort of day, and my mind started thinking about the trunks. The next thing I was up there wondering which one to open first, as there was also one belonging to my grandfather. I decided to open my grandfathers trunk and one of my fathers at the same time. The thing that startled me the most when I lifted the lids was the military precision the way everything was so neat and tidy. In my grandfathers case all of the papers and files were bunched together with elastic bands, while in my fathers case all of his paperwork was neatly put in plastic folders. I had a shock of recognition as Ive always surrounded myself with plastic folders and Ive never even been in the military.

In these folders was a mixture of naval histories from Dartmouth, memorabilia from the wars, his medals, CBE, Distinguished Service Order certificates and his medical history, and his sword was also in the trunk. In my grandfathers trunk there was similar stuff but I also found two of the books he had written: Soldiering with a Stethoscope and Memoirs of an Army Doctor. There were great reviews amongst his papers, praising Colonel Rutherford and the publishing deal he had landed. My fathers trunk contained a manuscript of his own memoirs along with a very positive and generous letter from David Niven, from whom hed obviously sought an opinion (my father was a fan of Nivens memoir, The Moons a Balloon ). However, there was also a publishers rejection letter saying there was not very much demand for military history these days and so I am sorry we cannot accept it. I felt my fathers disappointment.

Last year my sons took my fathers manuscript and had it made into a beautiful leather-bound book. They gave it to me for Christmas I was completely overwhelmed. I may hide my emotions pretty well but it was hard on that day. I sat down and started piecing together my fathers life, and read his memoir from cover to cover. I felt so proud not only of my fathers naval career but of the legacy he left me.