Pam Weston - Mum, Me and Cancer

When I heard the phone ring as I was showering at our B&B on the Isle of Wight, I knew. My partner, Keith, and I were on our annual pilgrimage to the scooter rally. It was Monday, August Bank Holiday in 2014 and we were up getting ready to catch the early ferry back. We had arrived on Friday with our friends. Keith had ridden across on the back of our friend Daves 1960s scooter while Marie and I had driven over in the back-up car with our luggage and the emergency breakdown kit; 1960s scooters often break down! We set about having a good time.

Then on Saturday, my brother, Derek, had called from Lincolnshire to say that my dad had been admitted to hospital. This was not the first time this had happened. Dad, who was 90, had been in and out of hospital quite a bit in his long life but had always recovered. Derek reported that Mum had found him collapsed on the bedroom floor, the paramedics diagnosed him with pneumonia and he was on his way up to a ward. He had spent the day outside, clearing out weeds from his and his next-door neighbours driveway, probably using a teaspoon to dig them out! That was the sort of person my dad was. Once he set his mind to a job, he wouldnt give up or ask for help. In other words, he was stubborn but lovely with it.

I guess Dad would have told those other patients all about his time in Norway, these stories were some of his favourites, he had loved his time there, never forgetting the kindness he had received. Dad had been sent to Norway after the Nazis had surrendered to decommission all of their vehicles. He had never been abroad so he found it exciting and very different. He was stationed just outside Oslo on a RAF camp which is where Oslo airport is now. He had never seen mountains except on his journeys to and from the Orkneys. He was amazed by the beauty of the fjords and the forests.

As a young man, he was curious about the place and its people. One day he decided to take a walk round a residential area, he saw a middle-aged woman sweeping her path and decided to try out his smattering of Norwegian, he said, God Morgen, and so began a friendship between two families that would stretch across years. The woman spoke back but Dad couldnt understand her Norwegian and she spoke no English but she pointed to her watch to Dad and to her house and he guessed she was asking him to return a little later, he nodded. When he returned, he found the whole family there including a daughter who could speak English. The family were so grateful to be alive and free that they insisted on adopting Dad, he was made one of the family. I have photos of Dad dressed in the civilian clothes they gave him, a patterned jumper, corduroy trousers and a warm shirt. He topped this with his greatcoat.

As well as clothes they shared food with him. One Sunday he arrived early for lunch as instructed he went to fetch the meat, outside in the snow were several small sticks, when he pulled on one of the sticks a string came up and on the end was a piece of frozen meat which was placed in the oven. Dad said it was the best pork he had tasted until he was told it was whale! Each week he would visit and join in with the family and their friends, people would be invited specially to honour him.

Dad wanted to do something in return for this family who had been through hell and back. Their son, who had joined the resistance had had to flee to Sweden after his best friend had been shot jumping from his hiding place in the roof space of his family home. This familys son had come back but many hadnt. People had lived in fear, cowed by their circumstances, now they were coming alive again, picking up the pieces of their lives. Dad wanted to make a difference in some small way and his chance came quite quickly. On about his third visit the family had realised that he was a mechanic so he was taken into one of the outhouses, here covered in a blanket with lots of boxes piled on top, he found a hidden car. The family had kept it secret throughout the war so that it wouldnt be taken away and used by the enemy. They asked Dad if he could get it started. The rubbish and coverings were stripped off and Dad lifted the bonnet, he started laughing thinking they were playing a joke on him, there was no engine! Then the daughter took him to another outhouse and there scattered amongst several boxes he saw the engine all in pieces, the spark plugs in one, the starter motor in another, he then smiled it was just the sort of challenge he loved. Gradually after each of his visits the car was taking shape, one day the family gathered round while Dad started it, black smoke blew out of the exhaust but it was working. The familys first trip was with Dad to the Swedish border which they crossed for the first time for years, here they bought cigarettes and luxury goods not found in Norway, Dad told me everyone sang songs on the way back celebrating this new found freedom.

When he left Norway, Dad kept in touch with his Norwegian family. I loved it when the God Yul card would arrive addressed to us all. Somehow later they lost touch Dad really regretted this, then suddenly the grandson of the woman he had first met contacted Dad out of the blue, he had used the internet to find Dad and Mum and just turned up at their house. From then on, he visited Mum and Dad annually sharing stories his mother had told him and Dad would match these with his own. When my daughter visited Norway years later, she met younger members of the family who had all been told about a man called Bert who built a car from hundreds of pieces!

Later, my brother was able to reassure me that he was already improving and had told Derek that I mustnt rush up. This was typical of Dad, thinking about me and not wanting me to be driving all that way for no good reason. The next day, we heard that he was entertaining the staff and other patients with long-winded, funny stories! He told stories of how he grew up in London during the 20s, 30s and 40s. How as a young man he was always out to beat the system and make a bit of money alongside his younger brother, Bill. He spoke of his time in the RAF, especially the time he spent in Norway and then how he became a long-distance lorry driver first and then a London cabbie. He had a treasure trove of stories just right for every occasion, even when in hospital! As he got older, the stories got longer, as one inevitably led to another. Sometimes, we would have to hold the second course of a meal for up to 20 minutes while he caught up either with his story or with his eating! There was always just a little more that he needed to tell you.