Early Summer 2018
I try to keep some kind of chronological order to my posts, using this like a diary of sorts and I started this post back at the end of June. Today is 26th July 2018 and things have been delayed by a personal and family tragedy which diverted my attentions elsewhere, as I’ll now briefly explain.
My Dad, Ron Brookes, was diagnosed with oesophageal cancer in February last year and the Doctor advised my sisters that he had 12 months at best. Given his existing state of health and his stoic pragmatism Dad decided not to have any treatment – which the Doctor agreed with. Over the last few years Dad had battled diabetes and more importantly a serious heart condition that had prevented the hospital operating on a benign tumour on his prostate. Dad’s condition deteriorated slowly but surely and he was eventually transferred from home, to Stepping Hill Hospital and then to a nursing home in Edgeley, Stockport. Whilst he kept all his marbles until the end he was growing visibly frailer and frailer, which often had us in tears when we spoke over WhatsApp. He passed away early in the morning of 6th July. We spoke often and it was clear he knew he’d had his time and he was ready to go. When that time came he was asleep, my sister Sally was by his side and he left us peacefully and painlessly. Who amongst us, if we had the choice, would choose a different way to go, quietly and in the arms of a loved one? Dad’s funeral took place on Friday 13th July and whilst it wasn’t possible for me to be there my eldest son John read a few words for me:
A few last words for Dad.
Unfortunately I can’t be with you all today as you meet to say farewell to Ron, my Dad – our Dad, Grandad, Great Grandad, Brother-in-Law, Uncle or Friend. Dad and I had spoken about this and he knew I wouldn’t be able to make the journey from France – he was more concerned about what trying to attend would do to me and told me quite firmly to look after myself first. Being the dutiful son, who never disobeyed my parents……..well let’s not go there right now……… but suffice to say if I had the strength I’d be with you today.
Dad and I spoke every week and there was nothing left unsaid between us, I loved him and told him so, he loved me and told me so. There was nothing unsaid that should have been said and I’m grateful for that.
This is a sad day but Dad wouldn’t be happy to know there was a sea of sad faces looking up as my eldest son John reads this on my behalf, so, on behalf of Dad I must ask that you cheer up. He kept a brave face on things even though he must have been suffering but that’s now over. Dad passed away quietly, peacefully in his sleep, in the arms of someone who loved him and who amongst us here wouldn’t choose that as the way to go if the choice was there? Thanks for holding on to Dad for me Sally.
My memories of my Dad go back to the dim and distant days of the late 1950’s and I thought I’d share some of them with you all. I’m recalling things that happened 60 or so years ago so I’m not guaranteeing absolute accuracy but believe me all of these things did happen.
My first memory is when we lived at 22 New Hey Road – me, Mum, Dad and brother John. I would have been about 2, maybe 3 and one snowy night I woke needing a wee. I never like using the potty that sat threateningly under the bed so I pulled on my dressing gown, jumped into my slippers and went downstairs. We didn’t have the luxury of an inside loo, ours was in the yard down a step or two from the back-door. The back-door was never locked in those days so it was easy for me to climb on a chair and unhook the latch, open the door and step outside into fresh snow. Job done I reached for the latch, and failed! A step and the lack of a chair stopped me reaching the latch – I was stuck outside in the cold and the snow! Oh well, it was back to the toilet seat, curled up in my dressing gown and hoping I wouldn’t fall through the hole – it was one of those without a lid. After what seemed an age the door burst open and there was my Dad – in his underpants, shivering in the cold and demanding to know what I thought I was playing at. My excuse that I was a big boy and big boys didn’t use the potty didn’t work and the back door was locked after that to keep wandering children in the house. To a small lost boy, my Dad had tracked me down by following my footsteps in the deep snow and rescued me from an icy toilet. My hero!
22 New Hey Road was the scene of many happy memories. John and I came down for breakfast one morning to find Weetabix sticker books on the table – Cowboys and Indians I think – and we ate Weetabix for ages afterwards so we could fill the books. I’ve never eaten the things since, horrible!
Our next door neighbour at No 24 was Mr Wayne, a lovely lovely old man who was a wizard at fixing up bikes. One day Dad and I went round and I had a massive surprise – a bike for me – red frame, white mudguards, lever brakes – it was superb! After an hour or so of getting pushed up and down the alley behind the house by Dad I was off on my own.
The alley behind the house was always kept neat and tidy, I’ve no idea who by but it was an extension of the back-yard for John and me – a playground that took us up to the corner shop or down to the back of the shops on Stockport Road – a danger zone we weren’t allowed anywhere near! I remember us getting California Highway Patrol uniforms and a Jeep pedal car one year and playing for hours hiding behind walls and shooting at ‘baddies’. Unfortunately whenever we had to chase them in the Jeep Dad had to push us – they were really hard work to pedal – but Dad pushing was scary, he ran like a whippet and that caused the pedals to go back and forth too quickly for our little feet. Mum stopped that after the first accident when my feet came off and then went under the pedals. Dad got a proper telling off from Mum and our high-speed chases after criminals came to an end. Cheadle became a much more dangerous place after that!
Early in the 1960’s we moved upmarket – well up New Hey Road anyway, to No 55. Simon had appeared from nowhere one morning and No 22 was no longer big enough for the burgeoning Brookes clan. It seemed palatial at the time, a big lounge, inside loo, separate bathroom and three bedrooms – the bathroom at 22 had been a tin tub hanging on the wall – but bath’s in front of a coal fire on a winters night still linger in the memory.
It was around this time that we saw less and less of Dad as the demands of 3 kids and a larger mortgage took their toll on his wage packet. Dad often had two or three jobs on the go – cycling up to Trafford Park and back Monday to Friday, waiting on at the Vine a couple of nights a week and even working a weekend job making iron gates. He was always looking for better wages and would do or go wherever was necessary to make sure there was enough money in the house. The family continued to grow, next came Sally and then Kathy, and things got even tighter but we never went short – Dad provided the necessary and Mum looked after the nurturing. We did alright and we’ve got Mum and Dad to thank for that.
In 1968 John and I went to France with School – paid for by a Grand National win – and one night Dad came home from the Vine with tray after tray of small cans of Bitter Lemon:
‘Here you are Babs, the lads wont go thirsty while they’re in France’ he said.
Our rucksacks took half a load each but Dad’s money saving plan didn’t quite work out – we couldn’t pick the things up, and that was before we’d packed clothes in them!
As the family grew the house got smaller but Dad had an answer – he put a conservatory on the back. It pinched what little garden we had but gave us some extra space. I was probably 13 or 14 at the time, shovelling concrete into wheel-barrows while Dad and Charlie Machin laid the base.
I’m going to close down now, I could go on for hours but people are dying to get in here and I don’t want to cause a traffic jam so I’ll leave you with one final memory. Dad loved football, playing it with his mates, in the Army, with us in the road, wherever he could, he even had his wrist in a sling when he and Mum got married – he broke it playing in goals the week before. I remember one afternoon, I was 15 or 16, and there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and Dad fell all over me, obviously in great pain. He worked at Gordon Ford in Heald Green at the time and broke his ankle playing footie with the apprentices at lunch-time. There was no way he was going to admit to being injured so he worked all afternoon on his ankle and then walked home from the bus-stop in Cheadle village. His ankle looked like a football. Mum had all the reason she needed to stop him playing now and that was when his boots got consigned to the bin.
Quickly now then, my love and thanks to all who helped look after Dad while he struggled through bad health prior to and then with his cancer, but especially my sisters Sally and Kathy, who bore the brunt of his care. When I wasn’t there physically hopefully they both knew I was with them in heart.
Finally, my thanks to you all for coming along to say your farewells to my Dad.
Please keep a tender memory of him in your hearts, I know I will.
Love you and miss you Dad. Give Mum a hug and a kiss from us all.
Losing a loved one is never easy, even when you know it’s coming but I’m grateful that Dad’s passing was peaceful and painless.
I’ll now try and bring you up to date with things here in (extremely) sunny France.
For most of June and all of July it’s been well up in the high 20’s and even reached 38 here today but it won’t last much longer as storms are promised for the weekend. More of the same is promised next week though. When I say storms I mean proper storms, the thunder could wake the dead and the lightning often blows the power and phone lines down. No power screws everything up as the phone is an internet line but at least we get a rest from the tele-marketing calls, which are an everyday occurrence and really annoy Karen. The good weather is doing wonders for the veg plot – we’ve got lettuces, radishes, tomatoes, parsley, carrots, spuds and green beans all sprouting wonderfully well and a drop of rain will do them good. It’ll give us a break from the watering as well, so a win – win situation I think.
Late in June I had my first real success with French bureaucracy, but only because they’ve put lots of things on-line. Let me explain: we need to register our UK registered vehicles here in France and get French number plates on them. When we arrived it was a long and complicated process that would have involved us going to Aubusson (the sous-Prefecture, or local Government office for that part of the Department that you live in) to prove we owed no taxes on the vehicle. Aubusson is 40 – 45 minutes away from us. Once we had that confirmed and in possession of the appropriate documentation we would have to make an appointment at the Prefecture (the Departments main Government administrative office) which is in Gueret, a good hour and a half from us, where we would have to show all sorts of documentation – the V5, a Certificate of Conformity from the manufacturer, a current MoT or Controle Technique, proof of purchase, proof that no tax was outstanding, proof of address, proof of identity and an application form. The authorities would the send a temporary certificate that confirmed the new registration number, to let you get new plates made up, and then you’d get a carte grise, the French equivalent of a log book or V5 within a month or so. But only if you had everything they required. If not you’d have to do it all again until they did. Anecdotally I understood this could all take weeks and given what else we have to deal with we kind of turned a blind eye to the discrepancy! A month or so ago Karen went down to the local Marie (Town Hall) and was told it was all on-line now so I set to it.
After assembling all the necessary documentation I accessed the web-site and logged on using my credentials for the Health Insurance web-site (French government departments are linked, one user name and password works for all), told them what I wanted to do and uploaded the documents, got a confirmation e-mail telling me I was in the queue and sat back to wait for it to progress. Two days later I got an e-mail advising me there were things I needed to do and pointed me back to the web-site. The maximum size for each document is 1Mb and some .pdf’s were enormous so I ‘snipped’ them and uploaded them but unfortunately the print was so small that when expanded it was unreadable and so the request was bounced back to me. It was easily fixed though as I ‘snipped’ them in pieces so one document was sent in 4 parts. It worked though – and yesterday our Citroen C4 Grand Picasso 1600 EFi Exclusive, YP 12 NYV, transformed into EY 976 QG. I was e-mailed the temporary certificate and Karen phoned Garage Mendes in Merinchal to order the number plates. The whole process took about 3 weeks from start to finish, and it would have been quicker if I had responded to their notifications a little more promptly! The system worked well and my only gripe would be that I had to pay £95 for a Certificate of Conformity for a Citroen (French built) car to be able to register it in France! The whole cost to us came in at about £650 – new headlights, the CoC and the French government fees – so not outrageous in my view. There was one little glitch though – the number plates delivered were different. Our Department is 23, which can, if wanted, be included on the plate. Our front one said 23 but the rear plate said 63! That took a week to get changed but it was no big legal deal as they aren’t obligatory. Another strange quirk is that you can have any department number you want, it doesn’t have to be your own, which I find quite odd.
The request for a carte grise for the Mercedes spaz wagon is still in the system but is proving to be a more difficult job though as it was built as a mini-bus and converted into the beast it is today (electric elevating ramp in the back, remote control rear doors, remote controlled passenger door step, 2 passenger seats, lowered floor, removable driver’s seat, 2 wheelchair docking stations, manual accelerator and brake, electric hand brake, key-less ignition, lightened steering rack and fire extinguisher system. There are other bits but the list is enormous so I’ll stop here.) I’ve got the CoC from Mercedes (another £90 or so) and a few pieces of documentation from the converters – Oughtred and Harrison (http://www.ohvc.co.uk/vehicle-conversion-products/wheelchair-accessible-vehicle-wav/) but I’ve been blown out because I’m 2 pieces of evidence light – proof of my handicap and lack of a quitus fiscal.
I have a valid and EU approved Blue Badge from the UK but they are insisting on a French issued equivalent and to get that I need to apply to the French authorities with a Medical Certificate from my Doctor to support my claim. That’s currently with my saw-bones and hopefully should be ready by the end of the week.
A quitus fiscal is evidence that there are no taxes or import duties outstanding. Strangely they accepted the receipt from Citroen as said proof for the Picasso but they aren’t moving so guess what – we’re off to Aubusson for one on 1st August! What was it I said earlier? Heh ho, the vagaries of French bureaucracy strike again. What is really annoying is that all goods and services provided for handicapped people in the UK are VAT free, as I believe is the case here in France.
My main problem is not being able to get a Carte Grise (V5) because we can’t get the van a Controle Technique (MoT) because the UK V5 is wrong – it states 3 seats when in fact when I’m in it and Karen is driving it’s got 5 seats. It does have 3 permanent seats – the front passenger seat and 2 fixed, fold up jump seats in the back but the driver’s seat and my wheelchair clamp into docking stations (a bit like an artics 5th wheel). This is further complicated by the fact that I have other (UK issued) documents that state 5 seats. All will (should, will hopefully, who knows) be sorted when I get the quitus fiscal and my French Blue Badge – but we’ve got time pressures as I’ve got to get it all sorted within 8 weeks from last week – the result of another French quirk – French CT’s are valid for 2 years and if you fail you get 2 months to put things right, and motorbikes don’t need a CT! Hopefully by the next time I write we’ll be sorted but we’ll see. Vincent, our local Sapeur-Pompier (volunteer fireman) and CT tester has said if we struggle just get the jump seats taken out and he’ll give us a ticket – good man I say!
The weather is proving extremely good for the local wildlife – we’ve had nesting great- and blue tits as well as house martins up under the eaves and last night we watched great-tits busy at it so we’re expecting another nest full of chicks soon. The walls and decking are covered in lizards charging around. The fields and woods are full of wildlife – badgers, deer and pine martens. The air is full of insects – dragonflies, bees and some less welcome horrors, birds – buzzards, swifts, swallows, cuckoos, owls, blackbirds and lots of little varieties my eyes are no longer good enough to recognise. We’ve got a few books and binoculars and are having fun trying to identify them. Of great delight to Karen are the butterflies and moths her garden is attracting again – the buddleias are a veritable butterfly magnet. We are serenaded by birds, insects, frogs, toads and animals almost constantly and for the cat levers amongst you – who hasn’t had a present left on the doorstep? We found this last week – we think dropped by a bird of prey when it realised toads aren’t tasty!
As I commented earlier every couple of weeks the weather has broken and we’ve sat and watched some glorious thunderstorms, with lightning cracking across the sky. Unfortunately whilst the electric into the house is protected the telephone line isn’t and one Sunday night ours took a belt that blew the router and phones. The next morning I was on the Orange web-site with my mobile and got the line tested. It recognised a duff router and a new one was arranged and waiting for us at a drop-off point in a nearby little town, that afternoon! All automatically – how slick is that? How would BT measure up with that?
So that’s all for now, I’ll write again in August. Take care and have a great Summer.
Jem