Danny Boy

Listening to: 'Grace'-Jeff Buckley

My Dad's big brother Harry died last night from lung cancer, at the age of 76 (Dad's a bit upset naturally, but also philosophical). I confess I did not know Harry well, nor were we close, given that we lived on opposite sides of the world. I was only around him for a six week period in 1989-90, when my father and I visited his relatives in England. That's us in the photo on the Seaham breakwater, County Durham, Harry on the left, 13 year old me in the middle, Harry's dog 'Lady' on the right, in December 1989. As you can see (and those of you who have met my father can attest to this), height is not a strong trait in my family. At 13 I was taller than everyone I was related to in England.
Although all my memories of Harry are now 16 years old, they are good ones. He was fun to be around, always talking and telling stories (like my father), most of which I couldn't understand due to the accent and dialect of the english north-east. The first time I met him he said "So what do you think of us Geordies then?", which Dad had to translate for me before I could formulate a response. He had a lot of time for a 13 year old nephew he'd never met before.
We spent a lot of time at his place where he lived with his wife Kath while we were there. The photo was taken one morning when we took Lady for a walk. We wandered past pubs, and abandoned coal mines, each place with a story. Lady was one of the nicest dogs you could ever hope to meet. Friendly, not at all aggressive, well trained. She liked me because I gave her a lot of attention. We came across Harry walking her once and she ran straight over to me looking for a pat or a head scratch. Harry would sing 'Danny Boy', and Lady would yelp along with him. That song always makes me think of Harry and his dog. Lady must be long gone by now. I like to think she's waiting for him.
By the way, I'm not trying to neglect Harry's wife in all this. I just don't remember her as well. I do remember that she was pretty sharp, and also had a lot of time for me.
Harry was already sick when Dad last saw him in May. He said he wouldn't take painkillers "because I don't want to wake up dead!" Apparently his end was peaceful; he was found by his housekeeper in his chair in the lounge.

I would have liked to have known him better.