Sid Difford by Chris Difford

    Dad with a small P. I can hear my Dad’s breath panting on a hot summers day as he pushes me on his bike down to the allotment where he spent most weekends helping people with their vegetables and roses. It was a two mile hike from our prefab to Tunnel Avenue in […]

Jack Palmer by Amanda Palmer

They split when I was nine months old, my mom and dad. My son Ash, my first, he’s nine months old now. I look at him with a kind of envy, with his joyous bubbly eyeballs, as he blissfully jabs his little fingers into his giggly mouth and drools the drool of ignorant bliss. My […]

Peter Townsend by Mark Townsend

It was getting late, the factory workers streaming home as the cold set in. “Are you Peter’s son?” asked a shopkeeper in the gathering gloom. I nodded and during the moments that followed it felt like the entire town rushed out to say hello. Months earlier, during the summer of 1997, my dad had gone […]

Stefan Davies by Catherine Anne Davies

When I was 17 I watched my Dad save someone’s life. We were on holiday in Paris on the Metro when I looked on as he leapt up and grabbed hold of a young guy as he tried to throw himself from the window of the moving train. Dad held on to him for dear […]

Lewis Frederick Gilbert by Pat Gilbert

Last year I was watching the Movies For Men channel when I chanced upon an old black-and-white John Wayne film where, in the final scene, he drives a bulldozer over a cliff, along with a dozen or so exploding oil drums, and thus single-handedly defeats the Japanese army. I smiled – I knew this film. […]

Jacques Van Kelst by Sophie

As I stretch my arm to catch the bartender’s attention for another cider, my shirt lifts and reveals the inside of my wrist. Someone at the bar points at the tattoo that’s been there for ten years. “What’s that then? What does it mean? Is it Hindi or summin’?”, he asks I stare back at […]

David Firkins by James Oliver Firkins

  A Letter To My Father, I want to begin with an apology: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not realising that you were just a child who thought that you would find the answers you searched for. I’m particularly sorry I never was able to find out your questions. I’m sorry that once, when you […]

Paul Bevan by Karen Bevan

On the 8th January, thousands of people were celebrating what would have been Elvis Presley’s 80th Birthday. A special day for many and one that has a special relevance for my family because it would also have been my Dad’s 60th Birthday. He too was a King of sorts, to us, anyway. Only his crown was a […]

Don Utton by Dominic Utton

Dads are full of advice. It’s what dads do, in a way, what they’re there for. Mums do the practical stuff, the actual business of bringing children up – and dads, in the main, get to dispense wisdom. My dad was never shy about giving advice – from the obviously useful stuff (“always magnetise your […]

Roy Rogers by Jude Rogers

I’ve had enough of writing about my dad’s death. It’s time to write about his life. Dad was Roy, born to Vera and Theo on 17 February, 1950. He had a much older brother, Donald, although his parents weren’t married when he came along; Donald was brought up by his grandmother, and his surname was […]

Stuart Wilson by Leah Wilson

I used to think the first memory I had of my Dad was when he took me and my brother to the park and told us that he and my mother were going to live apart, that they were getting divorced. We were sat on a bench in Debdale Park in Manchester, right next to […]

Tony Kay by Jez Kay

I’ve never written anything about someone I love longer than a Tweet or Status Update. Certainly not a blog. But when I think that it might, just might, help those who are trying to understand or come to terms with something, either regarding themselves or those around them, I give it a little extra thought. […]

Norman Sydney Owen by Jim Owen

When I began to think about this I felt it was a shame that it would incorporate his death, so I considered not including it. Then I remembered that a friend once said to me, when I reported the death of a mutual friend to her: “Well, that was his life then”. So, it’s an […]

Andrew Charles Edwards by Lisa Edwards

My father died when I was 21. He had been in a psychiatric hospital for some time due to what was diagnosed as early dementia in addition to Parkinsons. In fact it was probably Lewy Body Dementia. I only realised when it was too late that the antipsychotic drugs he was given shortened his life […]

Terry by A W Wilde

7.30am, November 10th 2006. I was walking off an English breakfast in the Oxfordshire countryside with three colleagues from work. We were up early on our company’s annual away days. The sun hung low, gloriously obscured by a thick mist rising from ploughed fields. The morning frost tried to hoax us into believing it was […]

Anthony Freeman by Amanda Freeman

  “Mean, moody and magnificent” was a phrase often used to describe my Dad Tony. He met my Mum on the bus to Kingston art school. She was 16, straight out of a stuffy girls school and from the posh end of town. He grew up in a two up, two down with no bathroom […]

John Tierney by Michael Tierney

November, 1983 and I was about to attend the first game of football with my father in Glasgow. I was already a teenager. My father and mother were raising nine children and there was rarely any spare money to go round, least of all to spend on Saturday afternoon entertainment. My father had taught me […]

Peter Stein by Juanita Stein

One of my earliest memories is standing on a couple of telephone books in a vocal booth at a recording studio in Melbourne, Australia. My father was recording a track called Dear Daddy and I was singing the part of the little girl pleading with her imprisoned father to “please come home”. A sad and […]

Sid Fyfe by Andy Fyfe

Flying back home to the UK from New Zealand after my father’s funeral, I thought maybe it was finally time for a little cry. It was a late afternoon flight out of Christchurch, 37 hours back to Heathrow via Hong Kong, just four days after making the same flight the other way, and I was […]

John Butler by Jim Butler

My dad is normal. Does that sound harsh? It’s not meant to be. And neither am I damning him with faint praise. No, to the outside world at least, my dad, like countless others, is the very epitome of normal. He’s led what I suppose is considered an ordinary life. There have been no dramas; […]

David Ellis by Brian Ellis

My old man did not follow the van. He did not dilly-dally on the way, Despite being born in London.  ‘Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,   And all he did done perfectly.’   My dad was born before World War II but was conditioned by Edwardian attitudes from before the Great War. We grew up with […]

Bill by Ellen Storey

When my dad took his own life 26 years ago, my predominant feeling was anger. That and pity for him. He was not a merciful father. And he became progressively less tolerant of noise and therefore babies. My brother recalls him once walking me up and down trying to get me to sleep, and finally […]

Albert Murray by Kate Murray

My dad still makes me angry, even though he’s been dead for 30 years. Angry, first off, for leaving us so soon. I didn’t know that I’d never see him conscious again that day he went off to football and collapsed during the match. I’d usually have been there with him. I can’t even remember […]

Charles Borden by Harry Borden

“Why? They still hate Jews.” That was my father’s response to my proposal that we visit his homeland. He was born in New York in the 1920s. His parents came from the east hoping to find a better life in America. His father, Harry, came from Ukraine. His mother, Lillian, from Rumania. A small, only […]

Colm Connolly by Paul Connolly

My dad is not a good man. He is not kind or gentle. He is not wise or funny. He is not cultured, sensitive, accepting or loving. He hates laughter and revels in others’ misfortunes, including any setbacks suffered by his own offspring. He is not burdened with even one quality that might have proved […]

A.M. Parkin by Anna Parkin

When I was growing up, I got used to this typical response to my surname: “Are you Monty’s daughter?” Artist/musician/writer/poet/historian… dad’s talents were abundant, and people often wondered whether I’d inherited any. If I had, it wasn’t obvious. “I didn’t realise you had such a brilliant dad!” came the reaction of an elderly lady I’d […]

Allan Sturges by Fiona Sturges

Dear Dad, There are precious few photographs of you and me, and the snapshots in my mind are faded and curled, but one thing I still remember clearly from my childhood is how your hand – firm, calloused, massive – felt around mine. Living on a farm in one of the bleakest corners of the […]

Bill Anderson by Emma Anderson

  My father died when I was 25. So this story is one of a man who died too soon. Specifically, he died too soon for me to ever get to know him properly. Also, if truth be told, he never really got to know me as an adult and, as you will see later […]

Michael Wright by Mic Wright

My dad doesn’t believe in heroes really. Heroic acts maybe, but heroes? No. I consider him heroic though. His whole life has been a series of small heroisms. He bugged out of Taunton at 16, ditching the promise of factories and falling out of the same old pubs for new pubs and the Navy. He got […]

Sidney Kelly by Roy Kelly

I wanted to remember my dad, who was nothing special, except of course he was in the way we all have a possibility of being to a son. He was born in 1911 and the youngest of a large family, which was normal then, 11 or 12 altogether. He was a link to another world […]

Godfrey Hann by Michael Hann

22 Things I Know About My Father These are my memories, my truths. The reality might be different. My sister would say so; my mother would say so. But I can only tell my version of Dad’s story, filtered through the gauze of childhood, distorted by the lies we tell ourselves to make sense of […]

John Duerden by Nick Duerden

I have no real defining memories of my father, and those I can muster he probably wouldn’t thank me for. There are few remaining photographs of him (my mother took scissors to most of them), but those I do possess picture him as young and blonde, and whippet thin. I remember him only in snippets: […]

Brian Horne by Mathew Horne

ADDED MINUTES The ref added minutes So that I definitely won. No matter how many It had to be done; A birthday disaster If that goal wasn’t scored A tantrum, hysteria Names would’ve been called. That day was my day And I had to be winner As ref you controlled You were just a beginner […]

Arthur Aizlewood by John Aizlewood

It is 4.45am and I have been woken by my dad tip-toeing around me. I am still horrendously, heroically, stupidly drunk in the way that only a 17-year-old can be. I smell of furtive cigarettes and stale Stones bitter. On the floor next to me is a pair of my trousers with one of the […]

Big Eddie Forde by Eamonn Forde

“Edmond J Forde – building contractor.” That’s what it says at the top of his company notepaper. Everyone calls him Eddie. Except me, my brother and my sister. We call him Big Eddie. I’m at least a foot taller than him but he’s still Big Eddie. He is, as you might have gathered, a builder. […]

Bernard Capper by Andy Capper

My dad is very much a “my way or the highway” person, which is apt in this case, as this story is about a highway, and how our failure to navigate one together brought us together in a spectacularly painful fashion. It was a clear bright evening, in late Summer 1989 and it was time […]

Barry Wood by Anna Wood

  Some things I’ve learned from my dad Read books. Surround yourself with books. Life will be better, you will be better, everything will be better. Words are yours. It is good to dance, in very short shorts, in the summertime, along the beach at Sutton-on-Sea, singing Blame It On The Boogie. It is good […]

Felix Kessler by Ted Kessler

A while ago, I decided to try to collect paternal experiences and collate them on a website. The idea came to me because it’s a subject that intensifies any conversation. When you ask someone to describe his or her dad you receive an immediate jolt of emotional honesty and you always learn something that’s meaningful, no […]

Rob Cameron by Keith Cameron

As I write this, near the end of June 2013, it’s almost three and a half years since my dad died. Which at my age – 47 – feels like no time at all. So he’s rarely far from my thoughts. His absence is especially apparent to me on the eve of an Ashes test […]