My Dad's Stamp Collection

My dad had a stamp collection. I knew that from when I was little. I used to climb into the huge G-plan wardrobe in their bedroom and leaf through it. I collected stamps myself, but this was a glory in comparison, full of animals and countries that I'd never heard of, moon landings and huge beautiful stamps in their own mini sheets.
I have no idea what role this collection played in dad's life, if collection is even the right word for it. It consists of one album filled with colourful stamps in small sets, lots of animals and flora and fauna, but there are other subjects dotted throughout. It doesn't make much sense and to my adult eyes it looks a bit like an album that someone else has put together to appeal to a lazy collector. I'm probably wrong though. Dad's little brother, Reg, collected butterflies and arranged them in cases - this stamp album is similar.
Alongside this strange album was a big bundle of loose bits and pieces. This to me was always the glory of the collection. Unsorted and unmounted, it seemed to just be the accumulation of someone who could see the beauty and historic value of these stamps, but who never had any interest in doing anything with them. It's clear that as a journalist, dad had access to various sources of stamps and picked them up over the years. The moon landing is much represented: these were the stamps that I fell in love with as a child. But a lot of other stuff found it's way in over the years. The launch of a nuclear powered ship, there's a stamp for that. Independence for the Seychelles, issue a stamp. Postal strike? Fleet St cartoonists design stamps for colleagues who set up their own postal service. Marius collects them.
Then, years ago, he gave the collection to my baby son. A typical act of generosity from him, but also the action of someone who really has no interest whatsoever in the subject any more. Luckily, neither has my son, so I've appropriated the lot for the time being. If he ever takes up stamps, it's his. Until then I no longer have to climb into a cupboard to leaf through this.

Dreaming of Dad

On the last night of my recent family holiday, after a clear sunny day, a huge thunderstorm developed which deluged our tent with water. Throughout the night thunder and lightening crashed around us as I braced myself for emergency evacuation if and when the river we were camping by broke its banks.
During this night I had a long and complex dream that revolved around the wedding party of a couple whose best man I was almost thirty years ago.
It turned out that my father wasn't actually dead. My mother had noticed his arm moving, that was all it took, and he was back with us. Even in the dream I knew this was implausible (we cremated him, I remember doing it), but I went along with it because he was there, large as life, the same as ever. We went to this wedding party which took place partly at a fairground. Dad was not impressed. 'Why are we here?' he asked petulantly, exactly as he would have in life. He didn't really know the couple, so why would he be expected to attend? I looked at him. His trousers were slightly too short, he was dressed as he was in life. The dream went on for hours, or so it seemed.
When I woke up I had to pack the tent in driving rain. There was no time to consider the reason or point of this dream, but it has made me vaguely wish I could have him back for a day or so sometimes.

Last Email

Miss you all.  Wish I was with you. Dad.
Sun, Aug 16, 2009 at 12:01 PM

Funny thing about email, you can look back at it. It doesn't go away. I introduced my dad the the internet right at the start. Even then he thought it was too much for him, but he was a user for fifteen years. After I put him on the internet I wrote a column for .net magazine titled 'Don't put your father on the net, Mrs Worthington'. As he got older his communications became more intermittent, but he kept on emailing friends and family till the end.
In an idle moment I looked back to see what was the last email he sent me. A strange experience, because I could so easily imagine that he was about to send me another one (and also because my brother had used his account a bit to email me, and I had to discount those).
So this was his last email, sent four months before he died, in response to an email from me on holiday. Sweet and to the point.