My Photo Of My Dad

My Photo Of My Dad

I got my story in a magazine; it was about my dad, George Hurst. He was the best dad in the world. He loved his family and raised his children well. My Mam, was always ill with her nerves. He cooked, cleaned, and worked down the coal mine. My dad was like me: always happy and helping others, but usually taken for granted, too. This photo I took of him reminds me of happy days. It also reminds me how loved I was.

He used to come home from the pit and never moaned, even though we all knew he probably experienced a bad day. We used to watch wrestling on the telly. Big Daddy was my favorite wrestler. Dad loved tag teams. I know sometimes I was disobedient and set out to annoy, but my Dad loved me.

I wrote my story for the magazine just to, in a way, say sorry his life was so challenging. I wanted to get my dad recognized out there on the web. His name was George Hurst, born in 1919 in Ashton in Makerfield near Wigan Uk.

He worked at Bold Pit near home. My dad was a twin to Aunty Ellen (Nelly); they were like two naughty kids when together. The cherished the twin bonding they had, and each other

Dad died of pit disease and lung cancer in July 1988; he was my best friend. I loved him more than life. When I was little, I used to sit up for hours at night, repeating over and over, "God, please don’t ever let my dad die." When I got married and moved out, he would walk or get the bus to my house, and stay with me if it was thundering. Dad knew I was terrified of thunder and lightning. We had little money, no big house, just a rented terraced house. No car or telephone, yet we were rich in the love my dad held in his heart for his family. It was pure gold, my dad's heart.

In this life, if you have good parents to guide you, you can go far. My dad was my best friend, my hero, and my life. There was only one regret in my life, and that was I didn’t have him long enough. I have a brother John and a sister Dorothy; he loved us equally, and we loved him, all three of us, so much. Even his grandchildren had a very special bond with him. His heart was so big there was room for everyone in his life. Two of his grandchildren are now with him and mam in heaven. My sister's daughter and Son Andrea and Kevin were both taken far too early with cancer also. I know they are all together, probably watching over us all here. My brother-in-law Jimmy, Andrea and Kevin’s dad, also passed with cancer in 2022. I always thought of him as my second dad; he was a good man. He and my sister brought me up with my dad. My mam was always ill, and he was an excellent husband. He had a hard life, but he just got on with it. He had no time for moaning. I talk to his photo sometimes. I loved my mam, but can’t understand how she just could not at the time fight the depression. His life would have been so much better if she had. Yet now I Also understand how horrible depression can be.

So I sent my dad's story to this magazine, and they published it, photos and all. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world; I was in a dream—I got some recognition for my dad at last. I got my dad's name out there on the internet. I still cry for my dad and talk to him. I was born lucky to have him as my dad. Rest in peace always, Dad. xxxxx

You know, once something gets published and you realise, "Wow, I wrote that," you want to do more. I did it; it inspired me to write more poetry. I have written poetry since I was about 12. My dad always encouraged this. He would get paid and buy me a lined writing book and a black fine-nibbed pen. I would write the silliest poetry; my dad listened proudly. The rubbish ones were never rubbish to him. I also loved to draw. Dad did some amazing art, mainly roses. 🌹 I, too, love drawing and making roses. I would draw Christmas pictures for him: candles, robins—they always took pride on the kitchen wall.

I have an old reel-to-reel tape recorder of dad’s, me singing and Mam talking, joking with us. I play it often just to hear his voice. He loved country music; there is lots of that on the tape. This goes back to about 1970 to 1974. Happy days those were. One of his old work friends once told me, after he died, that I was the apple of my dad's eye. I knew this already.

I hope that when I die, he is there waiting for me with my family. Just to see his smile again. I do hope it won’t be for a long time, I love living and have lots to write about still.

Rest In Peace Dad George Hurst 27/8/1919 - 3/7/1988

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