I’m sure most of you know that I met Mick when I was 14. We met on a coach trip to Dreamland in Margate. Mick never tired of telling people that our first kiss was on the ghost train, he so loved the story.
I always came second best to Mick’s love of motorbikes. I spent many cold hours in Mick’s shed while he stripped and serviced his engine. My mum and dad wouldn’t allow me on the back of his bike, so Mick would park it at the top of the road and we’d pretend to go off to catch the bus. But really we were hopping on the bike to fly down to Johnson’s Café where everyone met, or for days out to the coast. Brighton was a favourite place, except when a group of ‘mods’ went past on their scooters and a friend decided to grab one of their hats. Although our bikes were faster it was a little scary to say the least being surrounded by twenty or so angry mods.
We were married a St Margarets Church, Lewisham on the 10th of September 1966, on the hottest day of that year, and we lived in Catford for two years before moving to Folkestone.
Warren was born two years later.
In 1974 we upped sticks, became hippies and travelled around Europe and North Africa in a Volkswagen Bus (which Mick had converted) for five months, with a four year old Warren. We camped in the Acropolis car park while we were in Greece and it was on a beach in Morocco where Mick seriously considered accepting an offer of three cows and two goats for me. We were hoping at one point to join a Kibbutz. But when we couldn’t go because of the war, we made our way to Corfu to spend Christmas with friends, spit roasting a Turkey which they named Turk (don’t ever name him if you’re going to eat him) which we’d killed (well not Mick or I) and cooked over a fire pit. Eight hours later, it was the best tasting turkey ever. These were some of the best times of our lives.
Then along came Michael, (we convinced Warren that he was being named ‘Bilbo Baggins’ as Mick was reading The Lord of the Rings at the time), followed closely eighteen months later by Alie, who was joined by our lovely surprise (not a mistake) Rosie seven years later.
Fifty three years of living with Mick have been what you might call ‘interesting’. He had been diagnosed with MS at 22 and it would eventually get the better of him physically. But we never allowed it to define who he was or let it alter our joy for life.
And through it all, it was never boring. Well, except when we were building computers or he was buying something which would always involve hours of research before he would inevitably come back to his first choice.
Without him I would never have been able to repair a washing machine, maintain a central heating boiler or service a car. And of course put flat pack furniture together (and please don’t forget to use wood glue) I could go on. I was his hands and feet. But he was really good at giving direction.
Mick loved his music most of all and one of his greatest joys was to buy vinyl albums for his children as surprise presents, nearly always old classics.
If any of them asked his advice when thinking of buying something, however big or small, it often arrived at their house within a few days. Whenever they moved house, a large Tesco order would arrive “so they didn’t have to worry for a few days”.
I promise you Mick I will always TRY to rotate the tins in the cupboard, keep a shelf in the fridge for the ‘cheese’ and make sure I put your music back in alphabetical and chronological order.
Through it all, our life has been one of love. Love for family, for friends, a deep, deep love for our children and grand-children, of whom we are so, so proud, and most of all an undying love for each other.
Mick, you were first and foremost my husband, but you were also my best friend. You were sometimes a pain in the neck, but you were always my heart and my greatest love.
Thank you for your smile, your laugh, your touch, your kisses, your love and everything that was you.
I will miss you so very much.
I love you.