Highlights In The Shadows: 7 - My Father, My Mentor
“Dad lived by the code set out in Rudyard Kipling's poem '"If'". He had little time for hypocrites…If he had a fault, it would be his constant belief that everyone he dealt with shared his standards of ethics and principles…’’ Owen Clement paints a loving portrait of his father, an honourable man, slow to anger, whose final words were “This dying business takes a long time.’’
Dad was a keen photographer for which I am very grateful, as it has given me an excellent record of our lives. I have prints of many of his photographs taken of us during those early years. I have one that shows Gloria and me standing outside that house before going to a fancy dress party. Dad had told me to hide the wooden spoon I was holding as part of my chef's costume. My choice of sticking it between my legs caused much hilarity at the time and much embarrassment for me later.
Dad lived by the code set out in Rudyard Kipling's poem '"If'". He had little time for hypocrites. He was much admired and respected by all that knew and worked with him from the lowliest coolie to the most senior company executives.
If he had a fault, it would be his constant belief that everyone he dealt with shared his standards of ethics and principles. This was to cause him much pain and anger as he was let down many times in his lifetime. I remember him saying to me when I was a boy, “Always remember, my son, that as a man, you will have to face yourself every day in the mirror when you shave.”
When Dad did lose his temper, and I know of very few occasions when he did, his rage could only have been described as white-hot. One of these incidents concerned my sister’s nursemaid’s husband. Dad saw the man severely beating our Ayah, Asa Bathi, near the servant’s quarters in our backyard one afternoon. When Dad saw the man kick his pregnant wife in the stomach he ran outside and knocked out the drunken violent man, revived him under the garden tap and knocked him out again and would have continued to do so. After much difficulty, Asa was able to drag herself upright and pull Dad away from her senseless husband saving Dad from almost certainly committing murder.
On one other occasion, when Dad was an apprentice, he was sitting on his cot in his dormitory cleaning his revolver when another apprentice, who had just had returned from having a shower, kept flicking Dad with his damp towel. After two unsuccessful warnings for his tormentor to stop, Dad fired at him point blank range just missing the young man's head.
Dad worked for the Bengal Nagpur Railway in Kharagpur for almost twenty-seven years. In 1924 he was made journeyman; in 1926 he was promoted to charge-hand; in 1929 he was made foreman. His last position in 1945 was assistant works manager.
All his life, if Dad was not studying or trying to keep up with the latest technology, he was fixing things. Family, friends and neighbours were forever bringing equipment for him to attend to. Most of the problems, he told me, were quite simple and fundamental like replacing a battery or even turning on a switch. After he retired he acquired many gadgets and pieces of equipment from his neighbour Ernie Cook. As Ernie did not have any children to leave his fortune to, he indulged in one hobby after another. Among some of the items Dad acquired were an exercise bicycle, an electric barbecue with rotisserie and an electric organ. As Ernie tired of each new toy or if it stopped working for some reason, he would merely buy something else and give the out-of-favour item to Dad.
Dad was appalled at the way people did not look after their property. He was a product of the depression and a very inventive man. It was a skill he learnt from his father, who also needed to be inventive, especially in his job, as he lived in virtual isolation for most of his working life. As an example, when petrol was rationed during the war and his second wife, Doris, was nervous about riding a bicycle, my grandfather, well into his sixties by this time, designed and built a frame joining both their bicycles, a variation of the old song of bicycles built for two.
My mother was the great love of Dad’s life; he literally doted on her hand and foot until she died almost ten years before he did. Their devotion and loyalty to each other has always been an inspiration to me.
My father was nicknamed “Poppa” by my sister’s children. He truly was the patriarch of our family. No decision was made without consulting him first. His grandchildren and great grandchildren continued using his great wisdom almost until the day he died. Unfortunately my children living in Australia did not get to know him until their late teens.
His final words to my sister’s partner were, “This dying business takes a long time.’’
© Clement 2006
