My Da was never referred to as Patrick because all the men in the family could claim that name as their own as well. Patrick was the family saint and the Corrigans were Irish Catholics. His brothers, sisters and sisters in law called him Seamus. Aunt Lucy, the Mrs Corrigan, being married to the eldest brother, called him James, which sounded like an admonishment. Everyone else called him Jim or Jimmy, even the Bradford police. He was Big Jim or Big Jimmy, although in stature he was not much bigger than my brother or I are now. However he was a man who talked with both fists to make his points. Big Jim was a mark of respect from those who had felt those points being made on them. Jimmy was the epithet of those who wanted the fists behind them or who had reason to call Da a friend.
This was first published in March 2008 but goes some way to starting a series of posts about my Dad.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Quandary
My last post was bragging that I had three blog pages, one for Pompey, one for Theatre and one for me.
I was in the car returning home from Bradford yesterday and Kat said she thought I should concentrate on writing just one blog as I wasn't actually writing any posts regularly enough on any of my three pages. She does have a point and the Firstborn concurred.
However I am writing quite consistently on Pompey elsewhere on the Pompey Gossip website at http://www.pompeygossip.co.uk where I have written 83 blogs in the 17 hours 24 minutes I have spent on there. I love the Pompey Gossip forum so my Pompey Corrigan 47 might be superfluous and unnecessary.
Also on that same fateful car journey we learned about the death of Robert Millington at the age of 58. I wish I had words of wisdom to share with his son but all I can say is that I lost my father when I was 30. I still regret his loss to this day and know he would have loved to meet our two girls.
In my brother's house there are my photos of my father's family and my mother's family. My brother is our family historian. The photo we talked about this holiday was in the backyard of a house with my mother stood next to my father who is holding a small child aloft on his shoulder. There is some debate as to who the child is but I think I agree with my brother that it is our elder brother Michael. My father looks for all the world like Humphrey Bogart.
My daughters like the stories we recount of my father. These stories don't always show him in a good light but he was certainly a character. We decided that perhaps this blog was a good place to recount and store some of those stories.
Today's story however is about Big Annie. This lady was a relative of my Granny and features in a family photo showing my diminutive maternal grandmother sat on a chair nursing her elder daughter and first child, little Annie. The photo is taken in the street outside a terrace house and there are several well scrubbed menfolk but the dominant figure is a huge woman in black. This was Big Annie. The legend goes that she was married and one day her husband was at home ill. Typically he was a miner as was most of my maternal family. It was atypical of any one of them to take the day off. He was visited by two men. The story is unclear whether they were colleagues or sent by the mine. However an argument ensued inside the house and one of the men was despatched through the window by Big Annie. We believe the other man took to his heels before Big Annie could get hold of him otherwise he might have shared the same fate.
Occasionally I am brought to task by my wife for behaving in an over aggressive manner and such stories as those of my father and relatives such as Big Annie show that old family habits die hard. (I met Colin at my brother's birthday party. Colin was the son of my cousins, Eddie and Lynne. We hadn't met since 1973. He said he remembered my brother and me, from that time, as giants. Thus is the way that I remember still my father.)
A quote from Kathy Reichs ("Cross Bones" page 41) that caught my eye and to which I can relate closely: "When annoyed, I grow churlish, snap, counter with sarcasm. When angry, truly white hot livid rage, I go deadly calm. The ice response is also my response to fear."
If my brother reads this blog, I hope he will scan and send me copies of the photos to accompany my blog posts.
I was in the car returning home from Bradford yesterday and Kat said she thought I should concentrate on writing just one blog as I wasn't actually writing any posts regularly enough on any of my three pages. She does have a point and the Firstborn concurred.
However I am writing quite consistently on Pompey elsewhere on the Pompey Gossip website at http://www.pompeygossip.co.uk where I have written 83 blogs in the 17 hours 24 minutes I have spent on there. I love the Pompey Gossip forum so my Pompey Corrigan 47 might be superfluous and unnecessary.
Also on that same fateful car journey we learned about the death of Robert Millington at the age of 58. I wish I had words of wisdom to share with his son but all I can say is that I lost my father when I was 30. I still regret his loss to this day and know he would have loved to meet our two girls.
In my brother's house there are my photos of my father's family and my mother's family. My brother is our family historian. The photo we talked about this holiday was in the backyard of a house with my mother stood next to my father who is holding a small child aloft on his shoulder. There is some debate as to who the child is but I think I agree with my brother that it is our elder brother Michael. My father looks for all the world like Humphrey Bogart.
My daughters like the stories we recount of my father. These stories don't always show him in a good light but he was certainly a character. We decided that perhaps this blog was a good place to recount and store some of those stories.
Today's story however is about Big Annie. This lady was a relative of my Granny and features in a family photo showing my diminutive maternal grandmother sat on a chair nursing her elder daughter and first child, little Annie. The photo is taken in the street outside a terrace house and there are several well scrubbed menfolk but the dominant figure is a huge woman in black. This was Big Annie. The legend goes that she was married and one day her husband was at home ill. Typically he was a miner as was most of my maternal family. It was atypical of any one of them to take the day off. He was visited by two men. The story is unclear whether they were colleagues or sent by the mine. However an argument ensued inside the house and one of the men was despatched through the window by Big Annie. We believe the other man took to his heels before Big Annie could get hold of him otherwise he might have shared the same fate.
Occasionally I am brought to task by my wife for behaving in an over aggressive manner and such stories as those of my father and relatives such as Big Annie show that old family habits die hard. (I met Colin at my brother's birthday party. Colin was the son of my cousins, Eddie and Lynne. We hadn't met since 1973. He said he remembered my brother and me, from that time, as giants. Thus is the way that I remember still my father.)
A quote from Kathy Reichs ("Cross Bones" page 41) that caught my eye and to which I can relate closely: "When annoyed, I grow churlish, snap, counter with sarcasm. When angry, truly white hot livid rage, I go deadly calm. The ice response is also my response to fear."
If my brother reads this blog, I hope he will scan and send me copies of the photos to accompany my blog posts.
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