People who inspire

I was born into a family of inspirational people..my Father was the bravest man I ever knew..he was booted out of the RAF at the start of WW2 when they discovered he was only sixteen. Undaunted he ended up serving throughout the war as a chief engineer in the Merchant Navy, escorting warships and dodging u-boats in treacherous seas like the north-atlantic.
He spent six months in a hospital in Calcutta, fighting TB, a disease which was later to kill his young wife back home in Scotland, leaving my dad with a baby daughter to raise..the daughter who would later break his..and all of our..hearts when she disappeared under sinister circumstances many years later.
Dad had the strength of a pride of lions, despite ongoing health problems that would have demoralised Goliath. Tall, handsome, dark and dashing..he was the envy of all of my friends with his gracious charm and sparkling (sometimes savage) wit. I remember when my pal Anne said to mum one day “You got a good catch there!” and mum was flabbergasted..whether at Anne’s cheek or perspicacity I was never sure.
First and foremost, my father was a gentleman, one of my earliest memories is of being on a Glasgow bus with the family, when a violent drunk started cursing, and dad told him to shut up as there were ladies and children present..and with dad’s imposing presence towering over him..the man not only shut up, but got off the bus pronto.
I also have my father to thank for my love of classical music, poetry, ballet and theatre. Dad was quite the bohemian when he left the navy (My bro has a photograph of him with his black hair long, and swept back and a superb moustache) he was a brilliant clarinettist and later when he met my mother, the two of them were prominent figures amongst the poetry circuits thriving in Glasgow. Dad was also a tremendous political activist and I think he later regretted his decision not to stand for MP as invited, when my mother begged him not to. He was a brilliant orator and wiped all opponents clear from his path..including the rebellious, argumentative teenage me. Mum was always saying “You’re your father’s daughter alright.” when I faced off for the umpteenth time regardless.
There were a million zillion facets to my father’s character and as many achievements..he went on to become a leader in his field, and when lung cancer finally cut him down (a legacy of his TB scarred lungs..and..okay maybe his 80 a day ciggie habit) his only thoughts were for us and none for himself. An aethiest all his life, dad didn’t recant on dying, there was no weeping, no anger, no calling to a false god just in case. He died with the strength, honesty and dignity with which he had been born, and with which he had played out his span.
I just wish I had appreciated all of the above, when dad was here for me to tell him.

@esmeralda wrote:

I was born into a family of inspirational people..my Father was the bravest man I ever knew..he was booted out of the RAF at the start of WW2 when they discovered he was only sixteen. Undaunted he ended up serving throughout the war as a chief engineer in the Merchant Navy, escorting warships and dodging u-boats in treacherous seas like the north-atlantic.
He spent six months in a hospital in Calcutta, fighting TB, a disease which was later to kill his young wife back home in Scotland, leaving my dad with a baby daughter to raise..the daughter who would later break his..and all of our..hearts when she disappeared under sinister circumstances many years later.
Dad had the strength of a pride of lions, despite ongoing health problems that would have demoralised Goliath. Tall, handsome, dark and dashing..he was the envy of all of my friends with his gracious charm and sparkling (sometimes savage) wit. I remember when my pal Anne said to mum one day “You got a good catch there!” and mum was flabbergasted..whether at Anne’s cheek or perspicacity I was never sure.
First and foremost, my father was a gentleman, one of my earliest memories is of being on a Glasgow bus with the family, when a violent drunk started cursing, and dad told him to shut up as there were ladies and children present..and with dad’s imposing presence towering over him..the man not only shut up, but got off the bus pronto.
I also have my father to thank for my love of classical music, poetry, ballet and theatre. Dad was quite the bohemian when he left the navy (My bro has a photograph of him with his black hair long, and swept back and a superb moustache) he was a brilliant clarinettist and later when he met my mother, the two of them were prominent figures amongst the poetry circuits thriving in Glasgow. Dad was also a tremendous political activist and I think he later regretted his decision not to stand for MP as invited, when my mother begged him not to. He was a brilliant orator and wiped all opponents clear from his path..including the rebellious, argumentative teenage me. Mum was always saying “You’re your father’s daughter alright.” when I faced off for the umpteenth time regardless.
There were a million zillion facets to my father’s character and as many achievements..he went on to become a leader in his field, and when lung cancer finally cut him down (a legacy of his TB scarred lungs..and..okay maybe his 80 a day ciggie habit) his only thoughts were for us and none for himself. An aethiest all his life, dad didn’t recant on dying, there was no weeping, no anger, no calling to a false god just in case. He died with the strength, honesty and dignity with which he had been born, and with which he had played out his span.
I just wish I had appreciated all of the above, when dad was here for me to tell him.

Exquisitely written esme :wink:

There are a lot of folk that I have admired and influenced me but I’m struggling to think of anyone who has “inspired” me, well a mortal being anyway :-k