The Sunday Reflection #82 - Backbone!

Dad supervising repairs to his Wellington
bomber at Foggia Main Air base in Italy
in 1944.  These men hadbackbone
and gumption

Life is a strange thing. Every experience you have, good or bad, gives you another tool in the toolkit of life. Every mistake has a lesson, every victory should give pause for reflection. Every conversation is stored away and anything useful filed. I was born very lucky. My father had lived a life so full and varied that I was passed an almost full toolbox almost before I set out on my own journey that is life. One piece of advice that he passed on to me, which I always take full account of is this. I guess I was sever or eight at the time. It was before my Mum had surgery for cancer. She had been advised to get a good holiday to builder her up. Dad had to stay behind and run the business. During the week, I stayed with my Uncle Jimmy and Aunty Josie and their ten kids. I was at the same school as their son Gregory, so we both went to school and came home together. At the weekend, I was in Dads care at home. This was wonderful. We had bacon sarnies for breakfast, pie and chips at the cafe for lunch and he got some steak for dinner. During the day, I spent it with him at his car crash repair business, MacMetals. He gave me a job sorting out some big trays of nuts and bolts. He gave me half a crown wages, which bought a good stock of sweets. My sisters had gone with Mum to Spain (Dad wouldn't set foot in the country because Franco was a Fascist and he didn't like Fascists). 

During the course of the day, he got into an altercation with someone in the workshop. I didn't know the person. They were not an employee or a customer. My Dad was a bit of a hardnut, an Aussie ex RAF officer who'd been a prisoner of war. You didn't mess with him. He had a bad temper. Whatever happened escalated extremely quickly. I knew not to mess with Dad when he had red mist. What had started as an amicable discussion, suddenly turned very nasty. My Dad shouted a stream of profanities as the said individual and told them that if they didn't F--- Off he'd throw the chap in the incinerator. This was not an idle threat. He'd thrown a local gangster in, when they had threatened him and demanded cash. I now believe Dad had PTSD from the second world war, which is why he could turn so quickly. The odd thing was, he'd switch back just as quickly, almost as if nothing had happened.

That evening, I asked Dad what it was all about. He seemed slightly embarrassed, but he explained. The said individual was a member of an organisation that my Dad belonged to. Some money had been misappropriated. My Dad was scrupulously honest and generous and he was horrified to learn what had happened. It was absolutely clear what had happened and who was responsible. Dad was mates with a chap called Charlie Dawson, who was the local copper. Dad wanted the culprit to be nicked and exposed. He felt stealing off a charity was despicable and the act of a total low life. The person who had visited him, was the person who had collated all of the evidence. Dad had asked to see him, and suggested that the information be turned over to Charlie. 

He had come down and to my Dad's absolute horror, he'd been told "I have destroyed the evidence". It transpired that the bloke who visited my Dad was his best mate and he didn't want to dob him in. Worse still, without the evidence, the individual in question would be remaining in situ.  My Dad was horrified and what sent him over the cliff was the individual in question then stated "Now it's only our word against yours and no one will believe you". Dad was not stupid and he knew this was most probably true. I asked Dad what he was going to do. His response shocked me. He said "Son, in life you will learn one lesson. You will meet people like that. People who you think are friends, but when the chips are down, you learn they are cowards and have no backbone". Dad went on. He said "In the RAF, I put my life on the line for what was right every night. I had to have the total trust of my crew and they had to have the total trust of me. If that broke down, we would all die. However, you'll learn that in normal life, it is quite acceptible to lack backbone and indulge liars and theives". He added "The reason they get away with it, is because people who should know better indulge them". I was intrigued. But I asked again "Dad that doesn't explain what you are going to do about all of this". His response was intriguing. He said "Son, you've got to learn one lesson. Wars are a long game and they are not decided on the first battle. Now this lot have revealed their true character, I will wait and I will catch them out sooner or later and I will make sure I have what I need to do what needs to be done. People like that always screw up sooner or later". And that was that. Or so I thought.

As I said at the start of this blog. Life is a strange thing. I had always wondered if my Dad was right in this case. He never mentioned it again to me. I doubt he would have, if I'd not seen his melt down. But the last time I had a proper night out with Dad, over a whisky at 2am in the morning, I asked if he remembered the incident and what had happened. Had the bad men got their comeuppance? He laughed and said "Well, it was quite tragic really". Dad went on to explain that he was so morally outraged about the theft of the cash that he'd decided to go around and front the bloke who nicked the money. I think his intention was to smack him in the mouth and tell him what he thought of him. He went around to his house and told him he needed to discuss a serious matter. He was beckoned in and offered a whisky. The guy then explained that not a soul knew this and he asked for him to keep it quiet. Dad told him that it would have to be a very good story. He then explained that he'd been told he had terminal cancer and had no more than six months to live. He was very well insured, but he'd be dead so the cash was no good to him. He'd taken the cash from the charity and paid for a ten day luxury cruise with his wife, as he was still well enough and he'd always promised her. He'd changed his will and when he passed away, the charity would receive a large bequest, far more than he'd 'borrowed'. Dad told me that he was completely taken aback and agreed to never mention it. Sure enough, after he passed the bequest was made. Although not strictly moral or legal, Dad understood completely that it wasn't petty pilfering. Dad asked whether the treasurer knew. He said no. Dad then explained that when the charity accounts were prepared, it was clear that there was a large sum missing. Not only that, but the peperwork was missing. The treasurer came under suspicion and could offer no reasonable explanation, so was thrown out of the charity and became a pariah. The assumption was that he'd nicked the money. Dad said that given his behaviour he felt it was up to him to explain his actions. He said "That's the price of not having a backbone, if he'd have confronted his mate then maybe they could have sorted something out, but he was too much of a coward to ask and a man like that should never be in charge of money at a charity". 

Dad then said, and this is the key point. "Never be afraid to ask difficult questions. Sometimes there is an explanation that you would never have expected. If  you are too cowardly to ask questions don't complain when people think you are the one who has been up to no good". As I wake up today and survey the world around me,  I see a world where too many men lack backbone. If you lack gumption, don't complain when it comes around and bite you on the backside. God bless you Dad, wherever you are right now.