Team Yak-Kerouac Mongol Rally 2013: A worthy Cause

By Alison Jean Baker

None of us knew what it was at first; larger than a pimple, smaller than a quail's egg, nestling alongside his neck on the right-hand side. We made fun of it; we called it names. Dad tried to cover it with his Victorian like side-burns, thinking in time he would wake up and it would be gone. But it didn't go. It liked the company far too much.

None of us had heard of 'cancer' before. Our youth and lack of internet at the time meant such a word, and the knowledge around it, was limited to ordinary folk. So he carried on as normal until a friend spotted it for what it was. He was rapidly diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma: a cancer of the lymph tissue found mainly in the lymph nodes. It's primary symptom is a painless swelling in the neck, armpits or groin; which is maybe why it took so long for my father to go in for a check up: it literally wasn't a pain in the neck. He was taken for treatment to the London Hospital, Whitechapel, and on visits me and my brother would go hunting for the bones of the Elephant Man believed kept in the basement, whilst the best nurses in England looked after our Dad in one of the warren of wards above.

My father was the youngest of ten. He grew up in Leyton, in the East End of London, with six sisters and three brothers in a house big enough for two. The son of a grocer, he would sneak his father's work horse out in the evenings and ride it bare-back across the neighbouring fields. They were 'truly man's best friend' he would say - 'more than a dog; treat them right and they'll do anything for you'. He vowed to one day have his own. He also loved cars, but he loved my mother more, so he sold his classic Triumph so he could marry her. And then me and my brother came along.

Everybody thinks their dad is great, so of course I think ours was pretty special. He was a funny, generous, genuine man and liked by everyone. No one had a bad word to say against him. He was a talented footballer, but ended up a builder by trade; one with a gift for story-telling and a singing voice that could rival Bing Crosby's - something his co-workers were reminded of daily. He also loved a practical joke - something else his co-workers were reminded of daily. He always made me laugh. He was a cheery soul, even when he got sick, and he never felt sorry for himself, even when he got really sick.

Thankfully I didn't inherit either his ears or his teeth. I hope I've inherited his sense of humour. One day I'll learn to ride a horse, and just like him: bare-back.

There's more I could say, but I think his old school report sums him up best.