Father’s Day Special

In this episode
For Father's Day, Carl opens with his own dad, Buck Chinn, the bookmaker who taught him how to shake hands and that the lessons which hit your pocket stick hardest. Then guests from the past year pick up the thread: Casey Bailey on a father who quoted Kipling and Shakespeare off the cuff, Robin Campbell on the folk singer and union man Ian Campbell, and more besides. Together the stories build a picture of working-class fathers and grandfathers, and what they handed down without always saying it out loud.Chapter markers are not available for this episode.
Transcript
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Hello there, I'm Carl Chinn, and welcometo another episode of Our Lives, OurStories, where we delve deeply intouncovering the lives and the stories ofthe people who I'm chatting with. We'vealso uncovered part of my life and mystory. And in this episode, we're goingto be uncovering the stories, the livesof fathers. So, I want to begin with myown dad, so I can share some storieswith you before we move on to others.Our dad was Alfred William Chinn,nicknamed Bock.He was called Bock cuz he was mad onBuck Jones, the cowboy, when he was a
kid. And he got the pictures, he used tolove Buck Jones, and that's how hisnickname came about. His nickname beforethat was Westcott, waistcoat. Westcottin Brummie, and it was because he'doften wear one of my granddad Chinn'swaistcoats when he went outside, butBock soon took over. Dad was alwaysthere, he was strong.He was strict.When either mom or dad said dosomething, you didn't argue back.You didn't dare say no to something. Iremember sitting at the dinner table ona on a Sunday when we were kids andwe've got to eat all of our dinner, andhe'd look at us and go, "See that bit of
meat on your plate? That was our meatration for a week in the war. Eat it allup." That's a a clear memory that Ihave. I remember going to give him a ahug and a kiss when I was about five orsix, and dad said, "No, you now you gotto shake hands." Again, bear in mind,folks, those of you that are younger,it's a different world. Dad taught me toshake hands not too firmly because somemen do it to intimidate others when theyshake hands, but not too softly cuzpeople will think you are not strongenough. And again, I suppose that comesback to the the ideas of manliness thatwere prevalent in the 1920s, 30s, 40s,and the 50s and 60s when Dad wasteaching me. He
wassomebody whom I respected deeply. It wasonly later in life that Dad would hugus.Uh that I'd get a hug off Dad and he'dgrab hold and and say, "I love you."Those weren't things that were saidin the late 50s and into the 60s.Probably till well after I was marriedbefore Dad saidhe loved me. I knew he loved me. I knewhe was there. He would always come toplay football with us.When we were kids, he'd come over thewreck, Sarah old mill, and he'd playfootball with us and all guys and kidsinto 15 and 20 a side. Older peopleremember how we'd take our jumpers offand put them down as our goalposts. He'd
turn up to football matches when we wasat school, when I was at primary school.He'd always be there. He actually tookon the role of the football manager forthe school cuz there wasn't a teacher atthe school that would take it on. That'sa memory that's just come back to me.And when I started playing rugby atMoseley Grammar, Dad was always therefor the rugby matches of a of a morning.I went to work with Dad from when I was13in the betting shops. And later on, whenI made mistakes running the bettingshops, those mistakes would cost moneycuz it was a a cash business. And henever lost his temper when I made amistake with a bet.
I should have perhaps laid it off, giveit to a bigger bookmaker, or I shouldn'thave accepted it, or I should have donethis, that, and the other. But he alwaysused to say, "When they hit you in thepocket, those are the lessons that youlearn the best." Funnily enough, Dadcould lose his his temper over minorthings, but never when it was a a bigissue. So, our old manit was a man I respected.A man whom I admired.We disagreed a lot about politics as Igot older and we stopped talkingpolitics but occasionally he would showme a newspaper article from his favoritenewspaper. Say, "Have a read of this."So, then I go, "No, thanks, Dad." Itbecame a kind of aa point of contention anymore. It hadbeen when I was younger and more fiery.
Dad was younger and more fiery but werespected each other'sviews and football was something weshared in common. He was became a bigAston Villa fan and that was somethingthat brought us together as well.Funnily enough, Dad was not a pub man. II always loved going into a pub. I stilldo, especially small backstreet pubs.And when he go into a pub, he didn'twant to go at the bar. He wasn'tcomfortable. He didn't know how toreally order a round but he'd go, "Son,here." And he'd give me me the cash togo up and get a round in. And he enjoyeddoing that. I have a lot of memories ofour dad.AlfredWilliam Chinn.Better known as Buck Chinn.
>> My dadis a Jamaican man. So, I'm thatwonderful combination of Jamaican andIrish. Um we don't want to pronounce theH after the T.>> [laughter]>> Andmy dad very hard working man. A man fullof like principle>> of a moral Yes.>> You know, in a time where I know a lotof my friends grow up without theirfatherum for all kinds of different reasons,my dad was always there. He was aconstant in our lives and he like my dadwas a man whowhen I think about my passion forwriting and my passion for literature,that came from my dad. And that my dadwould like quotejust poetry just off the cuff just startthrowing out poetry. And umlike something I very rarely talk aboutthese days because of Rudyard Kipling'slike um
uh very tarnished legacy. And my dadused to quote If by Rudyard Kipling likelike he wrote it himself. And you'd betalking and be like, "Oh, dad, thishappened and that happened." And like,"If you can keep your head while allthose around you are losing theirs." I'mlike, "What What does this mean?" And itwas years until I started to grasp>> Yeah.>> what all of that meant. But But my dadwould have quoted Shakespeare, he'dquote Kipling, he'd quote all kinds ofjust poetry and and sayings. And he'dquote stuff from films. Like he alwayshad a quote for a situation.So I remember a quote he used to love toread It's not It's not a a greatliterary quote. It's from um the filmwith Danny DeVito and ArnoldSchwarzenegger, Twins.>> Yes.>> And ummy brother went out and he got into anargument and it ended up, you know,
getting into a fight or whatever. And mydad says, "If you If at first you bluff,prepare to have your bluff called." AndI was like, "Oh, what's that? Is thatlike Shakespeare or something?" He'slike, "No, no." And he put the film onwith Danny DeVito.>> Um but he always had a quote for themoment. He always had something to say.And my dad was um he was definitely thedisciplinarian of the house. Both myparents were disciplinarians, I suppose,but my dad was definitely thedisciplinarian. But he had a way ofdoing things, soyou'd you'd get in trouble at school onFriday and you kind of think it's blownover. And Saturday morning my friendsare at the door. My dad would say, "Justcome and sit down. I want to talk to youabout something." And I'd say to myfriends, "Just go.It's going to be a lecture. I'm going tobe here for an hour and a half. You justgo." And he'd just talk and talk andtalk and stuff.
And some of that stuff at the time soour dad you know like waffling on and 10years later it made sense or 2 weekslater I was like, "Ah, that's what mydad was talking about." Um and still nowin life there are so many moments whereI quote him, I reference him. Um I quotehim as much as he quoted everybody else.Um he stole all the good quotes, that'swhy.>> Um>> And and yes, and now I just like, youknow, my dad used to say, "Oh, you know,my dad would say." You're like, youknow, you don't quote your dad like hesaid a lot of wise stuff.>> [laughter]>> You know, he said a lot of wise stuff.UmAnd so, for me, as someone who my dadand my mom didn't have formalqualifications, they didn't they didn't,you know, go and get universityeducation or anything like that, butthey were smart people.>> Yeah.>> They were They were They had a greatunderstanding of humanity, people,
community.>> My dad was a was a person I still holdthis to this daywhere people used to sayI used to have those adverts like, "Isyour neighbor a beneficiary?" And youknow, dob your neighbor in cuz they'regetting an extra 20 pound. And my dadwould be like, "The people who aregetting all the extra money are the onesmaking the adverts.">> Yeah.>> And they want you to tell us telleveryone They want you to tell everyone,"Oh, my neighbor's got an extra 20quid.">> Yeah.>> Meanwhile, somebody over there's got anextra 20 million and no one cares. Andit was And And from young, before it wasa popular thing to talk about, it waspointed out to me that they want uslooking at each other>> Yeah.>> and pulling each other down. And thereason why you haven't got anything iscuz the man next door with five kidsliving in a three-bedroom house, he'sgot it all. He's got nothing either.And the people telling you he's got itall, they've got it all.
>> Divided and ruled.>> Um yeah, 100%. And he was pointing thatstuff out to me before I could even getanywhere near understanding it.>> Another working-class 6X story.>> Absolutely.>> An intelligent man>> Yeah.>> who probably never had the opportunitiesto developin a way that he would like to havegone, but then just worked and workedand worked.>> Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.>> But infused you with a love of words.>> Absolutely. Yeah. Absolutely, to thisday.>> What was your dad's name?>> My dad's name is Earl.>> Earl.And he was from Jamaica itself?>> Uh my dad for My dad was born in inBirmingham, but he is is like beenbackwards and forwards and then he umspent some time in Manchester, some timein Handsworth and then, but he grew uppredominantly in Nechells.>> My dad was an engraver who actually He
was the head engraver in a factorycalled Carvers, I think.Long time ago. But uh yeah, he was thehead engraver and And worked on the LordMayor's chain, believe you me.>> Did he?>> Yeah.In the '60s, I think when I was eight,we moved to Balsall Heath.Our first council house we got inBalsall Heath, opposite the park,Calthorpe Park. So, for us it waseveryone else thought it was a dreadfulplace to live. We thought it wasparadise because we lived opposite thepark. And it was just aI loved it. I loved growing up there. Iloved the the cultural mix, you know,the melting pot that it was.Um and my dad, of course, was umAberdonian.
Um and he moved down here with hisfamily when he was 13, I think. Justafter the war, he came downuh as a young teenager because his dad,my granddad, was was very active in thein the union. He he worked in theshipbuilding.And uh he was very active in the union.He ended up getting uhblacklisted.Yeah.So, he couldn't get a job. He couldn'tget any work in Aberdeen, so he had tocome downto to find work.>> And is that what led your dad intoradical politics and and music?>> I think he was he was brought up,uh you know, with a very much asocialist attitude, a trade union
attitude, you know, working class.>> Your dad was not only a highly skilledman, a working class radical, he wasfamed as a folk musician, Ian Campbell.>> Yeah, well, the whole the folkmusic revival started in the '60s and mydad was very much a part of that. And heformed the Ian Campbell Folk Group withhis sister, Lorna.And umyeah, they werevery successful in the in the '60s,'70s.Uh and they ran a folk club inBirmingham.>> Yeah.>> At the Jug of Punch.>> Yeah.>> Uh at Digbeth Civic Hall.>> Yeah.>> Um which was at one timethe biggest football club in Europe.Yeah. You know, it was it was massive.
>> Did his musical influences affect you?>> Definitely affected me. I mean, I I wassurrounded by music and musicians from afrom a tot. You know, I've beensurrounded by and listened to all sortsof musicians because of my dad.But, uhmuch to his disappointments,you know, we got turned on to Jamaicanmusic yeah in Balsall Heath where wewere living.I was listening to Jamaican music beforeit was reggae, you know, and it wasPrince Buster and all that, you know.And then it turned into reggae and thatwas we all as as a gang of mates, all ofit roughly the same age, we all fell inlove with the music, you know, that took
over for us.>> My grandad came over in the 1960s, inthe mid-1960s, because of the workvoucher. At that time Britain wantedmore people from Commonwealth, overthere they came out of the Commonwealth,um, to come and rebuild Britain and workin the foundries. So, my grandad cameover on the work voucher. Um, and then ayear later, well, less than a year, mymy nan came over. Um, and settled in itwas in London, Walthamstow they firstsettled.Um, and then they heard aboutthe foundries in Birmingham, so my nansaid, "My brother's already there." Andthen she told my grandad, "Let's followhim to Birmingham and let's have buy ourown house cuz they didn't have their own
house in London." And then they settledin Handsworth where all the foundrieswere. And then my grandad went on towork as a foundry in the foundries. Mygrandad would talk about why they leftit when he was still aa child.Um, but he would talk about what hisfather told him and you know, Indiawasn't always this settled, there wasviolence. But, growing up because it'snot taught in schools or it wasn't onTV, we didn't have documentariesum on those certain period, we wouldthink that he was making it up.>> Yeah.>> Because as where would you be hiding?Because it wasn't the India that weknew, because we go back with them, andso we found India peaceful. So,I'd say to my mom, I he keep mis-
miscreants calling Bobble without somerespect for our elders.As if Bobble keep speaking, they had tohide. And she was like, "When you'reolder, we'll tell you, but not now." Andthen it was when I started reading aboutIndian history, when I came into thissector, um when David Cameron announcedCommonwealth story should be known,that's when I realized,"Oh my god, all the stories that we grewup withit it's it's like a jigsaw piece. Nowtell me more, but you got dementia bythat time." And then my nan had passedin um 2009 with cancer.>> And it was too late.>> It was too late. And we really neverspoke about it. So, my granddad speakabout it, because our area was affectedby it. Um because they would hide the
women and the girls, cuz we had Mus-they had Muslim um next-door neighbors.>> And they helped them.>> And they said they're screaming, they'regoing to burn our house down. And so, mygranddad and his family, like mygreat-grandfather and all the men in thevillage, they just said, "Women, justcome in the house. Just come."Um and they said, "If we find they'regoing to kill us all." And they tookthat sacrifice. They said, "Don't worry.Um just come." And so, my granddad'slittle village became like a sacredvillage for people to hide, and womenknew. And it didn't matter whatbackground you are,they would just say, "Whatever religionyou are, just come." And that's why whenmy granddad was talking about keepingpeople safe, he did that till the end.He was like, "To make people feel safe."
And so, meeting you, and you were askingabout my family, and I had this picturethat my mom had taken of my grandparentswhich is now on social media. um Umyou would I love to do a piece but Isaid, "But what do you want to do apiece on?" He said, "I want to do apiece of your family, who you are, whatmade you." And I never really wanted tospeak out about my family cuz mygranddad was disabled. We just found outhe had dementia by the time me and youwere speaking. And so, you asking me todoa magazine but with them, they'd neverseen themselvesin a magazine let alone a newspaper.Um it was scary times but I loved itbecause I remember
showing my granddad after cuz you sentme the magazine.>> And you even asked me, "Read it over.Are you okay with everything that I'mgoing to write cuz it's going to go inprint?" And you made me feelseen.>> What was his reaction?>> He loved the article. He couldn't readit so we read it to him. Then he saw thepicture. And you know, him and my nanhad never been apart. So, her passing sosuddenlyI now when now that he's passed, hepassed just before COVID.Um I can't imagine being married tosomeone for that long. And he nevercried in front of us when she passed,even when she had the cancer. I neversaw himnever saw him cry.Never saw him anything. Never saw him
shed a tear. And I think he did itprivately because I was such a wreck.>> I'd put on my social media handle son ofa refugee and I'm proud of that fact andI'm proud to belong to a country, theUnited Kingdom, that has encouraged somany migrants to settle here, whetherrefugees like my dad, whether economicmigrants like my mom. That's part ofwhat makes us what we are here in the UKand it's part especially of what makesus what we are here in Birmingham andthe West Midlands. So, my dad was aGerman Jewish refugee. He grew up in alittle town called Ratibor, as it wasthen known, Silesia, on the eastern side
of Germany in Prussia. And in fact, inthe post-war settlement, it was thenhanded to Poland, and it's now Racibórz,completely different town. But I havebeen back there, which is quiteinteresting. When he was about 13,the Nazis had come to power. It wasclear that war was about to begin. Andthere was this amazing program calledKindertransport.And it was amazing to an extent. I mean,it reflects a kind of anti-Semitism atthe time, I think, in the UK, thatpeople were allowed to send theirchildren to this country if there was asponsor, a guardian who would look afterthem. But the adults weren't allowed to
come. So, it was an incredibly generousgestureby the UK to allow my father to come.But also, like many other countries inthe world, there was also thatgenerosity was laced with anti-Semitism,cuz they didn't want the adults. Anyway,the fortunate thing is for my dad wasthat inJune 1939,we're talking Yeah. A matter of weeksbefore the outbreak of World War II,when my dad, at that time, was 13, hewas put on a boat and came to the UK,came to Harwich, with his brother.And those two, my dad Rudi and hisbrother Werner, were pretty much the
only people who survived from the entireextended family. My dad's parents, hisgranddad, uncles, aunts, cousins, allkilled in the Holocaust.>> Did your dad Rudi talk to you about hislife in Germany before and during theNaziterror.>> Yeah, and I think perhaps because I wasthe youngest of four, I got two oldersisters and an older brother who's nowsadly passed away. So, I was theyoungest of four, I think there had beena gap of time between my dad'sexperience and thenbeing able to process that and talk
about it. So, I think by the time I wasyounguh and and kind of coming to anunderstanding of what had happened, hespoke about it with me perhaps more thanhe had done with my older siblings, buthe talked about his daduh being um taken away probably in aboutI'd say 1933-34,early concentration camps that were notor work camps that were not death campsat that stage. But, his dad uh comingback and having had his head shaved. Imean, the irony of all this, I shouldsay, Carl, two ironies really, was thathe said that they were very much secularJews. I mean, they they were Jewishpeople by heritage, but they were not
people whouh werededicatedsynagogue goers. You know, my dad saidthey might have goneonce or twice over the years. You know,they were not regular attenders. Uh heknew how to say his prayers in Hebrew.And when he came to Birmingham, he endedup being a member of, but again not a adevoted attender of the Singers HillSynagogue. So, he knew how to read hishis prayers in Hebrew. So, he had thatlevel of Jewish education. But, theywere not religious Jews. They were justJews by heritage. So, that was oneirony, really, that, you know, althoughhis wider family was put to death forbeing Jewish, uh that was a racialidentity as much as a religious
identity.But, the other irony is that both hisfather and grandfatherhad fought for either Germany or Prussiain conflictbefore World War now truthfully I don'tknow the full detail of that and I'dlove to find out more and I'm intent tofind out morebut I've got a picture of my dadin my granddad in Germansoldiers uniform sitting on a chair verymuch like this one with his fatherstanding behind him also with a militaryuniform on so they would have fought fortheir country but when Hitler came topower that wasn't good enough for themand sadly they were both
put to death so my dad spoke about thatand he spoke to meabout Kristallnacht I recorded aninterview with my dad I'm inKristallnacht in this town of Ratibor hesaid thatby the time Kristallnacht happenedthey they he had beenforced to stop going to school he'd goneto a a Christian schoolbut he was no longer allowed to go toschool he said when he was youngerhe had never experienced any issues withhis Jewish background but then as he gotolder and as the Nazis came to power andconsolidated power then increasinglythat became an issue with schoolmatesfriends who had beenvery close to him started shunning him
there was a perception thatthis he was sort of bad to know you knowit was it was not a good thing so therewas this kind of sense of rising menaceand he he had and his his dad his dadand his mom ran a little pub a waysideinnon the outskirts of Ratibor but they'd[snorts] been forced to sell up as manyJewish businesses had been forced to doto sell up and move in with my dad'sgrandparents but he told me aboutremembering seeing a mob chasing a womanor following a woman, a Jewish womanvery closely on Kristallnacht andchanting at her and being aggressivetowards her.>> This was the night when they smashed thewindows the Nazis of Jewish homes,Jewish businesses that were left and and
brought terror to the Jewish people.>> Yeah, it was the I suppose it was theturning point in the persecution of Jewsin Germany in that from Kristallnachtonwards, Kristallnacht was the nighton which it became clear that if youwere a Jew in Germany as long as theNazis were in power, you would not besafe. Life would not go back to how itwas before. So and synagogues wereburned. The synagogue in Regensburgwhere they lived was burned on thisnight. In fact, it was quite eerie. Iwent back to Regensburg for a radioprogram and actually stood on the sitewhere the synagogue had been and it wasit was such a strange feeling and it'snow just a patch of a patch of open
land.But it was really reallystrange [clears throat]to stand there. But my dad had spokenabout that. He'd spoken as well aboutgoing to the local train station everyday when his father had been taken away.His father had essentially been roundedup in one of these kind ofpre-war [snorts]a kind of pogroms I suppose.>> of pogroms.>> And he'd been taken away and this iswhen he came backuh his father with shaven hair andby this time he hadn't beenwasn't allowed to go to school becausehe was Jewish. So he just used to godown to the train station and wait everyday for his dad to come back for a fewdays and his dad did come back and hesaid his father never really spokeabout what had happened. But it was
clear that there was this sense ofgrowing menace as 1939approached.Yes.>> What happened?>> She was she was being kind of pursueddown the street by a mob. From what mydad said, kind of more like walkingafter her, chanting after her. I don'tknow what words were used, but thensuddenly a door opened in a an apartmentblock, and it was as though he he saidsomebody pulled her inside and pulledher off the street. Thankfully, hedidn't see anything happening to her.But again, if you're a young Jewish kidwatching a Jewish woman being followeddown the street and a group chantingafter her,
>> Yeah. That's pretty pretty menacing andyou know, it would No, that'd fill youwith fear. How did your dad find out orhis mom and dad find out about theKindertransport?>> I don't know how that came about, but Iguess that just would have been part ofthe conversation in German life andJewish life and English life at thetime. So, I don't know how they foundout about that.And uh I remember he talked about I'mpretty sure he went to Hamburg. So,yeah, Hamburg's a long way>> From where they were. From the deepsouth he stopped to the north.>> Yeah, and you know, being put on thetrain and kind of saying goodbye to hisparents. He he he didn't talk with greatemotion about that, but I mean, as aparent myself, can you imagine that?
Putting your kids, you know, my my dadwas 13.His younger brother Werner was 11 atthat time. I mean,the more the older I get,the you know, as a kid you just hearthis as a story. The older I get, themore emotional I get>> Yes, I understand that.>> talking about that. Just putting yourkids on a train going off to who knowswhere.You know, you know they're going toEngland. Who to? What are they going toWhat What's life going to be like inEngland? And then he was he was put ontheput on the train. Uh they go to Hamburg,go from Ratibor, I guess, to to Hamburg,then get put on a ship to Harwich.And then they're put in a a reception uhcenter. And then I think one of the
great sadnesses of my dad's lifewas that because he was 13, coming up to14 at that point, which was the age atwhich people left school.>> Yeah, you became a man at that time.>> Indeed. And you know, my dad was quite aan educated man. He was a a learned man.And yeah, I supposehe had the capacity to do somethingquite academic, quite intellectual withhis life. But he was put to workstraight away and separated by severalhundred miles>> Oh, no.>> from his brother, Werner. And I know inthose days there was probably anexpectation, as you say, people wereassumed to be a man at that age. So,there was a different psychology, buteven so,
>> I know.>> you've just been sent away from yourparents, and then you've got hundreds ofmiles between youand your brother. Andhe the the least there was supervisionby the Red Cross.And they would check in on theKindertransport children and say, "Howare you doing?"And you know, England by this stage wasat war with Germany. As far as they wereconcerned, he was a German.>> Yeah.>> I don't I don't think he was treatedwith much kindness.>> that is a a German, as you said thatGermans, Jewish people always sawthemselves as Germans first and Jewish.That's our part of our identity, butwe're Germans.>> Yes. Yeah. And I think for my dad andhis family, because they were secular
really, it I mean, [clears throat]there would have been no distinction intheir mind frombeing German and Jewish. You know, thatthat that that was where, as far as Iknow,generations of that family had lived.>> One thing that struck me is compared tomostfamilies who hadatrace of beginnings in England, sosomebody like your father who had toflee as a child,they didn't have any photographs.You have got a photo of your granddad.>> Yes.>> And your dad. That must be quite rare,Adrian.>> I think one of the thingswas that I think my dad's parents werequite well-to-do. They weren't loaded,
but they ran this wayside inn, and Ithink that was a reasonably decentbusiness at the time, and I thinkthey even made I've seen an advert froma local newspaper,maybe from the1920s, and they made a kind of liquor aliqueur>> Yes.>> that had gold in it.>> Really?>> And I think there was a thing Yeah,obviously not real gold.>> No, no, no. Gold flake.>> That was Yeah, it was a kind of a athing and I think my dad used to talkabout they would go out and also providealcohol, take it out tomore remote areas in the countrysidearound there. My dad sitting on a ponyand trap, going out with his dad andhaving these days out and delivering thethe alcohol. You know, so there were
there were some goodmemories,albeit, you know, all clouded bysadness. He had a a favorite aunt,uh a lady called Aunt Jenny, andlast year I set up a record label inhonor of Aunt Jenny because she was thefun aunt. And my dad talked about howthat they would go to the riverside,and Aunt Jenny would come, or he wouldgo and see her in Berlin, but she wasthe aunt who'd put you on her shoulders,and then and she'd wade into the river,and he and you know, she'd So, I'm goingto throw you in the water now.>> Yeah, yeah.>> tease the kids. You know, there weregood memories there. But as you say,yeah, they had photographs, which Ithink perhaps reflects on the fact thatthey were reasonably well-to-do and
could pose for these.>> But for you to have a visual record>> Yeah. Yeah.>> That's so important, isn't it, Adrian?>> Yeah, yeah. Well, it's great cuz I canshow it to my kids now, you know, andit's part of their heritage, part oftheir story, and part of their history.>> How did your dad come to Birminghamthen?>> So, my dad, at the end of the war, wasin the Royal Hampshires, so played hispart in the war. He was an interpreterat the end of the war. I don't know whatthe Royal Hampshire's got up to. Hetalked about going to Italy with theRoyal Hampshire's. Again, I I'd reallylike to interrogate that a little bitwhat he actually did in the war. But,he's It was only right at the end of itcuz of his relatively young age. Andthen, after the war,
I think the the Red Red Cross hadmanaged to get him a jobumon a farm in Hampshire so he could becloser to his brother. But, I think inthat era then, in the post-war era,Birmingham was a boom town, an absoluteboom town. It was the centerof manufacturing in what was still thenseen as this great global empire. So, hecame to Birmingham to work in thefactories. And I think bearing in mindhe'd had the experience of being shiftedout of Germany, he'd then, you know,like everybody else been through theexperience of 6 years of war. So,although I said he's quite an educatedand kind of a learned man, I think at
that stage,you know, he was a he was aa drift in the world of work and heneeded to earn a living. So, he justcame and worked in a factory, worked atBSA, Birmingham Small Arms, which iswhere he met my mom.>> It's our history, isn't it? That's thething and it's the it sort of joins us.And it's also my son's history, youknow. So, it's it's important for him.>> I've got a son. That's still mad to me.He's 15 months old and I'm still like Ilook at him and I go, "What?" You're aboy. How do you exist? You're the bestperson that's ever lived. And how do youexist?>> It's transformed your life?>> Completely transformed my life. And II struggle to sort of um
talk about it in any sort of edifyingway because it's everything everyonesaid about having a child is completelyaccurate. But the experience just getsricher and richer. And particularly nowwe're not sleep deprived and can enjoyit more.It's just magic. And watching him learnto speak andI've talked talked a lot to people aboutthe comedy side of this. Obviously Ilove comedy. And I didn't realize howintegral comedy is for learning inchildren. So when you as a baby or achild do something wrong or dangerous,you normally get quite a sharp soundlike a no, like very quick. Whereas ifyou do something a bit wrong like
holding a spoon upside down or putting abowl on your head or whatever, younormally get a laugh cuz it's funny. Andthey go, I've done something a bit wrongbut not wrong enough for the loud noise.But I've done something a bit off here.So they're going to experiment with itto see what makes you laugh, to seewhat's the right way of doing things.Cuz if you hold a fork in the right way,you get celebrated. If you hold itupside down, you might get a laugh. Andsolaughter is from day one a learningtool. Which of course makes sense. But Ihadn't thought of it like that. Andwatching him try and make us laugh tothen learn about the world.That's what essentially I'm doing everynight doing standup is I'm trying tolearn through laughter what parts of meare just unique to me. And often things
that I think are weird about me that areunique to me often aren't.>> No.>> And then the laugh makes me therecognition of that slightly wrong but Ialso do it is reallyum addictive. Cuz it's a social thing.>> So this is affecting yourcareer, your approach to comedy.>> Everything. Yeah, it's it's myunderstanding of comedy, myunderstanding of why things are funny,uh my understanding of how the humanbrain works and why comedy is such anintegral part of being a human I supposeis thatif you don't laugh at things, thenyou're not learning, essentially, youknow? And we keep doing it until,hopefully, death.And when people stop laughing, they'veprobably stopped being curious and
stopped learning.>> So, in the '70s, obviously, my dad hadboxed himself, as we've spoken about,butin the'70s, he took himself down to the Holtin Aston, uh who and they had a boxingclub there, Aston Villa Boxing Club.And um he just went down to help out. Uhyou know, he was just interested inbeing around the the boxing gym still,obviously. He still had that love andthat want and the need, you know,himself to box. Um so, he was um helpingtrain the lads there, and he just hadhundreds and hundreds of boys comethrough that door, and he did everything
that he possibly could for his lads.They would make sure that a lot of thekidsthe you know, single parent, even ifthey had two parents, you know, theywere from deprivedhomes, deprived neighborhoods, andevery weekend, we would have a differentboxer, different lad at our house fordinner. Some, you know, some of themwere, you know, six boys in the family,you know? We'd have two one week, twothe next week, you know? Some of thesekids had never had a a hot dinner, youknow? That my dad would be buying themchips after training on a Tuesday and aThursday, and umhe looked after all of them, and theywere welcomed into our homeregardless of
theirrace,privilege, whatever it was, you know?>> Or their religion, ethnicity.>> Religion, nothing. Yeah, there wereAsian, you know, Pakistani kids, Indiankids, black kids, you know, Jamaicans.They were all welcomed in our home. Ilooked at all of them as my family. Theywere all I had I had my two properbrothers, but I hadhundreds of brothers, Martin being oneof them, who I obviously ended upmarrying. So,um but yeah,they were it was like one literally onebig family andso many of those boys, you know,theymy dad helped them in any way that theycould as they got older, you know, he'd
he'd get them work on the building or,you know, employ them himself or getthem laboring jobs or get put them inthe right direction or get>> word in here or a word there.>> Yeah, whatever he could do, he, youknow, he's my mom has writtenhundreds of letters to bank managers toget them mortgages, you know, butwhatever he could do. Andso many of those boys whomost people would have considered wouldhave amounted to nothing, who were toldby a lot of teachers that they wouldamount to nothing, are now supersuccessful businessmen all across theworld, all across the country. AndAnd and none of them have forgotten it,you know, and his funeral was testamentto that, you know.
>> boxing from the Aston Villa Boxing Club,he then moves to Erdington and forms hisown club.>> Yeah, before Erdington, before he wentto because it it one of the reasons thathe did leave umAston Villa was becausemy dad had too many disagreements withthe amateur boxing association, sodecided to part ways with them and thenwent on his own from the official fromAston Villa. And he went to theBritannia originally>> Under the Lichfield Road?>> Lichfield Road, yeah, and he had a gymabove the pub for a couple of years,this a space there. Again,that was all just cuz obviously AstonVilla was run it was a big um club, butthat was just purely my dad's fundingit, you know, renting the room and um
you know, having the lads there. Didn'tcharge any of them, could never evercharge them.Um so that was run and then he got theumhe bought at the side of the Rose andCrown, there was it what would have beenthe old dance hall to the pub and theactual ring thatis inthe Rose and Crown still now to this dayis the original one from St. Michael's.My dad bought it from St. Michael's. Itwas the ring that he boxed in as alittle boy.>> spot connection with Mr. McCoy is thathe's right right back. How long did yourdad carry on with the boxing? Was itright up to the end?>> Right up until two weeks before he died.He was there every Monday and Wednesday.Yeah, years ago he would do Sunday
mornings as well. Sunday morningsdropped a few years ago but still everyMonday and Wednesday 7:00 without failevery single week.>> Is the club carrying on?>> Yes, yeah, absolutely. Martin and mybrother the Dean uhuh coaching there.>> So the little chap and your brother arecarrying this on.>> Yes, yeah.>> What what aa legacy that your dad has left.>> Oh, absolutely. Absolutely. 37 years hewas at um the Rose and Crown.And again, just hundreds and hundreds oflads uh thousands have come through thedoors andum you knowthey'll a lot of them have said as wellthat their lives have been changed for
the better.>> see that at the funeral, Shelby. Therewere so manymen and youngsters who attended. One ofthe most moving parts of the funeral waswhenthe grave for your dad, when his coffinwas laid in it, explain what happenedthen with it being filled.>> And so it was backfilled. Obviously, mymy brothers and Martin Kukalan, my son,obviously, his grandsonthey all filled inum my dad and then all of his boxers allcame and uh filledin. We hadthe bell again the bell which was rungum was from St. Michael's
>> The bell for at the end of the eachround the start of the each round.>> Yeah. That was the original bell fromSt. Michael's as well um which IMartin and my children who go to the gymevery weeks um and have done since theywere as long as they could walk.Umwe took that so that was rung at the endand then all of his boys filled him inas well like all of his boxers they alltook turns um>> There was great big mound of soil and acouple of three shovels and they took itin turns to each shovel some earth onyour dad.>> Yes. It's like a movie.>> Yes. Yeah, it was. It was amazing.>> I know it's it's still raw for youhaving lost your dad butto finish offif
he were to appear before you nowwhat would you say to him?>> Oh, justjust thank you thatI justI saidyou knowI never ever I never ever want to regretanything and that was the thing that mydad always instilled in us you can'thave regrets you have to do anddo everything that you can possibly dolive life to the absolute full and hedid he did that.And and that's the only saving grace youknow and comfort that you can get isbecausemy dad was 100% happyin everything that he did with his life
with how he lived with my mom with us.He was you know he loved my mom he lovedall of us and he but he showed us thathe and and that's what I I wanted to getacross as well in the eulogy you knowa lot of people are know that, you know,you hear stories that these men arewonderful at work or in the pub andthey're happy and jolly or wherever andthen they go home and they're not verynice people. You know, my dad, and Iknow you're the same, like you're afamily man and that that your family atestament to how you are and that'sMy dad made the mostwonderful home and all he wanted us toto do was to be happy and you know, with
my children and with my my brother'schildren.TheyMy children just adored himandIto say to himWell, I'd tell him off for leaving usinitially, you know, like howinconsiderate of him to even leave us.You know, we and you know,he needs late 80s and you think it'sgoing to you know, I never dreamt itwould be as hard as it as it was. Youthink oh, you they're invincible. You Iliterally thought he was invincible andnothing would ever happen to him andhe'd be there forever and and I knowwhen other people have passed theirparents have passed, friends parents orgrandparents and you say, oh, but youknow, they were they were older. They
had a great life, but it's still youstill don't want them to go. You stillwant them to be there and want theirpresence andUm but yeah, he's he's got an amazinglegacy which is, you know,as I say, a saving grace that he's gotthat and he was loved so much byeverybody, butthe only thing that does make me happyis that he was happy himself and he wasloved. And what was great about it is heknew he was loved.>> Dad was diagnosed as having dementia. UmThis must have happened likePost-COVID,dad's memory was
was a concern.And and in and in in hindsight, therewere many thingswhichpointed to the fact that he wasn't well.Yeah.Number one, my dad has been a bus driverhis whole life.Um never had a ding or prank on the car.I remember coming home and there waslike bumps on the car and stuff. I waslike, "What?" And I remember driving mydad and he he'd forget quite anxious atsome some junctions or whatever. Veryunlike my dad.Umand there was an incident on 2019, Noahstill living in Canada.He had an incident where he got very
distressed and was very upset. And thisis a big deal. I wasn't at home,but I get this call. Noah is very upset.You need to come home. So, I go home.It's a big deal. I don't ever forget mydad is cradling my son.In many ways, it's it's distressing butactually quite beautiful.You know, my dad is hugging my son andand he says, "Noah, it's okay. It'sokay. You know, your dad's here now.Your dad's here now."And Noah was about 18 at the time.The I say this is a big deal.And2 months afterwards, I was talking toabout my dad talking about this with mydad. My dad didn't remember. He didn'tremember. He says,
"Noah was crying?" I went, "Dad, you andMom were there. I came in. We're in theroom."I I didn't understand that he couldn'tremember that.Cuz it was sucha gut-wrenching evening.And he says, "No, I don't remember. Idon't remember."Anyway, soin hindsight, you know, the dementiahad started.2018, 2019.Umthreeyears ago we said, "No, there'ssomething really up now." And you Andwe're all We all kind of know what itis, but we're hoping against hope.>> Yeah.>> Cuz there are two or three otherconditions which can
um mess around with an elderly person'shead, like urinary tract infectionsfamously can make people get quiteconfused. Anyway, umyou know, we took him to the doctors.And I'm still living in California, sobut I go with them to the doctors.And he basically passes the dementiatest.But I said to the doctor, "Well, no."I saidAnd I said, "No."Andhis doctor, who'd seen him for 20 years,says"Mr. Brown," meaning my dad,um"I think we need to take you for furthertests." He says, "I've known you for 20years.The fact that you hesitated, even though
you got some of these answers correctly,you hesitated on them. That's not theman Yeah, who came intothis surgery 20 years ago."And he says, "And that's the reason whyyou should haveWe ask that family members come in whenthese tests are becauseyou can pass the test, but the familymembers are with you day in day out.They know who you are." And he says,"And I think I know."So, yeah, thenand Dad was diagnosed with vasculardementia. Andyou know,there's umwhen he got the diagnosis, the officialdiagnosis,I got this call from
the clinic."Hello, is that Royston Brown, son ofGlenn Brown?" "Yes, we've got yourfather's results. So, yes, he has uh uh,I'm in town.I think I'm on High Street,I burst out crying.We all knew this was coming.>> Yeah.>> But you're just hoping against hope.>> It's the full stop, isn't it?>> Yeah.And then,I walked to the MedicineBakery.I walked in,I burst out crying again.And this wonderful manworking there, he came over, says, "CanI take your order?"And I'm crying, and he says, "I'll just
leave you a moment.">> Ah.>> And then he comes back,and he takes my order.And he was soempathetic.He says, "Oh, would you like some water?Would you like a little tea? This is onthe house." I says, "My dad's not well."AndI sentII sent a, um, message to the MedicineBarafterwards thankinghim.
I think his name was Luke.And I came in 3 months later, and he andhe remembered me.>> Ah.>> And my dad was always this really strongmanwho looked after everybody, and Icouldn't believe I and I had to lookafter my dad. So, I came back to Englandto try and help my mom and dad. Andthat's part of the reason why I namedthe bar that I did because of dad.Dad did everything for me.>> It's the hardest loss.Uh, I lost my mom11 years ago, and my dad 15 years ago,andyou've got to make the most of every
day.My dad, when he got made redundant,just said, "I'm going to do somethingwith my time. I'm going to do my familyhistory. I've been wanting to do it forYou know, obviously, you know, he'sworkingvery, very hard.He's doing the mechanic job they did,you know, and that never ever got seemsto have any time off, but now he had thetime. And he thought, "Well, I'm goingto go for the obvious one. So, I knowhis granddad. I know he was a mayor. So,I know all about him cuz he basicallyraised me. And I'm going to find outabout his granddad, who was also amayor, cuz we've got nothing on him."So, that's how we came to unearth thisincredible discovery about the life thathe had led that the family had basicallycovered up for 100 years.
>> What was his name? Why did they cover itup?>> Robert Stanley.Andwe found this out through a cousin whoheard that my dad was doing theresearch. And the cousin said, "I've gota little newspaper magazine about him,and I don't really get what he's onabout, Brian. That's what I had. Can youhave a look at it?" So, my dad took onelook at it, was really astonished. Andit The year was 1908. And the newspaperwas called The Crescent.It's about this big. My dad's still gotit. And on the front page, I think itwas, or the second page, there was aphotograph of the only other photographthat we had of him. We had the mayoralpicture.>> Yes.>> You know? So, we knew what he lookedlike. And it was a photograph It is thespitting image of my dad. So, you can
see the family genes. And in it, itdescribes him as Brother Rashid Stanley.And he's wearing a fez.>> Which is the Turkish hat the the the redone that's on the top there with alittle tassel.>> Yes. And not to me, I think Tommy Cooperwhen I seeBut generations. I'm a bit ignorantabout that. But the fascinating thingwasanother cousin then got in touch andsaid,"Well, this is all making sense becausesomebody gave me this fez, and I've hadit in my loft all this time."So, you know, most people throw outthings. I just had no why this fez hadcome down from one of the granddads. So,we've got the actual fez, but the mostastonishing thing is then my dad and mydad's I just think he's not a religiousperson, but he rang my brother up and
said, "You need to sit down. I've gotsomething to tell you.""Your great great great granddadconverted to Islam. It's the entirestory of it in this little newspaper,which was a Muslim newspaper called TheCrescent." But my brother's a Muslim, asyou know, Carl. He converted back in1991.So, he knew nothing about this. Hethought he was the first working classlad in Manchester to think, "Do you knowwhat? I've got more in common with thisreligion that that that really matchesthe way that I think about the world."But his own ancestor had done it beforehim. He was beaten to it. Yes, he stolehis wind 100 years before him. Now, that>> really engrossed you this story, didn'tit? Said, "You ended up doing adeep research."
>> Cuz my I always thought that my brotherwould do it. Um and we had thisdiscussion and and I said, "You know,everybody our friends and family, youknow, my brother's family are Muslim.You know, we've got a very mixed groupof different religions in in the familyand in the friendship circles." Andeverybody kept saying, you know, "Thisis a story. This is amazing. This is afilm. This could be" and I keptthinking, "Come on, Stephen, write thebook." And he turned around to me and hewent, "Well, you you're the writer. Youwrite. And and also, why is it more mystory than yours?" And I think I've justbeen thinking because it's a personalfaith thing. And it's not justeverybody's story. This is doesn'tmatter. Doesn't matter who howeversomebody lives their life, it's stillyour family history.>> So,
explain how you went about expandingthe life of this man, uncovering hislife.>> It was my dad. My dad did an awful lotof the original birth, marriages,deaths, putting all the facts together,you know, so he was fantastic. Now, myauntie Gay,she's calledGigi Oliver and she's really good onfamily history in the greater Manchesterarea. So between them they were on a bitof a chase.So my dad put together a pamphlet whichwent to the local library and they wereastonished cuz they thought well this isan amazing story. This is incredible.Not only was he the mayor but the familyhad covered it up and but then peoplekept asking but what did his wife think?But what did his daughters think? But
what but what but and I knew that therewas there was more there to fill. And Ithought well I'm going to do theresearch that I've always wanted to do.So my dad died in 2010.>> I'm sorry.>> Thank you.I was 18 at the time but he was close tohis family. Yeah, we alwayswe went over every summer for our summerholidayto see them.>> That must have been a traumaticexperience for you at 18 to lose yourdad.>> Yeah, it wasn't nice.It was both sudden and not like he hadbeen ill for a long time.And it got progressively worse.But we didn't actuallywe didn't know the end was coming. It
just happened one day.>> Talk to me then about the impact thatyour dad has had on your your life.>> I think he's the reason I was alwaysintoreading and writing cuz he did justalways have loads and loads of books inthe house. And even though he ended upbecoming like an Englishlike a English lecturer. So it's kind ofa highfalutin sort of position incertain some regard. The books werealways just like loads and loads andloads of detective stories.>> Yeah.>> [laughter]>> Yeah.>> And I just grew I just love them to thisday. LikeI just grew up reading all all that sortof stuff. But but loads of stufflike really widely and and that was thething I was good at reading and writing.>> Do you feel him with you when you're
writing and reading?>> Oh yeah, 100% Yeah.>> That's lovely.>> I've met my dad only on two occasions.Uh one of them was uh he came back once,and I think he wanted to come back to mymom.So, we were playing in the park. Ourcousins come and got us. They said,"Your dad is here." Uh never met himbefore that. So, the first time,literally, we've seen him for, I'd say,5 minutes, and we were kids. We justwanted to go play. They wanted to havethe adults conversations. So, that wasthat 5 minutes. Then, the other 5minutes was I was in the shop, um and Iwas shopping around. This man walkedpast me, and I kind of like don't knowwhy it's this something just clicked,and I kind of looked at him, and Ithought,"I know he's a Roma,but there was something more to it."
And he sort of walked past me and lookedat me. So, we sort of looked at eachother, and then we just both carried on.Then, this Roma woman walks up, and shesays, "Hi, are you Tony?"When yes, yes, yeah, I'm I'm Tony.Um so, in our culture, we we say who weare, where we're from. That's how weintroduce ourselves.She went, "Oh, yes. So, this is yourdad.He asked me to give you this." And hegave me some money. And then, him andhis wife carried on.Um that was the only two times I've metthe man. And then, when we came toEngland,um he was passing away.Uh so, we had a phone call. He's inhospital, and he's going to pass away.So, we were on the phone call just tosay bye.Uh that's all I know from my father.Again, did that mean, the fact that yourmom was everything and you had an absent
father, that when you had kids, that youwanted to be a an ever-present dad?>> Huge. Huge. I've designed my job aroundmy kids.And when I set up my company, I wantedto be 90% for my kids.So, all my kids were brought up aroundme. So, in many families, usually, thewife is the one who's at home, and thekids see her every single day as themom. And mom's got the closest bond withthe kids. I was very lucky. I had tohave that.I looked at it, and I thought, "I wantsome of this. I want to be there for mykids. So, when they want something orneed something, dad is there. It's notlike dad is at work.And I do understand people got to work,people got to pay the bills. I was luckyenough that I could design my own job.And because of my dancing and everythingelse I did, I was so lucky I was with my
kids 90% of the time.So, I took him to school, I'll pick himup from school, I was there all thetime. And on the weekends, my whole timewas with my kids. So, if I dancing, Ihad shows, I performances, my kids wouldbe with me.And then when the kids had holidays, inthe workshops, the kids would be sat inthe workshops with me. They'll bedancing with me. They'll be teachingwith me. And to them, dancing andeverything we do within our family, itbecame normal. It's something that theyseen every single day. So, for me as afather, it was very important to bethere.To be there. If my kids need, wantanything, I am right there. And for me,the hardest thingeven to today is I never had the chanceto say dad.To never to know my own no man in my
life had the opportunity to say dad. Andthat's something I I miss. And I knowI'm never going to get to get to say.But,the thing for me when my kids say it,I appreciate it so much every time.>> I just wanted to get across howimportant it is that everyone tellstheir story because everyone has a lifeand everyone has stories to tell. Now,you can do this in different ways. Youcan use your mobile phone. You can getsomebody writing down the memories. Youcan get a collage of photographs withstories around them. Or else, if you'restruggling to get started, we have afree guide on our website and I've also
brought out this book, My Life, MyStory, a guided legacy journal. There'san introduction by me. There's questionsand really prompts for you to thinkabout that can move that story forwardand get those memories down.>> Mhm.