I was born in north Norfolk about 9 months after my dad got back from the Second World War. I had an idyllic childhood. My parents had no money, we lived in a council house, we never went on holiday, but I was loved and looked after. I had lots of friends and we were never short of things to do. We climbed trees, built dams across streams, improvised games of cricket and football with hairless tennis balls and roamed the countryside. From the age of eight or nine in the summer holidays we were dispatched in the morning with a bottle of cordial, a jam sandwich and, if we were lucky, an apple, and told to be home in time for tea. In the harvest fields we built camps from straw bales and chased rabbits, always unsuccessfully. And of course, the sun always shone.
I went to Melton Constable Primary School and then Fakenham Grammar. When Dr Beeching decided to close all the railways my dad lost his job and we moved to Thetford. With a new bunch of friends centred around the Boys Grammar School life was similarly a lot of fun, usually to the detriment of study. I discovered music, 10-Pin bowling, Chinese restaurants, beer, hanging around in the coffee bar, and girls. I got a job in a factory on Saturday mornings and became ‘rich’. So much so that my friend Ian Smith and I bought a car between us. It was a 1936 Morris 8 and cost us £25. We became very popular. I liked to think it was our personalities but it was more likely the transport we provided to local dances that swung it.
University did not beckon but my headmaster (we knew him as ‘Loo’ Poel – a real hero of mine) pointed me toward these new things called computers. Somehow, I survived as a programmer for several years before somebody decided I was better at talking to people than writing code. I got into telling people how to use our systems. Then I accidentally got a job as a software salesman (I didn’t read the job application properly). Strangely, that was successful and set me on a working life of sales, marketing and management. The last company to employ me was a large American software supplier where I was a European Vice President.
During most of my working life, apart from odd sojourns in Ireland, Canada and Australia, I lived in a village called Kintbury in West Berkshire. Children, Tim and Amy were born, brought up and then flew the nest. My wife, Brenda, and I lived a pretty good life. Then, at the age of 59, she was diagnosed with dementia and it all changed. I gave up full-time work and became her carer. At the time, there were virtually no services addressing the special needs of working-age people with the condition. Or support for their carers. Navigating that problem and then trying to get something done about it dominated the next fifteen years of my life.
A lot happened during that time. With five like-minded individuals, I set up and ran a charity in Berkshire called Younger People with Dementia (YPWD). It’s now one of the top charities in the UK focusing on the needs of these working age people and their carers. With Dementia UK, I campaigned to rectify the problems faced by dementia carers generally. For several years I sat on the board of The Dementia Action Alliance. I helped set up the Young Dementia Network campaigning on behalf of working-age people affected by dementia. I helped Dementia Carers Count become a leading national charity supporting family carers of people with dementia. And for 9 years I sat on The Dementia Programme Board advising Government on dementia strategy.
The progression of Brenda’s illness was such that she rapidly lost the ability to recognise me or the children. It wasn’t long before she couldn’t speak or see and was unable to do anything for herself. Once I was unable to cope, she was looked after expertly by carers and nurses. And dementia is such that her body eventually gave up the fight.
Over time, life changed yet again. I now live close to the river Dee, not far from the Cairngorms, on the outskirts of Aberdeen, with a wonderful lady called Ruth. We met accidentally and have forged a new life together savouring every day, just in case it’s our last. We have plenty of friends, take part in lots of activities, and I have time to write.
Which is why, I guess, you are reading this now.
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