One hundred years ago today, my dad Jim Russell was born. Naturally, I phoned Jennifer this morning and we had a nice chat reminiscing about our father. We were very lucky to know him. He was a remarkable man, and a loving father. It’s twenty-five years since he died, and although I should be grateful that he lived into his seventies I do feel very short-changed, because he was a fit and healthy man who should have lived much longer if his life hadn’t been shortened by cancer. I would have liked to spend more time with him, and for him to have seen his grandsons grow up. He was one of those people who’s always interested in others, and Jennifer and I benefited from his wisdom, his humour and above all his love. But a hundred years ago he was a brand new baby. He had a Mum and Dad who loved him and a two-year-old big sister called Margaret. He was born at home in a tenement in Coatbridge which his Mum kept as clean and neat as a new pin. His extended family, who mainly worked in the coal mines of Lanarkshire, lived nearby. His life was all ahead of him.
Happy birthday Dad.
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