A celebration

On their wedding day, 21 August 1965

They say it was love at first sight, at least that’s what Mummy says. So, the story goes that Mummy looked across a crowded room, saw a group of young men, and without hesitation turned to her friends and said, 'I’ll take the blond.'

One thing we have never known is Daddy’s version of events. Was it as romantic as Mummy made out? Did his heart skip a beat, did he go weak at the knees? Did Mummy make a beeline for him? Did he have much choice?

However, the story went that night, the relationship took off quickly. In a relatively short space of time, they were married, Nicola was born, and they were making their way to the Canaries.

And that’s where we have a big gap because my memories only really start in Pío XII when I was 3, turning 4.

They begin with my 4th birthday, a party in the garden. I remember it well, how could I forget, it was the day I got my first plastic tea set.

Julia, me and Nicola on my 4th birthday

There’s a big flame tree in the middle of the garden, a wooden gate to the main road outside. A frangipani tree that I love to climb, a small patch of unkempt grass. There’s a certain rigidity to the garden. Whatever has been planted is there to survive. Snake plants, bougainvillea, anything that copes with the summer heat.

We live in a typical Canarian style townhouse with its archways and bold wooden features. The rooms are spacious and the ceilings are high. There’s a stone floored kitchen, we spend most of our meals sitting at a small linoleum table. The carpets are 70s brown, and they have a square-like pattern to them. I play my cars on them. The curtains are billowy white, yellow, and brown in colour, and a swooping balcony leads to the upstairs. Slippery stairs for sleeping bag races.

Daddy’s fringe is long and swoops to the side, he walks around the house in his stocking feet. We never hear him stride up the stairs. Julia and I are supposed to be asleep, but we’re playing a game of musical statues. I’m out of bed, and its my turn to make Julia laugh. Then out of nowhere, Daddy’s at the door, he wears a short-sleeved shirt, bell-bottoms, glasses, his face says it all. What do you think you’re doing he says. Game over. I’m back in bed so fast, the covers pulled tightly over my head.

We’re not used to Daddy telling us off.

Mummy has a bouncy bob, blow-dried to perfection. She wears blue eyeshadow and blue mascara on an evening out. On a normal day, she wears Scholl sandals. She whips them off and whacks the cockroaches as they scuttle across the kitchen floor.

Mummy’s moods fluctuate most days; she’s up against it, she says. We tread carefully.

Daddy works long hours. In his spare time, he fine-tunes his sound system, an amplifier, a record player, the latest Pioneer speakers. Music and sound are his passion, Pink Floyd is played at high volume, so is God Save the Queen; they are patriotic in those days.

Sometimes we go to the theatre to watch classical music performances. Daddy’s hoping to add some culture to our lives. We are young, so the performances are long and rather drawn out. I study the people in the audience instead.

There are many dinner parties, lots of food to prepare. Barbecues. Guests for dinner, guests to stay. Some we like more than others. Always a funny story to tell.

We rescue Freddie, he is a budgie with a scrappy beak and light blue feathers. He fluffs up and stands on one leg when you talk to him. No amount of calling Freddie teaches him to talk back. Sometimes he nods his head, clicks, and goes into a warble. We give him millet and cuttlefish, we cover up his cage at night. We don’t know any better, we think he’s happy enough, we give him lots of attention, and he lives with us for another 15 years. We introduce him to another budgie friend, this one is green, a female we think, so we call her Glady. She henpecks him, learns how to get out of the cage, and rudely leaves.

Daddy buys our first boat, and Mummy throws a fit. How could he be so extravagant. What a gross waste of money, but it proves to be the best thing for our family. The start of many hours of fun out at sea, waterskiing, fishing, mooring off the coast, snorkeling, and discovering coves. It instills in us an endless love and respect for the sea, a confidence in the water, it opens our eyes to the vastness of the ocean and the marine life that lives beneath it.

Gin and tonic and beer are their drinks of choice. Mummy tries to keep a handle on Daddy’s alcohol consumption. It never works. Last one, dahling she says. With immediate effect, Daddy will have another. And this will be the start of a battle of wills. Mummy will mutter to us that Daddy’s had a skinful, if he doesn’t stop, I’m going home.

We quake at the knees; these are the rocky years.

Then one day Mummy calls us in to say Daddy is setting up his own business, and we will have to brace ourselves, things are going to change.

Oh no, fewer Christmas presents. My heart sinks.

We move house, this time up to the country, El Raso, it’s a compact box-like house with 3 floors. 2 houses sit side by side, they are brand new, built on top of a hill, exposed to the elements, it blows a gale most of the time. Mummy and Daddy lay some red scratchy carpet in the kitchen. It’s nothing like Pío XII, but we are only too happy to have the freedom to visit our friends who live close by.

Nicola leaves for England to do her A Levels. Now there are four of us. We get guinea pigs. Julia and I clean Mummy and Daddy’s cars so we can save up to buy bikes. The 80s arrive, Mummy’s hair gets longer and curlier, Daddy’s glasses get bigger.

Our boat changes. Instead of dinner parties, we invite people to Pasito Blanco, we call it The South, where the boat is moored. Daddy drives the boat most of the time, he teaches friends and family how to waterski. We adventure down the coast and marvel at the island from a whole new perspective. Daddy is the adventurer, a natural in the water. He handles the boat calmly and with confidence.

We can’t say the same about Mummy. She’s not as confident in the water and only takes the helm when she has to. Daddy wants to have a go on the hydroslide. The sea is calm, it’s early, there’s not too much wind. This is Daddy at his happiest.

Not so for Mummy.

He is up and away as the boat starts to accelerate. He is never going to take it easy; he’s going to push himself harder than the last time. It will be fast, and he will take the wake for the ultimate jump. Arms low to the board to ensure maximum stability. Up and down and up and down. He masters the skill of hydrosliding in choppy sea waters. Sometimes he nose dives, but that doesn’t deter him.

Mummy in a skimpy bikini looks tiny as she stands to drive, her head barely reaching the windscreen, her legs taking the jolts as the boat crosses the water. She steers around and around, dodging buoys and boats until Daddy says he’s had enough.

Now he wants the mono.

Mummy’s nerves are almost shot, she mutters under her breath, Christ alive, he wants the ruddy mono, she manages to glide the boat past him, and then grinds the throttle into reverse. We throw him the ski. The boat ticks over as it straightens up. He’s ready, we say. Daddy takes a deep breath and bends over the mono. Mummy sends the throttle down, the boat lunges forward, we take off, and silently pray. Is he going to make it or isn’t he…1 2 3 and then like some majestic sea creature he emerges through a curtain of water.

We’re teenagers now, and when there’s trouble in paradise, the first thing Mummy says is don’t you cause problems between Daddy and I. We don’t know what she’s on about, maybe we’ve been rude, but the modus operandi of Daddy can I take your suitcase while greeting him at the door never works. They’re a tight unit.

Julia goes off to Trent. Then there were three. Just as somebody leaves, another one arrives. A scrap of a dog turns up on our doorstep. He’s either been knocked over by a car or wounded in a fight. I beg Mummy to keep him. She’s not sold on the idea, but slowly she comes around. We call him Scamp…how novel…and we nurse him back to health. Now we are the owners of a budgie, a guinea pig, and a dog.

We remain unaware of the ups and downs of Daddy’s business, Mummy continues to work at the British School. We no longer take the bus to school, Mummy has a fancy red car, a  Saab with superb acceleration, she says. Daddy drives a white Renault.

The endless love of music continues. Daddy goes down to Corte Inglés on Saturday mornings and buys 2 or 3 records at a time. He is building a whole collection, Dire Straits, Mike Oldfield, Michael Jackson, he’s his own trend setter. Mummy goes for the crooners, Barbra Streisand, Rod Stewart, Julio Iglesias.

Daddy reads the books, Mummy reads the newspaper. Daddy starts to get a subscription to the Economist and brings up regularly that there’s an interesting article in the Economist we might like to read. We snigger because so much of this goes over the top of our heads, but Daddy perseveres; he’s hoping one day one of us might become an intellectual just like him.

Jaap is a Dutch intern who stays with us for a couple of months to work at the nurseries. He is tall and lean and has a huge smile that makes his eyes twinkle. His hair stands up on end, he wears mostly black, and likes to roll his own cigarettes. Daddy lends him a beaten-out blue Corsa to drive to work in, he has to double over and squeeze to get himself in. A log at the back props up the driver’s seat, and his legs are close to his ears. But he’s happy with that, he’s upbeat and cheerful, wonderfully domesticated, and has a dry sense of humour. He fits into our family perfectly. He writes home regularly and draws little pictures of stick men on the back of the envelopes. I love his quirkiness. We all do.

My last years at home are packed with a busy social life whilst studying hard to pass my O Levels. I have more freedom than my sisters, but god forbid I am a minute late, Mummy will say she’s been climbing the walls, what time do you call this?

The middle eighties, and it’s my turn to go. Now it’s back to Mummy and Daddy, funny how the cycle of life goes. No more observers. Just them. They adjust, make room, life is less busy, simpler. We come back for holidays and bring along our boyfriends.

During this time, we lose Scamp, we gain another stray, Ben, and Daddy brings back the only other love of his life, a presa canaria, a Canarian breed of dog, and calls her Emily. She is the only puppy we will get; she’s black and white, with enormous paws and large floppy ears. Unlike most dogs, she’s not interested in wanting to be everybody’s friend, just Daddy’s and Julia’s. She is growly and temperamental, and Daddy loves her for it. She will remain his loyal companion until the day she dies.

Daddy eyes a Se Vende sign on a farmhouse close by. Secretly, he knows this is his next project, so he takes the for sale sign down before he’s made the offer. Less chance for anybody else to pip him to the post. The sale goes through, the house and an acre of land are theirs.

It’s an old holiday farmhouse perched on the side of a mountain with a 360 degree view all around. Very few houses in the vicinity. The garden drops down the side of the mountain to a dry riverbed. Cacti have been left to multiply and grow interspersed with rock face and volcanic rock we call picón. Some indigenous vegetation survives and is hardy enough to withstand the hot, dry summers and the invasive cacti.

The start of a long, arduous, but rewarding journey begins. Rebuilding a home for family and friends to gather. The boat is sidelined, all energy is in rebuilding the house and establishing a garden. The bones are good, there’s lots of character to work with. Whoever visits during this time is involved in the process. We move rocks, clear rooms, chip off plaster. It is a satisfying experience for all involved.

Daddy looks to the future, imagines, visualises, comes up with a plan, Mummy implements it. They make an inspiring team. Mummy is a workhorse; she is fully committed to turning Daddy’s concept into a reality. They move in with no kitchen, it’s still looking like a building site, but if you buy into it, it becomes part of a worthwhile experience.

As one leaves, another returns. Julia is back from Australia and makes Gran Canaria her home again. She has many more memories and stories of rebuilding the house than I do.

Julia marries Antonio, and Tomás is born, then Susana, and a couple of years later they move to Tenerife, and Lucía is born there. Julia’s children spend many weekends visiting Mummy and Daddy. They are lucky to watch their grandchildren grow up.

Daddy, Mummy with Tomás, their first grandchild

Toby and Rosie, two more dogs, arrive as strays on their doorstep.

The family grows, and just when Mummy and Daddy think they’re on a home straight, I decide to return. Not for long, though, much to their delight. I meet Greg, and within a space of a year, I move to Cape Town. They say history repeats itself, and this seems to be true in our case.

The moment I see Greg, I turn to my work colleagues and say who’s the blond? Within a year, we will move to South Africa, we’ll get married and have Daniel. In quick succession, Alexander and Oliver are born. The rest is history.

Julia divorces and remarries Andrés, they join families to make five and have what they say in Afrikaans, a laat lammetjie, the translation a late small lamb, Pablo.

Nicola meets Ian deep sea diving, and a romance blossoms in the depths of a deep blue sea. They live in sin for quite some years, scandalous, I know, before they have a much-wanted child, Emily. When Emily is five, she is the flower girl at their wedding, and at last Mummy and Daddy can hang up their hats; they’ve done their job, they can sit back, relax.

Or do you? Ever? As parents?

I’m exhausted just writing this.

Family gatherings take place over Christmas; they summon us home. Daddy insists on this; he says it’s all about creating memories. How wise, how insightful, now I look back. We fly from South Africa, Nicola and family from the UK, and Julia from the island next door, Tenerife. We gather together as families under one roof to celebrate Christmas and to be together again. The years go by, and we experience all stages from babies, to toddlers, to young children, then teenagers, and now adults. Baby chairs, cots, nappies, storytime, bathtime, games, treasure hunts.

Two more stray dogs arrive, Daisy and Casper. These will be their last rescues.

The beds are made, the Christmas tree is up, the fairy lights are on outside. The music is playing. This time, Daddy’s extensive music collection is on a server. We move with the times. Now, mostly classical and choral music is played, and there’s a fancy way of listening to it, either in the kitchen or downstairs in the lounge. The record player, the same from all those years ago, has been refurbished.

Many months of preparation go into this moment. Mummy has been cooking and baking, and freezing. The Christmas pudding was made years ago, the fruit cake is

done, the mince pies are baked and frozen. Daddy has ordered a 15kg turkey, a shoulder of pork, a leg of lamb, a pig’s head, seafood, fish. Boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables arrive from local farmers. We are bursting at the seams. Ian arrives with a Stilton and smoked salmon, bravely transported on a Gatwick flight to Gran Canaria. Andrés comes with the jamón. We come with the biltong.

These are the special times. We congregate in a house that started with a vision. It’s about creating spaces, you see. Spaces for family and friends to congregate. A celebration of togetherness and enjoying good food and good company.

Memories are made, a rich legacy is created.

Years go by, Mummy and Daddy get into a rhythm of their own. Daddy is the experimental chef, Mummy spends time in the garden. They take pride in looking after their health, they swim every morning, and are mindful of their diet. Daddy has pills, Mummy has pills. There are challenges, but they remain young at heart and steadfast in their determination to enjoy life together and amongst family and friends.

The joy is to see them together. Despite the ups and downs of life, their love has conquered all. They have weathered life’s difficulties with one vision. Family is everything.

So much to take from a life spanning 60 years together.

I am so proud,

We are so proud,

Of you.

Mummy and Daddy, 21 August 2025