“Nothing but hot air” was all mum ever said about dad on the rare occasions she’d say anything at all.
When we were kids, me and my brother used to imagine him literally full of hot air, blown up like a balloon, drifting high in the sky across our little town.
Imagining him was all we could do.
My brother was 6 when he left and reckons he has memories, more like a feeling than an image. But at 5 I don’t really remember anything about him. His sister, our Aunt Alma, had a picture above the fireplace of when they were kids. I used to love sitting in the big armchair opposite that picture while she told us exciting stories of the adventures he was having.
Here’s what we knew.
He was on a mission for the government to save something called ‘the economy’.
We didn’t really know what that was, so Aunt Alma came up with a game. She said if we helped her bake the fruit scones she made when we visited, she’d give us some money. After our trip to the beach we could call in at the little shop on the corner and buy ice cream.
“And that” she’d declare, “is the economy” and we’d cheer loudly and dance round the room singing ‘you and me make the eeee-con-oh-me, 1, 2, 3 for the eeee-con-oh-me’.
His mission was ‘top secret’ Aunt Alma would tell us, which is why he couldn’t phone us or write letters to us. He was a bit like a spy and sometimes the army would come looking for him with guns. He often had to move from place to place in the middle of the night.
We didn’t need to be scared said Aunt Alma, because dad was very cunning. He’d dress up in funny clothes that looked a little bit like the dressing gown that hung on her bathroom door. And he had learnt how to speak differently. For years we thought he was talking like a man called ‘Harry Brick’.
And even if the army caught him it was ok, because dad knew the king, who was really real and not just made up like they are in fairy tales and movies. So if he was captured, the king would rescue my dad and take him back to his golden palace to keep him safe. One day, when things were something called ‘settled’, Aunt Alma said our dad would take us to the palace to meet the king.
But best of all, my dad lived in the ‘desert’. Aunt Alma said it was like a huge, never ending beach with no sea. We thought that would be the best thing ever as we loved building sandcastles but were scared of the crashing waves at the beach near Aunt Alma’s home.
And this endless beach was full of odd-looking horses with water bottles on their back. One day Aunt Alma took us to her friend’s house and she had horses that we were allowed to feed and stroke. I asked where these types of horses kept their water bottles and they laughed so much that Aunt Alma started snorting, which made them laugh even more.
We visited Aunt Alma every Sunday and it was our favourite day of the week.
We’d get so excited that by Saturday all we could do was chitter chatter endlessly about the stories she told us last week and try to guess what she’d tell us this week. By tea time we had exhausted ourselves, so would retell each other our favourite stories.
My brother always got to go first as he was the oldest. That was the ‘law’ he said and you weren’t allowed to ‘break the law’. But I didn’t mind because his favourite was my second favourite and he could always do the funny accents just like Aunt Alma. It was called ‘The Day I Met the King’.
Dad had just arrived in the desert and was taken to see the king. It was his first time at a real palace meeting a real king and he was a bit nervous. He was driven there in a fancy car called a ‘Rolls Royce’ by a man who wore a suit and hat, even though it was hotter than the hottest day we ever had at the beach.
“Pleeeze step thiz vay sssssir” he said as he opened the car door for dad. And my dad looked behind himself pretending that the man must be calling someone else ‘sir’. We could spend ages laughing at that joke, switching roles to be our dad or the driver.
Then dad was taken into the palace, which had a huge garden right in the middle of it with a massive fountain full of colourful fish. The king was waiting for him by the fountain with another man who spoke English and could speak like Harry Brick. The king started speaking and the other man said ‘Velcome to my humble home, this is not my main palace and only has 24 bedrooms’.
Dad smiled and said “that’s all right, I’ve only got one pillow with me”.
When the Harry Brick man told the king, there was something called ‘a deathly silence’. And dad thought the king might throw him into jail or even kill him for being rude. But then the king began to laugh loudly and kissed my dad on both cheeks.
We’d spend even longer playing out that scene, creating a fountain out of our duvets and pillows and making our biggest teddy bear the Harry Brick man. We’d stomp around the bedroom repeating the punch line for ages – “that’s all right, I’ve only got one pillow with me” – until the hullabaloo got too much for mum and she’d scream out “stop that terrible racket!”
So we settled down into the soft heap of bedding and cuddle up to Big Ted and it was my turn.
My favourite story was called ‘The Adventure to Find the Hidden Gold’.
It was a few months after dad had met the king and things weren’t going so well. A thing called ‘sandstorms’ was happening. Aunt Alma said these were like living inside the beach with sand getting in every nook and cranny and you had to wear a handkerchief over your mouth to breath.
And it was really hot.
Hotter even than normal, almost as hot as the oven was to bake the scones!
Dad was on a secret adventure to find some gold that everyone knew existed but nobody had ever found. The king told him it was hidden deep in the desert and that anyone who had tried to find it had died. But dad just smiled and said he was ‘born lucky’ and would find the gold.
The king promised dad half of any gold he found. And he gave him his favourite odd-looking horse with the water bottle on his back because they have extra eyelids and can squeeze their noses shut to help them in the sandstorms.
There was a funny bit of the story the way Aunt Alma told it, where the odd-looking horse kept spitting at dad until they became friends. But at home I’d have to whisper this bit and we’d laugh into the pillow because mum had already shouted at us for making too much noise.
After the spitting bit, dad and the odd-looking horse went off into the desert for days and days and nobody knew where they were. The sandstorms got really bad, worse than anyone could remember, and everyone thought dad must have died in the desert.
The king was very sad until one day, a long time after dad had disappeared, the king was walking around his fountain and found dad sitting there with the odd-looking horse. They both smiled and hugged each other and dad told the king he had found the hidden gold and lots of it.
My bother and me would hug each other just like they did.
Then we’d feel a little bit sad because at this point in the story Aunt Alma’s voice would go a bit funny and she’d have to suddenly go to the bathroom or check on the scones. When she came back she looked liked she’d been crying and we’d ask if the king gave dad half the gold like he’d promised. All she’d say is “that’s a story only he can tell you”.
Even though we really wanted to know what happened next, we knew it wasn’t right to pester. So we’d change the subject and ask her to tell us the names of all the places dad had been on his mission.
“Do Bye” was my brother’s favourite and he’d repeat it over and over until I cracked up with laughter. “Are Boo Dar Bee” I’d reply between gasps of giggles until he joined me laughing on the big armchair.
Then we’d look at each other, look at Aunt Alma, and all three of us would chant “Do Bye Are Boo Dar Bee” until the tears ran down our cheeks as we rolled around the floor in hysterics.
They were some of the best times I remember growing up.
It was like dad was right there with us in that heap of happiness.
Aunt Alma even said that he was with us in a funny kind of way, as he loved jokes and laughter. Because he was like a spy he could only phone his sister Alma now and again. When he did, he only ever wanted to know about what we we’re up to and if we were happy.
She’d always tell us if he had phoned and that he loved us very much and missed us every day. Then she’d scoop us both up from our giggling and smoother us in hugs and kisses.
“This one’s from me” she’d say, “and this one’s from you dad”. And she’d keep going, until the tears of laughter turned to tears of sorrow. Then she’d hug us even tighter and cry a little herself.
That’s usually when mum would arrive to pick us.
She’d tut sternly at our tear-stained cheeks and scold Aunt Alma for “filling our heads with nonsense”. Then she’d grab us by the hands and march us out of Aunt Alma’s cosy little home and take us back to our bigger, but sadder, house.
On the journey we could hear mum muttering angrily about things we didn’t understand.
Little phrases like ‘left in the lurch’, ‘gallivanting around the world’ and something called ‘black gold’ that was ‘more like fools gold’. And repeating ‘it’s all right for him’, which we thought didn’t sound true what with the army chasing him and the odd-looking horse that spat at him.
But she was angry again, so we didn’t say anything.
We just sat quietly in our seats letting the last taste of the scones linger on our lips, already counting down the days until our next visit to Aunt Alma’s.
By the time we got home, mum was a bit calmer but still pretty fed up. She’d sit us down and tell us how we shouldn’t believe everything Aunt Alma told us, that it was just stories and one day we’d know the truth. She said Aunt Alma had something called a ‘vivid imagination’ and a ‘soft spot’ for dad, which only sounded like a bad thing the way mum said it.
Then it was her turn to dash off quickly to go to the bathroom or sort out the washing. As she rushed from the living room we’d occasionally hear her call out “she’s just the same as he was, nothing but hot air!”
Then we’d look at each other and begin again with the stories our Aunt Alma told us about our dad.
