We (Lionel Kaye and myself, we are cousins) often spoke about Tom over the years, and despite the years, working together with Tom is as clear as yesterday for me. My parents were very good, loving and supportive to me, and in fact were responsible for pointing me in the direction of the computer business. My mother had a small shop on the Kennington Road and my father was a clothing machiner in a factory, just to give you the background. Once I entered "the world of the office" they could not offer me the support that they would have wanted to, and often a work environment is not over friendly. What Tom did, and not just for me, was to bridge that gap and in a way act as a parent in the work place by encouraging us in the right way and never getting angry despite the fact that we were a bunch of 19 year olds typically, who did sometimes cross the line (there was a pub just 50 yards from the office!). Tom had his own excellent methods of teaching us and handling situations that went wrong from time to time in a positive way, where we were never made to feel bad about ourselves. The results were great for the company and great for us as individuals who constantly learnt from him ion matters of work and also of principles of life too. There was only good intentions from Tom and they benefited all.  There is even a song that came out in the late 60's that we always joked was Tom's song which was the Dave Bowie classic  "ground control to major Tom", and I always think of him when it occasionally comes on the radio.

When we knew a tribute would need to be written for my Dad, both Julie and I wanted to talk about Dads childhood - though we had his wonderful account of Y Service and the war, neither of us had specific details to draw on other than things dad had told us about his very early years.  However, I was so sure that I had seen an account that dad had typed - but once every old envelope had been opened and every drawer investigated - there was nothing - I must have imagined it.  Yesterday, I was sorting out my own cupboard, old bills, magazines and stuff to chuck out.  I came across a big envelope and inside was the typed account I had remembered.  In fact it was a long letter written to our cousin Yvonne, our uncle Alec's daughter.  I am so so happy to have found it and can't wait to show Julie.  In it my Dad talks of his brothers and sisters, and of course his own Mum and Dad.  It was nice to read and sad to read all at the same time.  The passage when he speaks of his losing his own Dad, our grandad, was so touching and it showed me that he was feeling just like I am now - "I remember giving my Mum half-a-crown, which was all the money I had, towards the fare to go up North to help her come to terms with Dad's death.  As time passed, I missed my Dad more and more and I often wish, even now, that I could just talk to him" I wish that every day Dad, I love you.

Some years ago dad had a mild stroke.  One side effect being a rather weak leg that slowed him down a bit. I went with him so see a consultant for a review of the stroke at St Georges and we spent most of the day there.  The consultant asked Dad to go along for a blood test in Laneborough wing, then for an X Ray in St james wing, somewhere else for another test of sorts and then to also go to the cardiac dept for an ECG.  He stressed that the ECg Dept closed at 5pm.  So off we went, got everything done and finally just had the ECG to get done - it was 4.55pm. Why I didn't think to find a wheelchair I will never know - but I raced along the corridors looking for the department with Dad trying desperately to keep close to me heels - a little in vain.  As he limped along behind I kept saying "Come on dad hurry up or we're not going to make it" so he did his best to speed up.  As he trotted along he simply burst out laughing as did I - it was just such a comical scene.  Poor old Dad trying to keep up with his determined daughter.  We made it on time! And couldn't stop laughing.  Me and dad have gone to the hospital together so many times, many for dads appointments and sometimes dad coming on mine to keep me company.  In every waiting room we've laughed about that day or just laughed about something thats tickled us that moment. Dad would always say that we'd get kicked out for appearing too well, people must be thinking "there's nothing wrong with them" - The last time I saw dad he brought up the memory of that dash around St Georges saying it always brings a smile to his face.  It does for me to.

I remember when we moved from Reading to London, Dad bought a shop on Wandsworth Rd. in the late 50's, a grocery shop, it was the time when a lot of Jamaicans were coming over to live here, he would get up around 5am every morning to go to Covent Garden to get then unknown foods like yams, sweet potatoes, mackerel, green bananas, he had a steady business & would deliver in his Ford van that had to be started by cranking the engine, & because the back doors didn't fit too well , the exhaust fumes would come through, I would go with him & there was 1 last delivery in Clapham, after that we went to Notorianis ice cream shop, where he would buy us both a cornet, until this day I have yet to taste a better ice cream, he worked so hard to make a go of it but unfortunately a perforated ulcer stopped him in his tracks & put him in hospital for a long time.

When I was little - every time me and Mum left Nanny and Grandads flat - Grandad would watch over their balcony - to wave goodbye as we made our way to the car.  Everytime he would pretend his hand was a gun and he'd fire at me ducking for my returned fire.  He'd pretend to be shot and stagger backwards and forwards but then fire down again - I'd fall to the floor and lay still, before jumping up for a last wave and a shouted bye bye.  Just a simple memory but one that brings smile to my face - I love my Grandad Tom so much.

I was about 6 and Julie 9.  We'd woken up to wonderful snow covered day and quickly got dressed into our woolies, coat and hat.  We couldn't wait to play over the common just at the end of our road where we found lots of children enjoying the fun the snow had brought.

As you arrive at the common - steep slopes fall into dips and tracks - great fun for mountain bikers these days I guess.  From the top of the slope that many children called the 'double dip' kids were sledging on shiny taboggans, with bright red tubular steel runners, gleaming and new.  We so wanted to join in - we so wanted a sledge.

With no time to lose we raced home, running into the house, running upto Dad.  "Dad, Dad, Dad - we need a sledge, can we get one?" (Knowing for sure that there was no way that Mum and Dad could afford to take us to the shops to get one - but we pleaded never the less!)  "Well" said Dad "Let's see what I can do"

In no time at all he'd surrounded himself with wood and rope, with nails, saw and a hammer in the back garden and quickly set to work.  It seemed no time at all had passed before there it was - our Wooden Sledge - with nailed in slats, and chunky solid wooden runners with a rough strong rope looped ready for pulling.

Julie and I pulled that sledge along the snow covered pavement, and for two little girls it was quite a task - I'm sure my Dad had made the sledge of solid oak! As we approached - the rest of the children at the top of the 'Double Dip' began to laugh at us, pointing and mocking our great beast of a taboggan.  We took no notice, we had a sledge and our dad had made it.

We waited patiently for our turn, then Julie sat to the front with rope tighly grasped and I sat behind her, hugging her tightly to the sound of the kids sniggers.  The sledge tipped forward slowly, paused for a moment and then shot down the 'Double Dip' like a rocket! We sped all the way down and then up and over onto the second slope.  All the kids cheered and whistled - no-one had managed to sledge the entire 'Double Dip' in one go except us!

At the bottom, when we eventually came to a halt, we jumped off and begun dragging our wonderful sledge back up the hill.  As we came to top we realisied that all the shiny red taboggans were lain strewn around.  All the children were waiting in a queue for a turn on my Dads Wooden Sledge - and of course - we let them all have a go.

 I've always hated crane flies but was really phobic about them when I was a teenager. During the September months, when the critters seem to be everywhere you look, my dad would regularly get a knock on the door at our first floor maisonette to find a neighbour or a complete stranger standing there to let him know I was downstairs needing assistance.

Dad would come down with his big overcoat, completely cover my head and shoulders with it, then guide me up the communal staircase which seemed to be the local crane fly hotspot.

Probably took it for granted at the time, typical teenager ... and that was typical Dad!!

The Youtuber below is a fine musician ... his comment left on my dad's video would have made Dad's year. Sadly I didn't see it in time to tell him about it. I hope he can read it now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPEgT50X2nI

Kennedi King is an extremely talented songwriter and musician ... the comments he has left on my dad's youtube videos make me feel so proud ... here's one of his comments below ... Dad would have just LOVED this!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ozFkaLvIps

In about 1966/67, before FFWS took delivery of it's mainframe computer, Tom drove a gang of us to Thornton Heath to use  time on a one already up and running.

We left Victoria and soon got to Battersea station. Just as we drove under the bridge there was a loud crash and Tom stopped the car to investigate.

In our rush to get away we had forgotten to psck the mag tapes into the boot. They had survived the journey on the roof for a couple of miles! We picked them up and proceeded to darkest South London.......

Oh happy memories.

%uFEFF

I will never forget the day when Dad saw a homeless person trying to sleep in the bus shelter, in front of our flat, it was cold, it was raining, he made peanut butter sandwiches , took the keys to my car, went down gave the poor guy sandwiches, then took him to my car so he could sleep on the back seat for the night, that was my what Dad was all about, ya need help, call 0 800 TOM , xxxxxx

Truly special

Oh so kind

Made in Heaven

Gods own mind

Your goodness stays

Loved ever long

A man so gentle

None so strong

Dear Dad I love you

Ever more to be

Remembered so deeply

So special to me

(To my beautiful lovely Dad, I will be leaving some special stories soon - Love Sue xx)

That was my initial warning as we drove up to the apartments to meet Tom and Irene for the first time.I said ok. I was nervous at first but as soon as we walked in, I couldnt have felt more at home. And then  Bob had left with Michael for a while so I was left to fend for myself. I had to do it I wanted to know what the heck was Berma, I hadnt heard of it before. Well Well Well need I say more.

I am going to be greedy and mention 2 stories. Tom is not the only one who likes to talk.

Everytime Bob would call home on the weekends to say Hello I would always have to leave the room laughing. Tom would come on the phone Bob would say "Hello,how are you" "Hello,how are you" "Hello, how are you" and them you would hear hel,hel,how,a ,he he,let me talk to mum....could never get a word in and I would just die laughing. RIP Tom you will be truly missed.

I remember giving Dad a lift to work each day to Victoria, it  was early, well early for me, & I hated being talked to in the mornings, ( still do ) , but he would talk away as I was driving & all I could do was grunt every now & again as a response lol, he did like to talk

 Very sorry to hear about the news.

I had a particular fondness for Tom, he was one of the nicest people you could hope to meet. I remember always being impressed with his Burma war stories and how he restarted his life after the war. It was a privelege to know him and it was lovely that he turned up at our last get together.

My dad had a real knack for getting himself into complicated situations. Years ago someone in our block of flats left a roll of carpet by the chute. Well he was not one for waste, so my dad went down under cover of darkness and hauled this carpet upstairs to our flat to check it out.

Well it was grubby but good condition and dad decided it would be ideal for my brother's room. A nice surprise when he got back from a weekend away.

My dad got all the furniture out of the bedroom ... laid the carpet ... went and bought some 1001 and a scrubbing brush ... got on his hands and knees and spent hours scrubbing this carpet ... it looked like new. So great ... he put the furniture back and looked forward to seeing my brother's face.

Only my brother was not appreciative ... because the carpet had belonged to his friend who lived along the balcony. What if his friend recognised the carpet?

So .... my dad got all the furniture out of the room ... pulled up the carpet .... relaid the old carpet ... put the furniture back.... and then worried that if he took the carpet back downstairs someone might see him and quite rightly wonder why he had cleaned it.

So ... after initially hauling it upstairs in the first place, laying it, scrubbing it, and then un-laying it ... he cut this carpet up into strips with scissors ... put it into bin bags and threw it away.

This whole episode took up a full weekend, friday night to sunday night .... lol.

My dad's technique to teach swimming ... he was very proud to be mentioned in this article ...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1521578/Learning-to-swim-from-the-bottom-up.html