Father’s Day

18 Jun

Joseph Howden product testing a Sycamore rattle I made for him.

A friend of mine once said to me, “Henk, you are the only man I know who has had a career in reverse. Scientist and researcher to School teacher, through Parkie to Chippie.”

I prefer to think of my journey as a process of paring back the waste (little) wood in order to reveal the finished masterpiece. Woodwork is the celebration of 10,000 cuts to leave a huge pile of sawdust ….. and a piece of usefulness fit for the human eye and hand. It is all about delayed gratification.

Likewise a boy cannot know what kind of man he will become until he understands his father. For he is the shield against the 10,000 cuts that will befall him.

My Dad, David Stuart Littlewood was the son of a mill Engineer – Arthur Littlewood – county champion runner, tank repair man at Ypres, mill engineer in the Colne Valley, Huddersfield. 


Arthur on the left with his pall Gervaise just before the Great War.

Arthur was the son of Richard Littlewood – professional musician, first flute and leader of the Huddersfield Philharmonic. From these men I inherit musicality, supreme practicality and a touch of madness.


My dad let me to spend most of my toddling time out of the push chair taking its wheels off. He gave me great hands, the enjoyment of dance, and a Yorkshireman’s mordant wit.

I had no clue about being a dad when my daughter, Polly was born. But I did my best to learn about what she needed.

She was not too chuffed with riding on my shoulders preferring to be swung between mum and dad.

It turned out that Polly liked plenty of fresh air adventures, books, more books and yet more books (she had me raise her bed by 2 1/2 feet so she could read under it in her ‘den’), listening (I am a late developer here) and learning not to give advice unless asked (nigh on impossible), and unconditional Love (easy).

It has taken me over 30 years to establish ‘Good Dadliness’ as she calls it.

Unfortunately Mother’s tend to regard their sons as ‘the heir apparent’ – princelings in nappies.


Thankfully, Dads are more sanguine. 

Best advice I ever had from my Dad was when I had just been sectioned back in 2001. He drove all the way from Exeter to Chesterfield, put his hand on my knee and said:

“Steady on son, steady on”

My mother thought I was ‘Just tired’.

The point being that he was there and necessary when almost every other ‘friend’ (including the person whose observation I quote above) was not.

Love you Dad

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