It has been 53 years since I last said goodbye to my father, Kenneth Robert Jones.  At the age of 12, it did not occur to me that he would never return. 

I was used to Dad being away at sea for periods of time, but he always came home.  When I knew it was close to the day Dad’s ship was due in port, my anticipation would build, cycling from school, hoping that ‘today’ Dad might be home. I was always excited to see him.  Usually, he would be sitting in an armchair in the lounge, smoking a Benson and Hedges cigarette, whilst reading the local newspaper; or outside mowing the lawn. Having Dad home to share mealtimes was special.  He would regale us with stories of the adventures he had had at sea as well as enlighten us about foreign countries he had visited and the people and cultures he had experienced – often with a humorous twist.  But Dad was also very exacting.  We had to have impeccable table manners – anything less and we were threatened with being sent to eat from the trough with the pigs (we did not have pigs)!  As we got older, we were allowed a very weak shandy with dinner – at his instigation! We thought that was pretty cool.

Dad was fun.  He had a great sense of humour and would tease and play pranks.  Living in Christchurch, I remember him hanging up my little brother Neil with a coat hanger on the wall as a joke - my older brother Mark and I thought it was hilarious!  Our mother, not so much

Dad loved to play cards.  It was a past time he grew up with as I found out when I met some of his siblings over 25 years ago.  I have fond memories of playing cards with Dad, using matchsticks instead of coins for currency.  He was a patient instructor.

Fishing was another past-time Dad encouraged us to do.  He made it an adventure.  Getting up at 5.00am, as a nine-year-old, to ride our bikes from suburbia to the port to fish was so exciting! (Public access to the wharves was still available back then) Afterwards, we would go onboard the docked ship, with the ship’s cook making breakfast for us.   I remember going to Dad’s cabin, noting how tidy and immaculate everything was. But what really took my attention, was a foolscap pad on his desk displaying a to-scale drawing of the ship we were on.  I was in awe of it, knowing that it was Dad’s work.  It was so detailed and precise. 

Dad was also musical.  Coming from Liverpool, it is not surprising.  He enjoyed playing the ukelele and singing, always with a smile.  He taught me how to tune the ukelele – singing the ditty – “my dog has fleas, don’t touch him please.” Dad loved a get-together and was always the life of the party.  Whenever I watched Dean Martin, I was reminded of Dad.  They both had that laconic, suave, charming way about them – along with a dash of mischief!

Dad occasionally turned his hand to woodwork projects.  The main one I remember is his construction of my bedroom furniture when I was five years old.  He made a divan bed with drawers, a desk, and a small wardrobe.  The bed has been consistently used since; by my children, a friend’s child, and now my grandchildren – a tangible connection to my father.

Dad had lost both his parents by the age of 16; his father who was in the Royal Navy, died in action early in WW2 and his mother, through cancer.  He was the middle child of eight.  Because of both parents having passed, Dad, at 16 and a half, was sent to the Outward-Bound Sea School at Aberdovey, Merionethshire – Gwynedd, Wales.  He achieved the ‘Silver’ award across all four test groups – Practical Seamanship, Physical Standards, Cruise at Sea and Land Expedition (27 miles across country, including mountain climbing and Route finding).  There were two levels – ‘Standard’ – “within reach of normal boys putting forward their maximum effort;” and ‘Silver’ – “demands achievement of some distinction.”  The General Report for Dad was; “A good humoured, well-mannered boy who has put great effort and enthusiasm into all activities at the course.  He possesses good leadership qualities, is a ready volunteer and is not afraid of hard work.  Popular with his fellows, with excellent sense of discipline and justice.  At all times very reliable.  Well-built, enduring, and tenacious, he obtained a silver in athletics by a show of great determination.  A well-deserved award.”

Dad was innately a caring, compassionate, determined leader, who did not give in to adversity - as he truly demonstrated during the harrowing days the Blyth Star crew spent adrift in the life raft.

I know our lives would have been different had Dad survived.  As a 15-year-old girl, finding out my father may have died from reading a front page article in the local newspaper, (it took two days for the police to confirm back to my mother that it was indeed her husband and our father who had died) I was always grateful for the words that Mick Doleman was reported as saying; “it was only the inspiration of the Chief Officer that kept me going.  He only knew one thing – and that was to win.  He kept us all going.”  I held onto those words during the following years, using them as motivation when facing difficulties, wanting to emulate my father’s qualities. Dad was my hero – of whom I am immensely proud.

My great sadness is that he never got to meet his grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Mark has a son and daughter, and Neil has a daughter.  I have a daughter and three sons, one of whom is named after my father, Kenneth and I have 12 grandchildren, of which one carries the name Kenneth.

My father’s memory is kept alive through photos, memorabilia, and his living legacy of an ever-growing family of direct descendants. 

- Carol Jones, daughter of Kenneth Jones