My Father (Bill) was a caring father and the best role model I could have ever had, I never took his advice, and of course one lives to regret it eventually. When I think back on everything he did for me, I find it hard to write the words. I was bought up with old fashioned values, and although many of these idea's are scorned by today's society. He was a carpenter by day, and a devoted husband, and father at night. He had a piece of land which he cultivated all the vegetables for a family of eight. No mean task, for a man whom loved his family more than his life. He was not a giving man in a loving way, but so many nights he used to come back from planting until the sun had disappeared from the sky, and the moon was his only light home. At weekends when the weather would allow it he would take us all to Sizewell a seaside hamlet, there we all learned the value's of the countryside. Progress has destroyed my childhood play ground, and two, maybe three nuclear power stations have been built their. I became a carpenter even though my father wanted me to become a bricklayer/mason. I admired him so much I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and also the seven previous generations. To my father I wish I could have told him just how much I loved him, and wanted to thank him for the values he instilled into my thick skull.

To my Mother whom was the only person in my life whom I wish I could have explained my feelings. She is always with me in everything I do. I have travel thousands of miles, yet each one I have been accompanied by the wonderful women whom gave me life, and the eyes to see the beauty in every mile. She was an artist, author, mother, and someone whom eyes I view the world. They say no-one can cook like your mother, but that hold's true for so many other things. Without my mothers blood I could not have written these words or achieved what I have in life. Throughout adversity my mother would always put food on the table, to fill our belles, and beauty in our eyes to see what other's cannot see. I have never been able to really to explain exactly what dwells within me, but one thing I am sure of Irene is there with me. A drop of rain cannot touch my skin with out Mum beside me, I see a butterfly and it reminds me of the paintings on the kitchen walls which she had painted to bring a little sunshine into our lives. The brown sugar sandwiches I took with me on a trip with a friend, remind me of the struggle she had to survive in troubled time's.