Daniel Dingwall - 30th Anniversary

mdingwall

mdingwall

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Today marks 30 years since my dad died. A long time ago I realised that no-one was going to name a street after him, or raise a statue to him or put his name on a building. But in his own way he was a great man. Most of us are lucky enough to have had good fathers - but he was my dad, and I loved him.

What follows is a wee compilation of posts I made on Facebook over the years.

As the years march on I feel a wee need to mark his life - FF might not be the appropriate place to do it. But it’s the best I can do.
 
Daniel Dingwall.

It’s 25 years since my dad passed away, it seems just like yesterday.

I remember his kindness, honesty and strength. I was very lucky, and very proud, to be his son.

In his final days he showed the same courage and belief he had when at the height of his powers - he shared the simple faith of fishermen and shepherds.

That faith gave him the courage to live like the lion and to die like the lamb - “I don’t want to die, but I’m not afraid to die. I’m prepared to meet my Maker.”

Skilled tradesman, solider, boxer, church elder, Freemason, devoted husband, beloved father, gentleman.

“Fear not, for I am with you” - Isaiah, 41:10


















 
His masonic lodge did a lot for him - the night before he was buried they opened the lodge in the funeral parlour and put a penny and a sprig of acacia into his hands (a symbol of everlasting life) and provided a guard of honour at the church. I gave them a couple of bottles of his favourite whisky to share in a harmony at their next meeting.

 
Another year passed yesterday. I thought I’d share a wee bit more about my dad.

Whilst in Egypt he learned Arabic and spent much of his free time with the local Bedioun and amongst Sudanese labourers in the port. The Sudanese impressed him in particular with their abstemious attitude to cleanliness no matter how tough the previous working day - he noted they were always immaculate. The friendship and hospitality of the Bedouin were without equal.

The Bedouin taught him a few tricks - their heavy felt cloaks might seem a strange choice in the desert but they noted "what keeps out the cold keeps out the heat"

Unusually for a white man with his class background in those days he gained some appreciation of Arab and Islamic culture. In later years he was delighted to welcome into his Masonic lodge a Jordanian doctor who was studying at Glasgow University and Mohammed would be one of his coffin bearers at the crematorium.



 
Remembered today.

Another year passes, but the memories don’t fade.

The Dingwalls were slum people - but the slum was not born in them, it was just where they happened to live. Anderston.

Anderston was down by the docks and folks were crammed in. Home was North Place, beside the graveyard. The building was badly built and so angled that the gas lights in the stair were constantly on as no natural light got into the stairwell. If all his siblings had lived he’d have been one of 13, in the event he was one of 7 who survived to adulthood.

Grandfather Dingwall was a carter - driving a horse and cart between Glasgow and Inverness. Granny worked in a “rag shop” where people sold their old clothes. Religion was taken in the Carters Mission or the local Salvation Army citadel. I still have my dad’s Sally Ann bible presented for Regular Attendance - 51 out of 52 appearances, even a holiday or illness was not an excuse!

My dad couldn’t walk until he was four and a half because of rickets - he went for treatment for years to a sanitarium up by Blanefield to straighten his legs and it was there he met his best pal Pat Daly who was recovering from TB. Pat has sunken cheeks as if he was struggling for breath but was fine - he went all over the UK to indulge his passion for jazz.

When he was about 12 the family moved to Blackwood Street in Temple - compared with Anderston it was heavenly, just over the canal there were open fields and farms. His dad used to take him for late night walks along the canal and he would do the same with me - as the darkness set in you could watch the water voles swimming and the bats as they started to fly. This was before they build the new housing at Westerton beside the station on Almond Road.

He said it broke his heart to leave Anderston but that within a week it would have broken his heart to go back.

Perhaps because of his weakness as a child he adored sport. Boxing was his first love - he travelled back to the Anderston Quay club to train and also boxed in the Army. He revelled in the Olympics when they were on - he loved the style of the Cubans and the East Germans - “That’s the true Noble Art” he would say.

Football. He loved football but it would be a stretch to call him a Rangers fan. He liked big games and was at the Real Madrid v Eintracht Frankfurt match and the 58/59 St Mirren v Aberdeen Scottish Cup final because he was working in Renfrew with lots of Buddies fans. One thing I always remember is if he suddenly had his suit and Crombie coat on on a Saturday morning it was because Rangers were playing Hibernian and he said that when he came home from the Army the Rangers/Hibs games were the big ones. Off he went to meet his mates.

When the good weather came in rather than football we were out for runs in the car - he loved the outdoors. Wee trips to Callander, Helensburgh, Auchterarder or an aunties cabin at Carbeth.

For some Rangers games we would meet up with his pals and their kids and be taken to Ibrox - often via diversion to the Hayburn in Partick before getting the subway. We got the ubiquitous cokes and crisps and had to stand outside while the men had “a quick half.” Trips to Hampden were for Cup Finals and the Home Championship internationals.

He didn’t like the Old Firm and much of what went on with it - a couple of times he said he’d have preferred me to be a good Celtic fan rather than a bad Rangers fan - he wanted me to support my team properly. And he adored Bill Struth, that was without question.

He encouraged me to be a good member of the Boys Brigade - and I went from the Shipmates to the Junior Section to the Senior Section and became a sergeant. When our senior company shut down (the 252) he and other dads would take it in turn to walk us to Anniesland on Friday nights (Anniesland has been the sponsor church of Netherton St Matthews where we were based and had given us good support) where we joined the 247 although we all kept our 252 cap badges on.

After a year there it was decided - because of the ongoing gang violence between Shafton and Temple - that it would be better we went to St Margarets at Knightswood Cross and that was when we joined in with the 243. On the last night at Anniesland he and Jimmy Carlin’s dad were there to meet us and walk us home - they took us for a slap-up meal in the Canton restaurant on Crow Road - I always regarded that as something of a Last Supper for the 252.

Two of my pals said, at different times, that they wished their dads were more like my dad. I never told him that - he’d have considered it disrespectful to other men. That was how he was.
 
I missed updating my dad’s thread on the anniversary of his passing as I was Facebook banned.

I was thinking that this year might be a time to remember his acts of kindness.

When I was still at school one of my dad’s pals got into bother with energy suppliers - this was in the days when they still could in Scotland cut off your supply even if the house was inhabited.

Dad got them a little camping double plate and a large gas bottle to cook on. Then he rigged up some lights which ran on car batteries. This meant they had the rudiments of cooking and lighting until the outstanding bills could be paid.

This was tough love - he said to me that his family was not to blame and that I must never mention what we were doing for them - a daughter of the house was a classmate of mine.

The guy himself was a helpless kinda case - after a few days he took to sending his kids around to us to lug around the old car batteries pick up new ones which we were charging overnight in the kitchen.

But, he was stupid and not bad so dad helped him. But mostly he did it for his kids. Because he could.

Another constant was the Two Bob Mob. These lads stood at the corner of Fulton Street and Tambowie Street wasting the time away and cadging a few bob from passersby for cans of beer and fags. My dad knew them all, some of them from his childhood in Anderston.

Often he would buy a can or two from his regular spot in the Signal Box and donate it to their stash on his way home. Did it help them? Probably not. But it lessened the pressures of the world which drove them to drink in the first place, and in time a few of them came out the other side. Others died in drink.

At my dad’s funeral three members of the Two Bob Mob were outside the church. Initially they were kinda half lined up with the Masonic guard of honour but they came over to speak to my mum and I as we got out of the car - ‘we’re not dressed well but Danny was our pal.’ We both smiled and told them my dad would have been delighted to see them - come into the church and stand at the back if you feel comfortable to do so.

One of the lads was Gulla - so called because his father had the same name apparently because he had served in the Great War at Gallipoli. Gulla himself was a prisoner in the Second War. He, if memory serves me well, also came from Anderston and lived up the road from us. My dad had a real shine for him perhaps because he remembered him from better days.

Anyway, Gulla had a dog rather strangely called Cape Town which went everywhere with him - and it was at the funeral. Half way through the service I heard the patter of paws as Cape Town went exploring around the church - it raised the eyebrows of the minister as it wandered around the coffin but thankfully there was no incident!

As I lined up beside the minister to thank people for coming the last three out were the Two Bob Mob. With quaking voice and moistened eyes one of them said to the minister “that was a lovely service, Father” - Andrew never skipped a beat - “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong shop my friend!”

In their own haphazard way they paid my dad a tribute - and amongst all the nice words, cards and flowers I think he would have appreciated that the most - from men who had nothing he received the most beautiful thing they could give - their friendship.
 
Remembered today.

Although it was very difficult to cope with at the time I look back with awe at the mental strength he had - one night he had said to me to come up to the hospital by myself and give mum a rest. He had worked out he was dying and wanted to make arrangements for his funeral.

He wanted the same hymns as he had had at his wedding - The King Of Love My Shepard Is and I To The Hills Will Raise Mine Eyes. He wanted a Masonic salutation and a guard of honour from the British legion.

It wasn’t an easy conversation to have - but at the end of it he asked me to come closer - with his one good hand he clasped mine and slowly but very powerfully drew me towards him and said “Never forget, all these things we have spoken about tonight are good things.”
 
mdingwall said:


Today marks 30 years since my dad died. A long time ago I realised that no-one was going to name a street after him, or raise a statue to him or put his name on a building. But in his own way he was a great man. Most of us are lucky enough to have had good fathers - but he was my dad, and I loved him.

What follows is a wee compilation of posts I made on Facebook over the years.

As the years march on I feel a wee need to mark his life - FF might not be the appropriate place to do it. But it’s the best I can do.
Click to expand...
I can remember when you looked like that helping out at the doors of Edinburgh nightclubs :))

Wtf happened?

You’re tribute to your Dad is excellent and I bet your still saying 30 years where did that go to, I know I do with the 22 years since my Dad died
 
Great tribute well written.

My old man passed in 2000 aged 69. He was a one-time Orangeman and lapsed Freemason...and, coming from the east end, a lapsed Clyde supporter, although in their courting days and early married life my ma, along with his pal and his wife, easily encouraged him to spend Saturday afternoons at Ibrox for home games.
The truth is his dedication to his family and providing for them meant shift work and overtime so he had little spare time to indulge himself, apart from his passion for fishing. We never wanted for anything and went on holiday most years to such salubrious resorts as Arbroath, Whitley Bay, Rhyl, Morecambe and, of course, Blackpool.
He was popular and well thought of by neighbours and workmates alike and could easily strike up friendships with any people he encountered throughout life, but if he took a dislike to someone (always for a justified reason) then he simply avoided them, save for maybe a strong parting word whispered in their ear.
Thankfully he was spared any long debilitating illness but the shock of his sudden death was immense to those left behind.
The biggest regret is that he never saw his much loved grandsons grow into fine men who work hard and travel the world.
He was just an everyday, man-in-the-street but a hero to us.
 
What a truly beautiful loving tribute evoking memories in the hearts and minds of all those who have had to say that last sad farewell.
 
Brilliant tribute. I mind going to mr n mrs Dingwall home in kinfauns drive when I was a kid. A distant memory. Some great pics there
 
Beautiful tributes to your father op.
Your father lived a good life reading that,its obvious in the way you write about him and the memories you have of him.
 
Lovely heartfelt tribute. He'll certainly have been immensely proud of you (as he clearly was in your graduation photo).
 
Very well written Mark and its clear that your Dad lived a great life.

I lost my dad when he was young, and haven't dealt with it properly even after these years. I'd love to be able to write about him in the way that you have.
 
Excellent tribute Mark. I'm sure your Dad would be proud and humbled in equal measure.

Almost 7 years since I lost my Dad. As anyone in the same situation knows, it does get easier with the passing of time, but I still wish for just one more day.
 
mdingwall said:
Remembered today.

Although it was very difficult to cope with at the time I look back with awe at the mental strength he had - one night he had said to me to come up to the hospital by myself and give mum a rest. He had worked out he was dying and wanted to make arrangements for his funeral.

He wanted the same hymns as he had had at his wedding - The King Of Love My Shepard Is and I To The Hills Will Raise Mine Eyes. He wanted a Masonic salutation and a guard of honour from the British legion.

It wasn’t an easy conversation to have - but at the end of it he asked me to come closer - with his one good hand he clasped mine and slowly but very powerfully drew me towards him and said “Never forget, all these things we have spoken about tonight are good things.”
Click to expand...
Similarities in a way to my dad who passed away on 2/11/1992.
I was at Ibrox and seen the first leg of the battle of Britain game , dad died suddenly on the Monday before the return leg.
She wouldnt allow me to put a telly on and the curtains were to stay closed.
A masonic funeral took place later that week, as he was a past master of Lodge St. John number 39.
I was only 25, a few more years would have been great but sadly ill health put a stop to that.
 
You are a good egg, Dingers.

When people talk about their parents, your thoughts naturally turn to your own. My dad too is an excellent human & I hope I don’t have to live 30 years without him.
 
I have never had the pleasure of meeting you or your departed Dad Mark, but I have to say your heartfelt words stopped my in my tracks at my PC today and have me thinking of loved ones of my own passed and still with me.

A lovely tribute and a reminder to me personally to be thankful for who you have in your life while you still have them.
 
What a remarkable and full life your father had Mark, that was interesting reading and a lovely tribute to a special man.

You rightly say, some of us are luck to have good fathers and our dads to love. your so right with that.

if you’ll indulge me please?
My dad remains the finest and most endearing man I know.
He’s a good, humble and kind and I would do well to be half the man he is.
He’s in his mid 70’s and still going well, I’m 51 and to this day, he is still the first person I turn to for approval, advise and friendship and he is always there when I ask.
I’ll cherish the days we have left to the very best of my ability, your story reminds us all how precious our time with our parents is.
 
Thanks for sharing your memories of your Dad, Mark.

Some great anecdotes there and a window into a bygone era, especially the tales of Egypt.
 
My dad, Daniel Dingwall, served in the war as a Royal Engineer.

It won’t be that long now until we have no-one left who experienced the Second War World much like the passing of those who could tell us first hand about the Great War.

Growing up it seemed every adult had been in the war. Everyone had tales to tell either of the home front or exotic theatres of battle overseas.

My cousins and I made a few shillings acting as waiters at family or house parties - in those days almost all men drank whisky, Piper or McEwan’s Export in those cans you had to burst open with the pointy edge can opener. The men were usually in the living room while the women were in the sitting room with sherry, Advocaat or Babycham.

The talk was always of shipyards - virtually everyone had worked in the yards, even the women, Auntie Jennie as a forklift driver and Aunty Joey in the canteen - and the war.

One of my dad’s pals was nicknamed “Sass” as he claimed to have been an original member of the Long Range Desert Group, the forerunner of the SAS Regiment. As the nights grew longer the tales got taller!

My dad’s favourite yarn was told about field glasses he had won in a game of dominoes with Field Marshall Rommel while he was a Desert Rat.

My dad was in the 8th Army Royal Engineers but said he went along with a commando raid on Rommel’s HQ and saved his captured comrades from execution by beating the Field Marshall in an all-or-nothing game of dominoes in which Rommel was caught trying to cheat and thereby got his nickname of the Desert Fox!

Quite why a sapper who was trained to clear mines and then spent the rest of the war maintaining cranes in Port Tufic was selected to take part in an assassination attempt was never full explained. Work accident and ringworm scars were shrapnel wounds!

Being a domino game away from execution didn’t really explain why dad or his 8th army pals seemed to hold Rommel in such high esteem as a decent man and a worthy foe. In fact, they idolised him and the Africa Korps as much as they idolised Monty.

It was explained that the graticules - markings on the lenses - on the binoculars worked so that you
work out the range of tanks - and so they do.

I was delighted to be able to take the binoculars out to Israel a few years ago and use them in Haifa, the Golan, Jerusalem, beside the River Jordan, the Judean Hills, the Dead Sea and on top of the great fortress of Masada. The old man would have loved to have seen the Holy Land and I thought of him as I used them.

On top of Masada the thought suddenly struck me as I adjusted the eye-pieces. Why would Field Marshall Rommel have been using a pair of British binoculars made in 1944 - the year after he left Africa?!

The old man - as usual - had the last laugh. One more time.








 
A great tribute. It's a good feeling when your old man is your hero.

I was also lucky in that respect. Some aren't which is obviously a shame. Hopefully some learned from their experiences and managed to be better fathers to their kids.
 
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

2 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:

3 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,

4 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;

5 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:

6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.

7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

13 Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.


 
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Lovely post Mark, our fathers were cut from a very similar cloth. Your Dad sounds like the complete gentleman.
 
RSEA said:
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

2 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:

3 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,

4 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;

5 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:

6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.

7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

13 Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.


Click to expand...
The night before his funeral the lodge members met at the funeral parlour. I was there to greet them but as I wasn’t a member I couldn’t follow them in to the room where he was. I presume they convened a meeting and did the “salutation” my dad had asked for. That was between them.

What I do know is that they placed a penny in one hand and a sprig of acacia (which a member got from the Botanic Gardens where he worked) into the other.
 
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