The Blue Boar

This is my father in 1987, when he was 85 and had a year to live. He's in the sitting room at Fambridge Road in Maldon, a ten minute walk from our house and, more important from his point of view, slightly less of a walk from The Blue Boar, a pub and hotel to which he repaired every weekday lunchtime for a beer or two.

His walk to and from the pub took him past the school where I worked, and it happened that my Geography classroom was at the Fambridge Road end on the second storey of the school's 'new' 1960s building, so I would often see him passing. By that stage he had a stick - which I have kept so I can use it in due course - but he still walked fast, with a fierce determination.

My mother didn't usually join him at the pub, though she enjoyed a drink when she did go, but she didn't have to worry about him as he was cared for by a lovely lady called Ines. By that stage his hand was very shaky so she would only part-fill his pint jug so he didn't spill any, and in due course would come out from behind the bar to retrieve it and top it up.

In the school holidays and, occasionally, on a Saturday, I would meet him in the front bar of the Blue Boar and have a few drinks with him. I remember those occasions with great pleasure, for he was always good company. I also recall at least one Christmas day when some members of the family, led by my father, left the ladies to prepare the meal, which was a late lunch, and took themselves up to the pub for a pint or two to get the occasion going.