Allan Wilford 1938 – 2013

Allan Wilford, my dad, how should he be remembered? He was in many ways a straightforward man. In modern English I suppose you’d say what you saw is what you’d get. Reliable, honest, hard-working, a man of total integrity. But there was much more to him than that too.

Born in the South Yorkshire town of Rossington just before the Second World War, dad was raised in Birmingham – he may not have been a Brummie by birth, but there’s no doubt he was a man who took great pride in this city.

The eldest of three children he grew up in Frederick Road, Sparkhill then Bryndale Avenue in King’s Heath – big brother was a role that he relished and took seriously throughout his life. He was always protective of brother Trevor and their younger sister Irene. I say always protective, but in fairness there was a bit of an age difference between the boys and Irene, and taking her out in her pram cramped their style a bit. But Allan was ever the practical type and he soon cottoned on that Irene plus pram equalled the perfect goalpost. It meant they didn’t have to put their jumpers down either…

Football was a huge part of his school career at Wheelers Lane – good enough to represent South Birmingham Schools he always recalled going head-to-head with another talented young centre-back when they faced Dudley Schools. The name of his much-fancied opponent? It was none other than Duncan Edwards, the legend so cruelly taken in Munich tragically early in his life. While not on Duncan Edwards level, Allan was a natural sportsman, good at anything he turned his hand to.

Leaving school at the earliest opportunity dad was never workshy, holiday jobs picking peas in Lincolnshire, paper rounds, the works. After dabbling with being an apprentice electrician, delivering groceries for Wrensons, and TV’s for Pinnicks, he did national service, taking him to such exotic locations as Hong Kong and Rhyl.

Upon his return he followed in his own father’s footsteps, beginning a career spanning more than 30 years with West Midlands Fire Service – serving at Albion Street, Billesley, Kings Norton and Northfield. As he climbed the career ladder he was furious when during an interview he was asked, and I’ll paraphrase for the sake of Reverend Peter, he was asked if he was going to be a bit of a so-and-so like his dad. Allan’s response – “You’re interviewing me, not him.”

Dad was a natural leader of men, his years as Station Officer saw him prefer to sort things out in-house, taking a common-sense approach that created a great deal of loyalty within his watch. It would be fair to say he grew increasingly frustrated at the way the modern fire service is run. On  those occasions when I was due to interview a senior fire officer as part of my career, he would ensure that I was very, very well briefed.

At the time that dad was joining the Brigade, he was playing Sunday football for Bournville Rovers, and it was there that he met the love of his life. Which, just in case you were wondering, was indeed Del. I’ve always imagined those early flirtations at the club socials, the two of them dancing, cheek to belly button – well near enough. Truth is, neither family thought theirs was a match that would last, neither set of parents particularly approved, but in June 1962 they became man and wife in this very church, and they remained a formidable pairing for more than 51 years.

They had far more in common than their families had realised, a love of sport, a desire to travel, a hunger to try new things. Yes they would bicker like any married couple. Dad had a legendary ability to get the wrong end of the stick, sometimes he could be over-protective. But mum and his family always felt secure, always felt loved, even if he hadn’t been raised to express his feelings publicly – that was to come later.

Ah yes family. In early 1969 there was a major upset – Allan and Del’s first child, Gareth, was still born. He had been conceived against the odds, but, if anything, that strengthened their resolve to have a family, an almost exactly twelve months later, I came along. Mum went into labour on the evening of February the fourteenth. Where was dad? With Trevor having a few pints at the Valentine’s Dance! The records don’t show how quickly he sobered up when he saw me the following morning…

As a father he was determined that I would have every chance to make a good life for myself. He worked all hours to ensure I got the best education I could, and yet he never put me under pressure. He was never a pushy dad. We were at times chalk and cheese, I certainly tested his patience many times, but we bonded over sport, our happiest times coming watching football, cricket, rugby, basketball – anything would do.

Which brings us neatly to a couple of other things that shaped the second half of his life. Basketball became a true passion from the first time he went to the Aston Villa Leisure Centre to see what would become the Birmingham Bullets. From fan to fund raiser to team manager to committee member and more dad immersed himself in the sport alongside mum. There they met so many friends for life, many of them here today. Players were treated like family at times, Allan enjoying the camaraderie that he’d relished during his working life.

In more recent times he loved being part of the Foresters, helping to organise so many fund raising events. He’d have a good moan about the workload, he’d worry that something would go wrong, he’d vow not to do it again next year, then he’d be the first to start planning the next event. That was dad. He brought similar qualities lately to his work with the Northfield Pensioners.

And I can’t leave out one other body of men – the Fron Male Voice Choir. Dad was so proud of his brother being part of the choir and he loved his trips on their tours to Poland, Cyprus, New York and Ireland. When they rose up in song as they inevitably did in the bars and hotels, there’d be a pretty decent additional voice in amongst them. He’d have loved to have been a fully-fledged member of the Fron.

Which leaves one final chapter to relate, one that changed Allan more than he ever expected. In May 2007 Suze and I were lucky enough to produce a grandchild for him to enjoy – and boy did he enjoy Katie. She became the person who drove him to fight the cruel disease that takes far too many lives. He cherished every moment, and became far more open to telling us all how much he loved us.

He was a proud granddad. And we are all proud of what he achieved in his almost 75 years. But the last word goes to Katie who sat at her half-term holiday club on Monday and wrote this entirely off her own bat. Incidentally wish me luck getting through this bit intact….

“I am sad that he died, I wish he was still with us and we didn’t have to say goodbye.

He was fun and loving, it’s hard to say goodbye to a lovely man like grandad.”