Terry John Ashby

To my wonderful, wonderful Dad. Terence 'Ted' Ashby. Born June 17th 1948, sadly taken from us November 6th 2008 by a brain tumour. I cannot express in words how much I love you and miss you. The last few months were so difficult for you and I wasn't there. I feel so guilty and I really don't think I'll ever get over it. You should never have been stuck in the middle. You were the kindest, most gracious man and I love you with all of my heart. I wish I could wrap my arms around you and tell you how much I love you, but I missed the opportunity to do so. The world is a darker place without your smile. Your loving eyes. Your silly purple socks. I know now that you are at peace. I will talk to you all the time and my heart will ache for you. I am honoured to have had you as my Dad, no-one could have been better than you. Thankyou for loving me and letting me love you in return. Thankyou for being You. I will see you one day, and I will never miss an opportunity to let you know how much you mean to me. I Love You Dad. x

"God knew you were tired and needed to rest"

Those words cut like a knife but I know you are resting now. Love you. xx


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A message from Alan, Dad's Brother.

Terry (Ted) Ashby

I am so grateful to Nerys for recording memories of her Dad, Terry, (though known to me as Ted, for reasons which I shall give), with Gone toosoon. Ted was my younger brother by two years, (there were no other siblings), and his death has left a huge and irreplaceable gap in the lives of his family.

Why ‘Ted’ – well, quite simply I could not pronounce his name when he was born though I could say ‘Teddy’ – probably because like most children of only two years old I had a teddy bear. So, Ted he became throughout the family – and the name stuck!

Memories of my brother - where does one start? Perhaps the memory of one particular Christmas when he was about ten years old - one of Ted’s favourite foods was baked beans and given the opportunity he would eat them with every meal. So, for a giggle I gave him the unusual gift of a family-sized tin of beans, the joke of which was certainly enjoyed by him and our parents alike. Nothing more was said about the beans until some two months after Christmas our Mum was cleaning the top of the lavatory cistern, (the old-fashioned type with a chain pull), and found, secreted in the corner out of sight, the one-half devoured tin which he had obviously taken there to devour - undisturbed. His appetite enabled him to eat a sizeable portion of the contents and he obviously intended to eat the remainder at a later date. It seems that he forgot to do so and when they were found the beans had a growth of fungal spores which, somehow, gave the game away! A good laugh was had all round.

Move the clock forward many years and I can add comments made by Nerys about Ted’s ‘lack of colour co-ordination’. Who else, but him, would wear blue jeans, bright purple socks and brown shoes? If I hadn’t known otherwise I would have said that he ‘closed his eyes’ when selecting what to wear for the day as he patently paid no regard to the ‘matching’ of colours. But there you are - that was our Ted! It was not just his uncaring attitude towards colour co-ordination but his dress ‘style’, too, which was a source of amusement, (for his wife I would say a more a source of ‘frustration’). About five years ago we took Ted shopping to buy him ‘a nice new jumper’ for Christmas. What we had in mind, and what Ted wanted, were quite different – and irreconcilable. Let’s just say that he would look around the Grandad clothing section and select a nice, warm, button-up cardigan. I would mock him by likening his dress sense to that of old-man Harold Steptoe. He didn’t care; that’s what he wanted and you could not budge him to choose otherwise.

With so many fond memories of my dear brother I could sit at the keyboard for hours and rattle-off one memory after another, though I will give just one more to show the wicked sense of humour he had. Prior to his health going into rapid decline I accompanied Ted, and his wife, on a hospital visit when the brain tumour caused him to have occasional epileptic fits. Once a bed had been found for him we sat at his bedside and watched as a nurse, (and a very pretty one at that), tested the muscular strength in his legs and arms. Upon asking him to “Squeeze my hand as hard as you can”, we watched as he held her in a vice-like grip which caused her to give out a painful sigh and buckle at the knees. I think he scored full marks for that one! The point I’m making here is that Ted had phenomenal strength in both hands and you challenged him to a firm handshake at your peril!

To sum-up, I mourn the loss of a brother who was truly unique and someone I could share intimacies with and reflect on events of our childhood years and beyond. No longer can say to him, “Do you remember when _ _ _”. Sadly these thoughts are now mine alone and have been relegated to my own, private memory. Also consigned to memory are his affectionate greetings to me of, “Hello Old Bean”, “Hello Pud” or “Hello Dumpling”. In body you are no longer with us, Ted, but our loving memories of you will remain forever in our hearts and souls.

From your loving brother, Alan.