I’ve just seen a memory of Poppa M. It was when my brother first visited and we all met my little baby nephew. Dad was overwhelmed and besotted from the off, we all were. He was googling nursery rhymes because he couldn’t remember the lyrics (they didn’t sing them India when he was a child) and started singing them in his bizarre accent. I miss hearing Poppa M’s voice, he had this odd blend of local Yorkshire and Indian but just not in the way you’d expect it.
I laughed with mum the other day about some quirky stuff we used to say too. I used to mimic an old clio advert with him, “Papa” and “Nicole” once again he was terrible and taking on the accent from the ad, but we did it all the time anyway.
I remember when he first passed, literally in the day or two afterwards, amongst the tears I had this sudden fear. What if I couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like. I got really worried about it, so much so that I then couldn’t. I just couldn’t imagine it, I couldn’t hear it. Of course it was just the stress and trauma of the whole thing. I can remember his voice clear as day when I think of now (even his royal bollockings and terrible swearing…we know who I take after) and I even have a special video of him teaching my eldest nephew to take his first steps…kept just in case I did forget how he sounded.
I miss hearing his voice, not necessarily his words, he often talked a load of crap and did my head in, but I still miss the sound of his voice. His own odd, unique and sometimes hard to understand Poppa M accent.