my/our/their family

A family history project dedicated to the Willimer family in Royston and around the world, inspired by the desire to find out more about my Dad’s mysterious parentage.

Anthony Clive Willimer

28th April 1942 – 12th July 2021

It’s not mentioned much, but the timing of the arrival of my eldest brother Tony may have been a significant part in the beginnings of our particular family unit. His war-time birth in April 1942 came just 7 months after Mum and Dad were married. You do the math. Who knows what the circumstance were…

I don’t have any memories of Tony growing up. He was almost 20 years old when I was born, and left home to make his way in the world before I became sentient. I know he had trained to become a butcher, and went off to Jersey (Channel Islands, not USA like I did) in 1961. Whether that was for a job, or for further training I don’t know, but he did return two years later with Karen, the welsh girl who would become his wife.

They married in September 1963, in Llansamlett, a small village outside Swansea. I have just one memory of this event – falling down the stairs at home because the trousers of my newly-fitted page boy suit had no fastening at the waist – but there I am in all the pictures, with my face screwed up like I want to be somewhere else.

Tony and Karen settled in Royston, so my childhood memories are of my niece Tina and nephew Terry being born (I was an uncle at age 3), Boxing Day at their house, a brand new, state-of-the-art radiogram, and crusty ham rolls when I was babysitting. But after only a few years, they moved to Wales, to be near Karen’s huge family.

They bought a large house, and spent many hours renovating – it seemed to be a perpetual process, there was always a project going on. For our first visit Mum, Nigel and I traveled down by train, and enjoyed a weekend camping with the huge family at Llanmadoc. It was clear that life in Swansea was full, busy and fun, and they had made the right decision. Visiting Swansea became a regular and much loved short vacation for Mum and Dad. As I got older, my visits were less frequent, although one memorable occasion was a Christmas visit when I was at University. Being three or four years older than my niece and nephew was a big gap as a child, but less so when we were all around 20 years old, and my worldly student experience was no match for their South Wales pub culture. They had to escort me out of a Christmas Carol concert, and I probably disgraced myself back at the house.

After we moved to America, contact was much less frequent, but whenever we did visit England, Tony and Karen would come up to stay at Nigel’s house, so that we could all spend time together. Just like Mum’s visits to the USA, being together was an end in itself. It was just good to sit around a table, drinking wine, three brothers working on a cryptic crossword and teasing each other. Tony was always good for funny put-down.

Around Christmas 2020, Nigel called to tell me that Tony had been diagnosed with a brain tumour, which was inoperable. As he grew older, he had always looked so fit and tanned – he really enjoyed being in the sun – but now he faced the inevitable fact of his body betraying him. Nigel kept me informed of progress, and by July it seemed the end was near. I will always be eternally grateful that Linda insisted I should make the journey to the UK, despite the awkwardness of COVID-19 and the travel restrictions. Nigel and I arrived in Swansea on Sunday evening, and on Monday we were with him when he passed away.

I stayed in the UK for the funeral, which was a far from sombre affair. Karen’s sister Sonya danced down the aisle as we left the chapel – Tony had become a core member of Karen’s huge, extended family, and for a few days I felt a little of what it was like to be surrounded by that familial comfort that had drawn them back all those years ago.

We all understand that as we grow older, we will someday have to face losing our parents. We fully appreciate it is a pre-ordained milestone on our journey through life, wherever it happens to fall. But to have a sibling pass away – even when he is 79 years old – is a much more jarring reminder of our mortality. We can only hope that we have made the most of our life – followed our hearts, surrounded ourselves with love, lived life to the full and kept a smile on our faces throughout – just like Tony did.



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