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Put quite simply, if my
Dad hadn’t taken me at the age of 11 to see Dr. No at our local
cinema in 1962 you wouldn’t be reading this now, or in fact any of the
other content of 007 MAGAZINE for over quarter of a century. He had read
and enjoyed all Ian Fleming’s novels published to that date and was sure I
would thoroughly enjoy this, the first James Bond film in the series. Boy,
was he right!
After being discharged from the Royal Navy at the end of World War II, Dad
attended night classes to qualify as an electrical engineer, eventually
employed by London Transport Underground. In 1951 he became a father when
I was born. Two years later he was diagnosed an insulin dependant
diabetic, having to inject himself twice a day, seven days a week.
When he retired in 1988 after 42 years and 3 months working for London
Transport as an Electrical Maintenance Engineer (a job he loved),
travelling the length and breadth of the Underground system, he found
himself with time on his hands, time which he soon put to effective use
helping me when I owned and organised The James Bond 007 International Fan
Club & Archive. Dad handled the postal log and despatch of the
considerable amount of mail packages generated by our organisation at that
time, and would also help out with the many large mail-outs we sent out
annually. It was only when my Mother became ill in 1996 with Alzheimer’s
that he had to give up this unpaid job and become housebound to care for
her, until eventually she died in hospital on August 8th 2001.
I have so much to thank him for but not enough words to adequately express
my debt to him. Not only did he give me a stable home environment for the
majority of my life, from where I was able to launch myself into my chosen
career and all manner of projects, but he also helped bankroll as much of
it as he could. Dad was a keen amateur photographer of a high standard,
loved the cinema and theatre, and had the most eclectic taste in music of
anyone I have ever known, and was a pretty fair snooker player too! All
these cultural aspects of his personality he passed on to me during my
childhood, absorption of culture that money couldn’t buy and something for
which I will be eternally grateful.
After little more than six weeks in hospital it was discovered that Dad
was suffering from cancer, which he finally succumbed to on December 20th.
GRAHAM RYE |
