22 years ago, he passed away from multiple strokes, heart attacks, and dementia.
We were never ever that close, not like he was with my older sister, Melanie. He did treat me like shit and was constantly delighted in punishing me with his bamboo stick, which he whacked me with it from a very young age. He was very cold and a bully, which I never understood why, as all I ever wanted was love and respect from him.
He was incredibly secretive about his past and identity including what his real name was as he owned a number of passports with different names on them.
He had a family before his marriage with my mum, back in Singapore and possibly other children with first wife, none of which I know the names of.
What things I do know and remember about him is that he was a pilot in the RAF. He was also a prisoner of war when he was captured by the Tamil Tigers, and he also had a gunshot wound in his left arm. I’m not sure if he was born in Singapore or from Sri Lanka, but he did witness some family members being beheaded by the Japanese in WWII on a beach. For which he always hated them for it.
During his time serving in the RAF in this country, he was studying to be a Lawyer but gave it up and after leaving the service, joined up with the British Police Force and served with the Thames Valley police when we moved to Milton Keynes.
There is so much more I do not know about him, nor will I ever find out as most of his family has died.
I do believe he lived a secret life and had many skeletons in his cupboard.
I don’t hate him, but I am disappointed in him for not being the Father I needed and wanted.
Charles Joseph Dominic Louis (or whatever his name really was)
22nd July 1931 to 6th April 2001.
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