A Sketch of my Uncle

In today's post, I have decided not to discuss politics or philosophy or literature, for a change, but instead talk about a family member, specifically my Uncle Tom who died in 1997. I am working from memory of what my mother has told me and so details may be a little inaccurate.

My Uncle Tom was born in 1923 and was the oldest of my mother's three siblings, quite a bit older than her. As a teenager he was involved in the radio - he and a friend, Alan DeMalmanch, had a show called the Schoolboy Rovers on New Zealand Radio. In the late 'forties, he was a breakfast DJ in New Zealand and then later in the 'forties in Sydney. He travelled to Britain and had some success there, again as a radio DJ, but as the result of a lung condition decided, on doctor's advice, to return to the gentler climate of New Zealand.

During the forties, while he was working as a breakfast DJ, he completed degrees in New Zealand history. He slept little and maintained his heavy workload by chain-smoking and taking Benzedrine every day. A little later in life he would put away a significant quantities of whiskey every night in order to wind down. Together with Alan, Tom acted in plays directed by the quite famous New Zealand crime novelist Ngaio Marsh. One play that my mother often mentions is A Midsummer Night's Dream - my uncle, who was a very diminutive man, played Puck, a role which probably suited him extremely well

Tom was very passionate about politics, a passion he had inherited from his father, my grandfather. The thesis of his history degree was concerned with the birth of the New Zealand Labour party. In the 'sixties or 'seventies, he nominated Michael Douglas to stand for parliament – he had been friends with the Douglas family, themselves long time Labour supporters. The shift by the Lange government towards extreme neo-liberal, Friedmanite economic policy during the second half of the 'eighties, a lurch carried out under Roger's stewardship, left Tom feeling personally betrayed and he never forgave Roger. MP Chris Carter represented the Labour party at Tom's funeral in 1997.

Tom was a writer and he became a teacher. He wrote, among other things, a TV play called Plainsong, about the abolition of the provincial governments in 19th Century Canterbury, and a play about Christ titled The Crucifixion which presented Jesus as a political revolutionary rather than as a religious figure. I remember seeing, with Tom, a revival of this play performed in the grounds of the Auckland Anglican Cathedral in the early 'nineties. But Tom was easily discouraged and, at any rate, during this period he tended to focus all his energies on teaching rather than writing. Tom taught English at Mt Albert Grammar and, from what I have heard, was an extraordinarily inspirational teacher. He taught my father, in fact, in the 'sixties, and it was through a party organized, I think, by my uncle that my father first met my mother. Later Tom taught at the Teachers' Training College.

Tom had many gay friends at a time when homosexuality was illegal. His oldest friend, Alan, who I have mentioned, had several same-sex relationships during his life, the last being with a chap called Grant with whom he had a civil-union for some decades. Tom, though, was pretty much a bachelor for all of his life, although one woman, Mary Hopewell I think her name was, loved him unrequitedly for a very long time. To be honest, I don't know if Tom himself was gay or not. My mother has told m, though, e a story that when the petition for the legalization of homosexuality was going round in the 'eighties, he made her stop the car so that they could leap out and sign it.

My mother has said that Tom was probably unhappy for most of his life. I think he was sensitive: he picked up on all the evils and hypocrisies of the society in which he lived and somaticized them, suffering ill health constantly as result. He was unusual, liking Shakespeare and poetry in a time when the national norm for masculinity revolved around "rugby, racing and beer" – although I should say that my uncle loved betting on the horses and this was perhaps his only pleasure during the last long period of his life. I think my uncle may have been a bit fey – there was a little of this in my mother's family. Tom loved and believed in astrology and tarot readings and was exceptionally good at reading people.

In the 'seventies, I think, Tom was diagnosed with severe emphysema and given only a couple of years to live. It was probably a consequence of a life-time of chain-smoking. He immediately retired. Despite this prognosis he survived right up until 1997, although he was on oxygen towards the end. It was during this period that I knew him. He would come over every sunday for a roast lunch and, lying supine on the couch, deliver long lectures about English history. In 1997, as a result not only of emphysema but other complications, was admitted to hospital. I went to visit him. Lying in bed he said to me, "Andrew - the song, the song!" I had no idea what he meant and when I asked him to explain, he was unable to. These were his last words to me. Later that week, I was in the bedsit out the back of my house with my best friend at the time and my first girlfriend. My mate put me and Danielle in the closet and 'hot boxed' it by blowing pot smoke into it. It was the first time I kissed her. The next morning Mum and I received a call from the hospital to say that Tom was in rapid decline. By the time we arrived he was dead – I remember us walking into a surgical room to find him laid out on the table, his face a death rictus. My mother sent me off, stoned as I still was, to phone all his friends to tell them that he had died. So my memory of the first time I kissed my first girlfriend is indissolubly linked with the memory of my uncle's death.

I know stories like this may make me seem like a stoner but this is not really the case. It's just that some of my key memories are associated with weed.

This is only a sketch of my uncle. It may not be altogether accurate. I know from personal experience how easy it is to hurt someone by misrepresenting his or her life. I hope, however, that by saying that this description may not be altogether accurate, and is definitely too short, I may be given some leeway. It is in the main accurate I believe.