I caught a train back to Blackburn that night but missed the 10 o’clock news. Mum and Dad were in the front room having a cup of tea.
‘Did you watch it?’
‘No, we haven’t seen any of it,’ Mum said.
In a way I was glad. I didn’t want Dad to suddenly see his face all over the TV. He was confused enough as it was and I was scared of doing anything that might confuse him further.
I tried to explain what had happened that day, but Mum didn’t really understand how manic it had been with the interviews. They had been out shopping in Blackburn that afternoon, having their usual lunch at Muffins Cafe.
Before bed I went upstairs and searched for the ITV News report on the laptop.
There we all were: the story of how all this had happened. Me and Dad singing in the car. The trip to Abbey Road. Why I’d decided to fundraise for the Alzheimer’s Society. All in a two-minute package for the national news. I sat there in silence, wide-eyed.
‘My dad’s not completely disappeared. He’s still there. He’s still my dad. He’s still inside. He’s just a bit jumbled up…’
To think that all this was happening and Dad had no idea. I felt a mixture of pride and guilt. This was Dad’s story and he wasn’t here to tell it. It shouldn’t be me being interviewed – I felt like a conman.
I clicked on to the Channel 5 news report on YouTube.
‘When the videos of 80-year-old Ted McDermott singing in the car were posted online they became an Internet hit. Ted, who has Alzheimer’s, now barely recognizes his son Simon, but still remembers the words to all his favourite songs,’ said the reporter.
Again they showed clips of Dad at Abbey Road signing his single and me and Dad driving around the Ribble Valley singing.
By this time I was sat in the spare room, surrounded by all these boxes, tears streaming down my face. I felt like I was watching a movie.
‘It just makes him happier. When we drive and I look round I can see him smiling. So I’m kind of like – he’s happy – and that’s the most important thing,’ I told the reporter.
The report ended: ‘He always dreamed of making it big. Though his memory is fading, Ted McDermott has finally achieved his goal.’
I sat and sobbed at the utter tragedy of it all. Happysad tears were pouring down my face as I sat in silence thinking about the last few months. I didn’t care how many people bought the single. For all I cared, even if just one person bought it, he’d done it. He’d finally made his record. I shut the laptop and went to bed.
Epilogue
‘How’s your dad?’ Carol Vorderman asked me when I got up on stage.
‘Yeah he’s fine,’ I said.
In reality, we’d had a terrible few weeks. After I’d moved back to Blackburn at the start of October, Dad’s aggression had reached new heights. Since the clocks had changed and the evenings began to get darker earlier, he would often be up all through the night, taking things out of wardrobes, pulling things out of drawers, slamming doors, switching lights on and off. It was exhausting and, as ever, poor Mum took the brunt of it.
It was back in early September that I was told Dad and I had been nominated for a Pride of Britain Award, but there’d been so much going on (packing my flat, moving up north) that it hadn’t really sunk in until Lynn – my cousin’s wife – and I walked down the red carpet to Grosvenor House in London. We were surrounded by press, TV cameras, celebrities and fans; it was utter madness.
The weekend that I left Blackburn to go to the awards, Dad was in a terrible mood. I don’t think either Mum or I had slept properly for days. On the morning I left, after telling Dad that I was going to London, he literally threw my suitcase out of the front door, telling me to ‘Piss off then. I can’t stand you. And take her wi ya!’
Mum was obviously upset by this, so I just said I’d wait outside and call a taxi to stop any further upset. I grabbed my suit holder and sat on the front step with my suitcase waiting for the taxi to arrive. It was November and I was freezing and this was hardly a way to celebrate being invited to the TV event of the year.
On the train down, I just stared blankly out of the window trying to understand why he seemingly hated me so much that morning. To think I was about to go and collect an award for him while all this was going on upset me massively.
Suddenly I got a call from Mum.
‘Simon, your dad’s here and he wants to speak to you…’ she said.
I got up and walked into the vestibule of the carriage so I could speak properly.
‘Sime?’
‘Dad? Are you OK?’
‘Simon? Where you going?’
‘London. What you up to?’
‘Oh, brilliant. Your mum said you were going away or something?’
‘Yes, I’m on the train…’
Dad started to laugh nervously.
‘I thought you were someone else. I didn’t know it was you…’ he said laughing.
I had a finger in one ear as I tried to listen to him. I could tell that he was upset.
‘There’s something wrong with my head and I get confused sometimes. I’m not angry at you. I just… I just thought you were someone else.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing – it was the first time he’d ever acknowledged that something wasn’t right with him.
‘Dad, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it…’
‘You know me and your mum are really proud of you. You’re our number one and we love you…’
A soon as he said that the tears started. I could hardly speak. Here was a man who an hour earlier was calling me a twat and trying to push me out of the house. Now he was saying I made him proud. It was a rollercoaster of emotions.
‘Dad, and I’m really proud of you too. You know I love you…’
‘I know you do. Hold on, speak to your mother…’
Mum came on the phone.
‘He’s been very upset since you’ve gone. Crying…’
‘Oh, Mum, I’m so worried about you both.’
‘Don’t worry, just have a good weekend. Say hello to Lynn and Nick and everyone…’
By now Dad and I had raised about £130,000 for the Alzheimer’s Society. The money was protected so that all of it would go to help fund the National Dementia Helpline to help other people like us. Whenever I’d take Dad out to Tesco, he’d get recognized. He loved talking to people, so would happily chat away for ages. After one visit, about six or seven people must have come up to speak to us. As I drove him out of the Tesco car park afterwards, he turned to me and said: ‘Well, I knew I was popular, Sime, but I didn’t think I was that popular…’
I felt like a millionaire. If only he could really understand what had happened in the preceding weeks.
The single reached Number 3 in the iTunes charts, but when they included the streamed plays, it pushed us right down to Number 43 in the official charts. We decided to launch a crowdfunding campaign to make Dad’s album, with people paying £12.99 in advance to help fund the making of it, and in return they’d get the CD. We went on to make an album. A full orchestra re-recorded some of Dad’s backing tracks and they sound amazing. It still doesn’t feel real, especially when I think about those dark, dark days just a few months before.
I was still worried about how much we should expose Dad to some of the reports on TV. But he ended up watching the Pride of Britain show, excitedly saying to Mum: ‘That looks like our Simon.’ He’d forgotten about it ten minutes later though. Now and again he does introduce me to Mum as the person who made him Britain’s Number One Singer. (A title that was bestowed upon him by the Queen, apparently.)
One night we also let Dad listen to himself on the Clare Teal show on BBC Radio 2. It was a chat about his story as well as playing some of his favourite songs. I will never forget that night. Mum had made some tea and we were all sat in the front room. Dad was sat next to me. As he listened you could see the realization sink in. ‘That’s me they’re talking about! That’s me!’
I was glowing inside.
‘We’ve got to get to London!’ he announced.
Dad also regularly tells people about his trip to London where he sang with an orchestra. But it’s very mixed up. He often tells the story about how he got off a bus in London, turned right, went down some steps, sang into a machine in the wall, typed in a number and out came ‘WADS OF MONEY’. ‘Just for singing!’ he exclaims. If only this were true. Instead he has fused together going to a cash machine with recording his single with the orchestra. ‘Next time you go to London, Sime, make sure you look out for that machine!’ he keeps telling me.
We have received thousands of messages from all across the world – giving advice, sharing stories or just asking how we all are. It’s been incredibly humbling to think that people have taken the time out of their day to make contact. And when I mean thousands, I mean thousands – it’s been impossible to reply to everyone. But those stories, crossing each other from different corners of the planet, broke down the walls of our prison – to think just a few years ago we felt so alone in all this. Of course we have had a handful of critics – people who say we are exploiting Dad, ‘the son is in it for himself’. If only they knew. If Dad didn’t have music, if Dad didn’t sing, he would be in a dark place. Music is his passion – and it’s the thing that keeps him going every single day. He may not fully understand that he’s made an album or why people want photos of him, but he enjoys every single minute of it. And that, to us, is the most important thing. The choice is either Dad sitting in a chair all day and watching daytime TV, or spending the day with his records, singing away and planning what he will sing onstage. I know what I would choose.
Dad’s illness changes every single day. Right now, we’re in the middle of a good spell, with lots of laughs and just a handful of aggressive periods. He has been incredibly caring, especially towards Mum. He is very confused, but calmer. He doesn’t know who I am, nor Mum some days, but he knows he has a connection with us and he cares about us deeply, as we do him. To him, the real ‘Simon’ still lives in London. He’ll often sit next to me and ask: ‘Where do your mum and dad live?’ I will say: ‘You’re my dad.’ And he will reply: ‘I know that. But who’s your dad?’ It’s a pointless conversation and we go round and round for hours with it. But he often tells me: ‘Your dad must be really proud of you and how you help out me and Linda…’ For me, that’s worth more than all the money in the world.
Writing this book has been one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given. I’ve learned so much about Dad. To think that he could have quietly slipped away and I would have been none the wiser about who he was, where he came from, or how he felt about me. Like Dad, I was never brought up to value material things. ‘All that matters, Sime, is that you’re happy,’ he would say. I may not have a designer flat in the Docklands, drive a top-of-the-range car or travel on luxury yachts, but I feel like the richest man on the planet. Who would have thought that singing along with Dad on a trip to the shops could have changed our lives in so many ways?
Through everything, my friends have been a constant source of strength. I cannot count how many hours I’ve spent going through the madness with them, sometimes in tears. They know who they are.
My mother, Linda, is the strength that has kept everything together. She is my dad’s primary carer and, without her, I’m not sure what we would have done. Sometimes I wonder how she does it. But she does.
Also, I cannot end this book without acknowledging the support of the Alzheimer’s Society – specifically the anonymous woman at the end of a phoneline. When it felt like life was falling apart and there was nothing left, her words picked me up and gave me the courage to continue. For that I am eternally grateful.
Finally, for anyone who’s going through this: you may feel alone, you may feel like you’re sinking, but you’re not. You will get through it, even though, right at this moment in time, you feel like you won’t. Someone once said: ‘The universe gives challenges to those people it knows can overcome them’. You are one of those people. In the future you will look back at these times and realize that no matter how tough they were or how difficult you found them, they were your glory days. You coped. You blundered your way through. You made your own rules. But you got through.
Life isn’t perfect. It isn’t filtered Instagram streams or Photoshopped sunsets. Ignore that. That isn’t life.
Life can be a challenge – don’t be afraid. Dare to accept it.
It might not be glamorous but it’s real.
And it may just take you on the greatest journey you’ll ever know.
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the help of the following people who gave life to the events and stories within this book.
My aunts and uncles: Chris, Joyce, Mary, Colin and Brenda, Fred and Edna, Gerry and Gill, Jane and Tony, John and Margaret, Joyce and Paul, Karen and Richard, Marilyn and Derek, Maurice and May.
Massive thanks to Ben Beards for his stories about The Starliners; Iris and Janet for sharing with openness and honesty; Barry Bennet (Baz) for his brilliant tales about the Butlin’s Tour; Brian (Wardie) and Gail for Dad’s Butlin’s memories; the Blackburn showbiz team: Andy McKenzie, Colin Hilton, Ernie Riding and Rose Boothman for the behind-the-scenes info; Geoff, Gill and Harry for the off-stage tales; Tom Lewis, Alex Van Ingen and Guy Barker – for taking a guy with dementia on a magnificent journey.
Thank you to the Alzheimer’s Society for their support during the rollercoaster ride of publicity, and to the hundreds of people who have made donations or bought Dad’s album through www.songaminuteman.com. The JustGiving page is still going: www.justgiving.com/songaminute
The brilliant Mary (‘Write everything down!’) – thank you! The superb Carly and of course Rachel (‘Just one more change’ – sorry!) and Lisa at HQ for making this happen.
My friends (you know who you are) for the sofas, the brews, the moans and the LOLs. For Mum, for putting up with everything life’s thrown at her in the last few years and still managing to smile.
Finally, thanks to Dad, Teddy Mac. The stories he told throughout my youth formed the foundations of this book. ‘You’re too good looking to be a fighter – you’ll most likely be a writer’ he once scrawled in my favourite book. I guess that’s that ticked off then, Dad.
Photo Section
Ted’s father, Maurice
Ted’s mother, Hilda.
Ted, aged 2, in 1938.
Ted, aged 23, with Iris, aged 20, at the Ski Rooms in Wednesbury in 1959.
The Butlin’s Redcoats at Barry Island during the summer of 1974.
copyright © redcoatsreunited.com
Ted on stage at Butlin’s, Barry Island.
Linda won the Christmas fancy dress competition at the Butlin’s Metropole Hotel, Blackpool, in 1974, shortly after meeting Ted.
The Butlin’s entertainment staff handbook do’s and don’ts!
copyright © redcoatsreunited.com
Ted and Linda with members of the Butlin’s Tour Show at Newark Theatre in February 1975.
Ted and Linda with comedian Dave Thomas (left) on the Butlin’s Tour Show in February 1975.
Ted and the Redcoats onstage at Barry Island.
copyright © redcoatsreunited.com
Ted with jazz singer Salena Jones and fellow Butlin’s Redcoats – on a submarine!
Ted won the Pontin’s Talent Show in July 1976.
Linda and Ted at Darwen Moors in Lancashire in 1976.
Ted and baby Simon in January 1976.
Ted and Linda’s wedding at Blackburn Registry Office on 7 February 1976. (Left—right) Marilyn, Mavis, Chris, Pete, Ted, Linda, David, Edna, Joyce and Malcolm.
Ted, Simon and Linda.
Simon and Ted on Christmas Day in 1977.
Another happy Christmas at Windermere Close in Blackburn.
Ted and Linda at Martholme Grange, near Blackburn, in June 1977.
Linda, her mum Ellen, Ted and Si
mon at Little Blackpool in July 1983.
Jack, Ted, Ellen, Linda’s dad George, Mavis and Linda outside Ellen and George’s house, Little Harwood, in Blackburn in 1986.
Ted plays his part at the VE Day celebrations at Windsor Hall in Blackburn in 1994.
Ted performs at a private birthday party in Gargrave, Yorkshire in 1998.
Ted and Linda enjoy time in the south of France in 2005.
Derek, Linda, Pauline and Ted in Porcquerolles, in the south of France.
Ted, Linda and Simon in Australia in 2007.
Ted and Simon in Kuranda in Australia in 2007.
Ted and Linda visit Simon in London in 2008.
Ted and Linda get ready for Linda’s 70th birthday party in 2014.
Ted’s friend Andy McKenzie with Ted and Simon at Ted’s 80th birthday party at St Stephen’s Club, Blackburn, in July 2016.
Family and friends at Ted’s 80th birthday party.
Singing and driving in the Ribble Valley, Lancashire, in 2016.
A quiet moment at home in the garden in 2016.
Ted with the Guy Barker Band, recording his first single at Angel Studios in 2016.
copyright © Decca Records
Simon and Ted messing about during the recording of Ted’s single.
copyright © Decca Records
copyright © Decca Records
Linda, Ted and Simon at Abbey Road Studios in 2016.
The Songaminute Man Page 23