My fondest memory of my Dad is on holiday with him when I was about 11. Just before I went to secondary school.

Three families, the Bells, The Ridges and the Nightingales were all on holiday in Italy. One afternoon, me and my old man went off for a drive, just me and him. I think we did have a destination in mind and if my memory serves me correctly we said we would aim for the top of the mountains. Man it was hot that day. The melting Mediterrenean heat. But the higher up in the mountain we went the cooler it became.

He decided to take me to a restaurant and we were both gobsmacked by the authentic Italian clay oven they were using. I can still remember watching the Italian gentleman make the pizza in this rural Italian mountain area. We talked, admired the view, enjoyed the pizza of course. He was full of enthusiasm and passion for all things. Then we decided to go back to the villa.

We started driving back and he said we are going compeltely the wrong way. He looked at the map, laughed and then threw it out of the window! I burst out laughing and we just drove around for hours in those mountains, stopping at local shops for water.

We did get back, although to this day I'm not quite sure how we did. He did have a strong instinct so that's probably how and why we got back. I saw a side to him that day that was completely spontaineous, free and full of fund loving adventure. Everything to him was an adventure and he died on the job having one.

Rest in peace, Dad.

Tom Nightingale