My Dad's voice

My 'OK' post set me thinking about voices, about intonation, cadence and timbre. My Dad died four years ago and of all the things I miss about not having him here, it's his voice. I can hear him as I write. His voice had a wonderful timbre. It had a very distinctive quality that had nothing to do with his Yorkshire accent although the shortened vowels of the North probably enriched it. It was very very pleasant, strong and warm and easy on the ear. There was a slight hesitancy in the voice, a thoughtfulness. There was a landscape to his voice, ups and downs, valleys and hills.

It's funny how senses other than sight can evoke a person so vividly. I can also smell my Dad - specifically I can smell a particular jumper of his circa the 1970s that was a dark mustard colour, probably more French than English. I suppose I got lots of cuddles in the 70s and got to breathe in that jumper. Dad was a farmer so wasn't in his best clothes that often and I remember this V shaped thick knitted jumper that he had for best-casual.

In fact, when we cleared his wardrobe - the one that contained all his best suits and jackets and trousers and jumpers - that was the smell. The wardrobe smelled of him or did he smell of the wardrobe? I think the drawers and interior wood were made from cedar and that is the aromatic perfume that will forever evoke my dad. I wish I could have removed that fitted wardrobe with its beautiful red wooden drawers and reconstructed it in my own house at 88 but alas I couldn't. In fact, my husband bought some leather shoes last year and was supplied with some shoe trees, made from cedar wood. When he unpacked them, exposing their aroma, my dad was there in the room with me. Funny old things smells and voices.