Dad has previously said that he just wanted someone to say “He wasn’t a bad bloke, he did like a pint or two”. At the risk of embarrassing him, I’m going to expand on that slightly. Born Michael Robert Cork to parents Bob and Kath, dad was known only as Mick from an early age. He was joined shortly later by his little sister Ro and they grew up in Rossendale Road in Folkestone.
It didn’t take long for him to develop his two main passions in life – sports and music. When he was young, he would sit in the back room of their house, listening to the football scores on the wireless and moving the names of football teams up and down on a cardboard ladder.
Whilst he supported West Brom, dad was primarily a fan of the old Folkestone Town and then Folkestone Invicta. In his later years, he would often help out selling raffle tickets, and after his retirement he briefly helped out as the press officer and also as a supporters’ club committee member.
Dad didn’t play a lot of sport after leaving school, but he liked to help when he could and he enjoyed recounting the time he was umpiring a game of cricket and lost four teeth to a poorly fielded ball.
His other great passion was music. He taught himself to play guitar with Bert Weedon’s “Play In a Day” Book which he loved so much that he got me a copy of when I was young, forgetting that the book hadn’t been updated and all the songs were about 30 years old. In the pre-internet days, he had to play and sing the songs to me so that I’d have an idea about what they should sound like. If you ever heard him sing, you’ll know that this was with dubious accuracy.
Dad’s first band used to practise in his bedroom at Rossendale Road, often involving a full drum kit. Fortunately the neighbours were quite forgiving as they had a son who was learning to play the piano. He ended up playing bass in a number of bands including The Trespassers, The Mystices and Captain Black, and during these years his bands supported some big names such as The Who, Cream, The Hollies and Manfred Mann mainly at The Leas Cliff Hall and Tofts Nightclub in Folkestone.
Dad attended St Mary’s Primary School in Folkestone, followed by the Harvey Grammar school, which he left at 16 and became a reporter. However he became disillusioned with journalism when he had to interview the parents of a child who had fallen over the cliff at the Warren. The job also caused time conflicts with playing in bands so he didn’t stay in the role long. It would be 23 years later when he would find himself back in the newsroom.
When dad started back at the Herald in 1980, he was working as an advertising rep before noticing the vacant role of sports editor. He asked a 6-year old football mad son whether he should apply. Thinking it was the best job ever I told him that he had to. He got the job and for the next 25 years managed to combine his work and his passion.
On his final day in his advertising role, his colleagues picked him up and bundled him over the room divider that separated the advertising team from the writing team. Apparently this is one occasion when he actually managed to land on his feet.
Dad had a history of falling over. He was so prolific at it that a time when he fell over on the bus to a Folkestone Invicta away fixture was immortalised in a terrace chant. It’s not often that journalists get a football song about them. There were other instances when he fell through the loft, down a hole in the road and walking to the bar at Canterbury Cricket Ground. That’s not to mention the time he broke his arm falling on the ice two days after his retirement.
Dad launched himself wholeheartedly into the role of sports editor. He was a great supporter of local sports and tried to include as wide a variety as possible in the paper, always feeling bad if he had to cut something out.
Whilst working on the paper, he was always going to say what he thought – it was impossible to stop him doing so most of the time. He somehow managed to do it whilst maintaining a good relationship with almost all of those who he was writing about. What he was able to put into print was at least a toned down version of what he could have been heard shouting on the terraces on the Saturday. There were a couple of occasions when my brother Dan and I went along to watch a game and heard someone shouting abuse to those on the pitch, before turning around and realising it was our dad.
When watching a game, he would never be found in the press box. He was always watching from the terraces with his friends, including Harry, Ted and Pete, most of whom have also sadly passed away.
With the power of being the sports editor, dad gave himself a weekly column called Touchliner. This column was almost indecipherable even to those who knew him well, but for some reason seems to have been something that many enjoyed reading. Some of his colleagues from the paper have shared stories of how he helped them when they were a junior reporter, and about how his sense of humour never deserted him even in the most stressful times at work, also praising his commitment and his loyalty to his job. Dad felt fortunate to do a job that he was passionate about for such a large portion of his working life.
As his colleagues found, he was always happy to help out those in need – even going so far as to leave work shortly after getting there to give me a lift to university in Canterbury as I’d tried to get a bus that didn’t exist.
As he wanted it to be mentioned, dad did enjoy a pint or two. This was often whilst watching football – although as the song says he did also enjoy red wine. And when the paper had been signed off for the week, he could often be found at the Nailbox on a Wednesday afternoon. During a period when I was unemployed, I would often get a drunken phone call after he’d got home from the pub to check up on me. I’ve also heard that his alcohol-fuelled speeches at the work Christmas parties were rather memorable.
Dad was always keen to share his passions. From a young age he would take his children along to watch sports at the weekend when he was working, even though it must have been very distracting for him completing his job – especially on cold winter days when the only thing to escape my mouth for 90 minutes would be “how long left, dad?” He enjoyed watching his children play sports when he was able to do so.
He also loved sharing his tastes in music. When I visited, he would often put on a concert or a documentary about some old musician I’d never heard of in an attempt to broaden my – admittedly narrow – musical preferences.
In between his two stints in journalism dad worked at National Provincial Bank, Welfare Insurance and with Thomas Cook on the cross channel ferries.
It was whilst he was working at Welfare, that he met Lorraine at the British Lion pub where they each went with their respective groups of friends. They started dating in 1970 and got married two years later. They had three children – Stewart, Nicola and Daniel – and later in life five grandchildren – Jessica, Melody, William, Phoebe and Imogen.
After their children had left home, Mick and Lorraine enjoyed taking many trips away. They would often take coach holidays in Britain and the continent, and celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary with a memorable Mediterranean cruise. They also liked spending weekends away in London to take in a musical, and attended many sporting functions which were always enjoyable.
Dad loved playing with his grandchildren. He was always pulling faces or trying to make them laugh. Even later in life when he started to suffer from dementia, one of the things he still appeared to get joy from was interacting with his grandchildren, even if it was just rolling a ball back and forth.
In the last five years of his life, dad had been very unwell. Despite overcoming cancer, his general health declined and he suffered for many years from dementia. For the last two years, he has been looked after by the staff at Saltwood Care Centre who provided him with the support that he needed.
After several spells in hospital over the last few months, he was put into palliative care.Despite this, some of the care staff have commented that they saw moments of his cheeky personality even in his last week. And, right up until the end, he almost always managed to give a smile, including when Lorraine saw him shortly before he passed away peacefully last month at the age of 77.