Family life

We could never have known where we would be,
When I was one and you were three,
No plans, no thoughts of dreams to see,
Just time to grow and play and be.

The holidays, the Christmas fun,
You cried for days when it was done,
Your artistic talent for dressing the tree,
Was perhaps the start of who you’d be.

Or your fetish for hoovers mum did say,
Insisting to stop on shopping days,
To gaze in awe at the differing styles,
Of the glittering metal that brought you smiles.

The many games we had such fun
‘Lost in space’ it had to be done,
Within the garage at Melstead Road,
Your imagery flare was beginning to show.

When off to school we all did go,
To Southill in the deep cold snow,
Above our wellies it would rise,
The biting wind within our eyes.

And Cavendish School not far away,
Where musical talents began to display,
At end of year concerts you’d be shrieking songs out,
With Bowie in mind I had no doubt.

On Sunday mornings with windows open,
Bowie’s singing was rarely broken,
But for mum who’s demanding tones,
Requested peace for others’ homes.

Through the years we grew apart,
With different lives along different paths,
That crossed each other from time to time,
We’d meet again with much in mind.

The laughter through your giant grin,
We would giggle about the crazy things,
A glass of wine, a sneaky smoke,
Enjoyed with such a lovely bloke.

As if it were only yesterday like the children we were,
Like the times we played,
Remembering those differing and exciting days
Which sadly were becoming a more distant haze.

Your love for cooking and red wine,
Made gatherings such splendid times,
A lunchtime nap off you would go,
I used to laugh at that you know.

Age was creeping through the door,
Remembering others had done this before,
And how you felt this spoilt your fun,
To have to wait till they were done.

The Crisis years in London town,
Where you would often act the clown,
The tales you shared of the homeless plight,
Your kindly heart to make it right.

So off to Lisbon you did go,
And shared your life with George and Co,
And through your talent you spread your work,
Not sure of its amazing worth.

Left behind along the streets and bars,
Where people meet and people laugh,
A legacy that will last for ever,
Which all can see and all will treasure.

We could never have known where we would be,
When I was one and you where three.

Sarah xxxxxx

Text exchange between Mick (Michael) and his sister Sarah on the death of David Bowie

Lol no not sure bout Ian but can remember mum shouting out TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN!! For years not that you ever did and how you got away with painting all the furniture black I’ll never know was that inspired by BOWIE. I remember being honoured at being invited into your bedroom to view a painting of Bowie that you had copied beautifully from a very tiny portrait I think it was the man who fell to earth. Funny what you remember. Bowie may have gone but he will never die like Elvis Presley fans will still keep alive he made his mark on the world and that will never be forgotten X s

Thank you Sarah. I don’t know how I managed a black bedroom either. Actually it was horrible but at the time I Thought it was what I wanted. Anyway time for bed drank too much wine having a tribute night. Take care x

Family memories from Alan Bateman, older brother

I didn’t expect to be writing this, as his older brother.  If life had worked out to the normal plan, he should have been writing one about me shouldn’t he? There is a lot to say but I will pick out just a few memories that keep coming up as I, like I many of you, keep going over and over question of why and what happened?

 Mick to his friends, Michael to his family. We asked if he preferred we call him Mick but he said no, he liked it this way.

 At the time of writing, we still don’t know the answers to so many questions. Even with the help of the British Embassy, it seems the Portuguese authorities are not to be rushed and will only tell us when they want to and goodness knows when that will be. 

I’m going to go in reverse order for my memories

Funeral days in Portugal

The shock was something I can’t really describe, from the day we found out to the traumatic day of the funeral. 

My sister Sarah and I cannot ever thank his friends in Portugal enough for the help and support they gave us. Gail and Miles for our accommodation and then hosting us in their fabulous hotel grounds after the funeral.  With all his creative work around us it was such an appropriate setting, if somewhat poignant. It should have been him proudly showing me all this. If you haven’t seen the pictures start at the hotel bar they have so thoughtfully renamed in his memory Micks Bar then look at the gallery. Virtually every ornate metal object you see from table legs to glass racks, the glass fronted wine cellar, BBQs and garden features are all things that Michael created.

Every hurdle the authorities could put in our way seemed to be in play and so many of his friends pulled together to help us make progress and resolve the challenges.  Jorge sorted the funeral, in spite of the obstacles put in the way, his friends from the studio and workshop were a great help. Pedro helped us with the problems generated by an unscrupulous landlord and showed us some more of Michael’s creations in the city. 

So much of his work will be in the public eye in and around d the city, I’m very proud of him.

Too long in the pub

Beginning with the last time I spent with my brother.  We met just a couple of weeks before he died, It’s the most time we spent together since covid messed everyone up.

The picture from inside the pub was a previous visit, from one of those rare times when all his immediate family were together. Like many families we are a bit spread around the world now.

Michael had come to spend a week with Mum and Dad. They are unfortunately in much poorer health than in this picture and he was staying with them in the sheltered accommodation they now live in. There is a small spare room, and he really had some eye-opening moments whist staying there.  Living in a care home for a while with parents that need around the clock attention was so different than pre-covid when he used to stay in their bungalow. Sadly, their decline has been fast.

My wife Sue and I met him in the town at a coffee shop (one with internet as there was none in the care home). Sue will tell her own memories, as she used to spend a good bit of time with Michael when I was pub working in the evenings. I’d often call into her flat after work to find them both sitting cross legged on the floor in deep debate on numerous topics. They would often “put the world to rights” in her little bedsit.

Back to the tale. We headed off to this pub (his favourite in Felixstowe) for a quick beer, which turned into more beer and lunch, as these things do!  Catching up took some time (covid again) and we had lots of laughs. If id known what was going to happen, I’m sure our chat would have been different as so much was about the future now covid was gone.  He hoped to be spending more time in the UK as he had some potential work here and now that Covid was passed I expected to visit Portugal again.  I spoke to him the next day and he told me how he had got “told off” when he got back as they wondered where he had got to.  As I say, one coffee then went to beers and lunch and all of a sudden it was time for their tea.  He laughingly said it was like being a child living at home again and being late home.

Finding our old holiday home

I showed this picture when we spent the afternoon in the hotel grounds in Portugal. It was a crazy few days with lots of memories and old photos visited.  And it was all Michael’s idea….which went something like this.  “Do you remember where we used to go on holiday, it can’t be far from here, lets go and find it”. There was a days planning, consulting old photo albums much google map work with that little orange man being dropped on so many streets with a cry of “this is it”, only for it never to be quite how the memory saw things.  But much had changed in all these years so the only thing to do was drive there and get on foot.  Mum was still walking a little then but sadly this is probably the last “days outing” she had without a wheelchair. Parkinsons is an evil illness.

Walton-on-the-Naze isn’t how we remember it, its either slowly declined over the years or our childhood eyes were rather heavily rose tinted.  But we did find the house we used to stay in which was a major achievement and the part of the beach we spent so many days on as a family of six. How we ever got all of us and luggage into a Morris Minor was a mystery none of us could work out.  

We did in later years move up to a Ford Anglia but have to say it doesn’t look much bigger for six of us.  I did find a picture of him in the very car we are talking about and that just added to the puzzlement of how we fitted in.

Why are you building the Titanic in your studio?

For a time, I used to work in Lisbon once a year, sometimes more.  When I did, we would meet up either at lunch time or in the evening and always around a meal.  One evening we went to a little back street and shared a huge Seabass. The restaurant was unusual to say the least, plastic tablecloths, plastic covered menus, a really grumpy waiter (who I think was also the chef and owner) but the most fantastic good value food.  And just to complete the rather unusual title, football scarves everywhere.  Many from all around the world.

I said at the time we should come again and I will bring a Watford scarf, but sadly never did. Who knew we would run out of time.

The other favourite, at lunchtime, was the indoor market that was now a food hall.  I took his advice on something local, not always successfully, but it was an ideal place midway between his (original) Studio and the metro Station I came in on, especially if we were both working that day and only had an hour or two.

One particular visit when we weren’t pushed for time I went back to Michael’s Studio. To be honest it looked like a World War two part of town that had just been bombed.  This was just before the whole street was about to be demolished and he was going to move over the river, but it somehow added to the atmosphere of creativity.  Producing art from a place that could collapse any moment, had that phoenix kind of feeling I guess.

He was effectively trying to make the inside of a restaurant look and feel like the insides of a ship.  I just called it the titanic.  It was so very clever and painstakingly slow.  He was taking huge sheets of steel, spot welding hundreds of steel buttons (the rivets) then ageing the whole piece with an acid (to make it look rusty) then layers of lacquer to ensure nothing came off when you rubbed against it.  There were walls, doors, bar fronts.  So much precision and attention to detail making the final effect an amazing piece of functional art.

Mum’s  80^th birthday

Wherever Michael was living, and whatever he was up to, he tried his best to make it back to significant events. His dry sense humour went down very well with Mum’s friends and the speech he made was great.

That was eight years ago and sadly Mum and Dad are both not in good health now, but, with the exception of Covid he came back to stay as often as he could at their bungalow and more recently the sheltered housing flat they now live in

The tour guide

Michael loved living in London and was proud to show people around. When my brother in law, Dean came to visit from Australia, we all met up for a London day.  

Aside from the family connexions they were both good friends from late teenage years. Their favourite event was a trip to London from Hemel Hempstead, where we all lived, to see some new obscure (but cheap) band. Sleeping on Euston station waiting for the “milk train” first thing in the morning was normally how the trip concluded.

Brussel sprouts

Michael was very clear about what you eat at Christmas.  I’m sorry to tell our Portuguese friends, but in his opinion the traditional squid and salted fish wasn’t it.  Michael took part in a number of Christmas dinners at our house, always checking that there would be Brussel Sprouts and all the trimmings before he booked his tickets. 

We are fortunate to have a good size dining table, so it was often 20 or more of us that sat down for dinner on Christmas day. In more recent years (except Covid of course) we had small grandchildren there as well.  Two things fascinated them about my brother, doesn’t he look like Father Christmas (as his hair and beard went grey) and why does he go to sleep in the middle of the day.  And that was both before and after living in Portugal.  He was partial to a nap after lunch. Sadly I can’t find a picture of us all together at Christmas, but will keep searching and checking with others who had camera phones there.

From the cine archives

We have some very old cine films from our grandfather, and I have been trying to extract a few clips. However I wanted to get some memories posted so will pause here and just leave a few of the freeze frames as teasers for more stories which will follow soon I hope. As you can image, every one has a tale.