Good day my good friend.

I’m getting tired of doing Public Service Announcements if I am honest. But just a warning that today’s newsletter, and the one I have written for Friday, deal with some sombre topics where transport gets a mention. If you would rather not read about this kind of thing, I understand, just give these newsletters a miss. I am hoping to resume normal service again next week.

Mobility Camp is back, and the number one transport unconference is heading to York on Friday 20th September. Book your tickets now! 🎫

I have co-authored a book on Mobility-as-a-Service, which is a comprehensive guide on this important new transport service. It is available from the Institution of Engineering and Technology and now Amazon. 📕

😢 Goodbye, Dad

People talk a lot about who their heroes are when it comes to their chosen profession, and often they are fellow professionals in that field. I can name the likes of Jan Gehl, and Jane Jacobs among mine. But another who shaped how I saw transport was someone who was decidedly not a transport expert. My dad, Peter Gleave.

I should have guessed this when dad was there for all of my transport firsts. When I was barely 5 years old, my dad would ride alongside me with my chopper as I was slowly learning to cycle in the lane at the back of our house. As I grew in confidence, he would ride beside me on the cycle track along the old railway line between Barnstaple and Braunton, now part of the Tarka Trail. As a reward for getting so far “for a kid” we would have ice cream at Heanton Court near Chivenor, as well as a bounce on the bouncy castle. Only once did dad make the mistake of serving me ice cream before I got on on the bouncy castle.

He was also there on my first forays into public transport. To get to the first professional football match that we went to together, between Exeter City and Crewe Alexandra in 1990 at St James’ Park, I remember us boarding a rickety, loud train from Barnstaple to just outside the stadium. From my admittedly patchy memory of that occasion, I think it was a Pacer train. Regardless, my dad, who had a bit of the gift of the gab about him, convinced the driver to allow me to sit in the drivers seat for a few seconds while the train was sat at Eggesford for 5 minutes.

Dad also had a habit of doing this on flights. In a time before 9/11, you could ask to go and see the pilots in the cockpit, and my dad made sure to do this on every single flight we went on. On one occasion on a British Airways flight to Orlando, I got to sit in the seat of the flight engineer, and sat there with amazement at all of the dials and buttons in front of me. Meanwhile, the flight engineer apparently stood there with a rather concerned look. I would if I were replaced by a 13 year old boy.

If any of you are thinking for a second that my dad was a sustainable travel enthusiast, nothing could be further from the truth. He drove everywhere (kind of had to, being the regional salesman for the South West of England for Britvic for 15 years), and said to me once that so long as he can drive he does not see the point of getting a bike. He wasn’t exactly Jeremy Clarkson – though he did read all of his books and loved Top Gear – but he was hardly pro-sustainable transport either.

In later years, his attitudes towards such travel softened somewhat. In fact, when we spoke over the phone barely a month ago, he admitted that whenever he went to London he would take the train as “its just much easier that way.” I think that deep down, we never really understand our parents at all due to the nature of the relationship that we have with them. Especially when they change their minds on things.

Regardless of our differences on this, without him, I would not be the man that I am today. He was someone who preferred to be quietly confident and effective, as opposed to being loud and brash. I have never seen anyone in my life work as hard as he did – not to the point where he was working all hours and we didn’t see him, but when he got down to work he was laser-focussed on it. Something my wife points out is a trait in me – sometimes in compliment, and other times in complaint.

He also took no prisoner when it came to treating people unfairly, whether it resulted from action or discrimination. Him remonstrating at a 10 year old boy who said a racist remark to another boy during a football match was a particular highlight from my brief career in youth football. He always did what he could to make everyone feel a part of what was going on.

Last week, however, his health finally caught up with him. He had a stroke back in May, and in the 3 months after a stroke those victims are around 15 times more likely than other people to have another. And so, the week before last, that came to pass. He was air-lifted to Derriford Hospital in Plymouth, but sadly there was nothing anyone could do. He passed peacefully in his sleep, having just reach 75. A good innings in his favourite sport, cricket.

So, with this I say to you, dad: goodbye, and thank you for everything. Me, Heather, Becky, Emma, Jodie, Tina, Debbie, Gemma, Karen and all 13 of your grand children will all miss you dearly, and think of you often. Make sure that mum is well, and I will see you in the next life.

ℹ Be Stroke Aware

Sadly, dad eventually succumbed to a stroke. But it is worthwhile remembering that he did have one in May, and thanks to the quick actions of my step-mum Heather (a trained nurse), we got an extra few months with him.

It is worthwhile familiarising yourself with the FAST test, that could save the life of a loved one should they experience it. Every second counts when a stroke happens, and what you do in those seconds can save someone’s life. So be that person who gives someone extra time with their loved ones.