In despair at the prospect of a bored teenager at home for another long summer my mother took, what she must have known would be a risk and sent me off to Low Hall under the supervision of "Wicked Uncle Tom".   This was the 80s and I was about 14; she was right to be worried.

It was like spending time with a cross between a big brother and a father who would actually talk to you. There were guns, parties, off road driving, plenty of trips to the Oak/boozy barbecues and occasionally some work. I spent a few summers this way.

There was no advice on schooling, examinations or my failure to look seriously at my future. I can hear some of you saying that it shows but no wonder I loved it there. Most conversation involved a kind of good natured hectoring or piss take and I took delight in it.  I got a few bollockings but they were soon forgotten and mostly there were no reprisals. However, he did put me in the grain bin with just a shovel for three days straight as punishment for causing him to crash the tractor (it was his fault!). Not only was it very funny but it also illustrates his approach rather well I think. 

Here's what happened .. earlier in the day he had managed to shake me off the back of the drill with some creative driving and I thought it was time for a bit of pay back. Tommy was driving the tractor again and this time I was riding in the trailer behind, which had just been emptied of manure. I started throwing it at him .. just enough to be annoying but not enough to make him suspect. I must have had a good five minutes of fun before he realised. When he did he said some rather unkind things and started to scrabble about on the floor of the tractor for something heavy to throw back at me, this involved not looking where he was going and taking both hands off the wheel.  Having a mind of its own (and now pilotless), the tractor lurched off the track straight into a telegraph pole which in cartoon style slow motion, gently made its way to earth.  

I got punished. BT got a call from an irate farmer, demanding they fix their defective pole (you can picture it .. lucky not be sued, wasting my time etc.) and Tom mended the very wonky tractor wheel with a huge hammer.

I'd often pop in on leave from the Army to see Tom, usually with my best friend Jake Olds who Tom already knew (there's probably a story there too, so I've put him on copy).  The only time we weren't welcome at Low Hall was when the car was parked at the back and the door was locked. This was a signal that Tom was entertaining .. any attempt to get in would be met with roaring from an upstairs window.

Tom was generous, funny, colourful and great fun to be with. I'll miss him.