Obituary: JG Ballard
The novelist, who died of prostate cancer on 19 April aged 78, is remembered by his daughter, whom he raised as a single parent
In 2009 the world lost one of its most original and brilliant authors, JG Ballard. But my siblings and I lost our father, our dearest Daddy. To the world he was this unique writer, with a huge international following, but to us he was simply a father, and the best you could ever hope for.
He had raised three of us single-handedly following my mother's premature death when we were five, seven and nine. It was the 60s, when single fathers didn't do that sort of thing. Most of his friends were sceptical. But he did raise us, as father, mother and much more besides. Fortunately for him, and for us, his work as a writer meant he could work from home and juggle writing with the care of us. So in between school runs, ironing school ties and cooking sausages and mashed potato, he wrote his novels and short stories – one minute conjuring up wild dystopias, the next watching Blue Peter.
It was a very liberating childhood – we were allowed to make many of the decisions, and my father let us run with our passions and our imaginations. There weren't many rules, except get homework done, eat well, stay warm, and go to bed at a decent time. The watching of television was not rationed (unlike most of my friends) and was welcomed as an interesting vehicle of information and popular culture. So in the school holidays I became a connoisseur of daytime TV. My father was an avid TV watcher, too, and we gathered round the set together in the evenings, after supper and homework, to watch a whole mass of TV, from US crime dramas like Hawaii Five-O to comedies like Steptoe and Son, Dad's Army, Monty Python. My father retained a lifelong passion for US crime dramas – he was a big fan of CSI. Meanwhile, I retained my passion for television and went on to make it my career.
My father wrote in his memoir, Miracles of Life, a book he dedicated to us: "The years I spent as the parent of my young children were the richest and happiest I have ever known."
Well, for us those years were supremely happy and laid the foundations for us to lead happy lives as adults. When we left for university it created a huge vacuum for my father, and one that was never really filled, but he took enormous pride in seeing us go into the world to forge successful careers and futures. Indeed, he was a devoted and adoring grandfather, often visiting my children, Pandora and Alice, and those of my sister Fay – Matthew and Isabella. By now he knew only too well how the minds of young children work and would always come laden with sweets. He even brought treats for our golden retriever – usually a large pork pie, which was demolished on the spot in one gulp.
When my husband died unexpectedly and suddenly five years ago, leaving me with two small children (in the same way my father had been left), I knew that with Daddy as my inspiration I could summon the courage to forge on alone and to give my children a happy and stable upbringing despite their tragic loss. Like a closely knit team we would make it together, just as he had done with me, my sister and my brother.
My father once said to me that seeing his grandchildren happily growing up was a huge satisfaction to him – he felt that his work was done. I like to think of him rather like Prospero – he had ruled over his kingdom with great benevolence and kindly paternalism, and had created the most brilliant art with his magic. But now that his work was done, it was time to break his staff and drown his magic book. His mission completed, it was time for him to leave his magic kingdom.
Dear Daddy, to the world you are JG Ballard, celebrated and legendary author. But to us, your children, you are simply our own very dearest father, our best friend and our inspiration. We miss you so much.
Source: Guardian.com