LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

In a poignant tribute ahead of Father's Day tomorrow, writer VERONICA HENRY ponders the unique bond between children and parents, and welcomes the fact she's inherited the solid, no-nonsense qualities of her beloved late Dad

- Veronica Henry

THE LAST Father's Day present I bought my dad was a not-very-imaginative mug. But I liked it, because it was big and sturdy and had a certain presence just like him and it was Pembellished with a big blue "M" for "Miles"; his name, from the Latin word for soldier, which he was, both literally and metaphorically.

After he died, more than seven years ago, I swiped it from the shelf in our family kitchen and took it home to drink my morning tea from. A kind of comfort blanket.

I think about him every day, as everyone who's lost a parent probably does.

But the more I think about him, the more I realise I am becoming him.

It rather pleases me, for I can't think of a better legacy than taking on the qualities of someone you loved dearly, to pass on, so they are not forgotten.

The saying is like-mother, like-daughter, but my lovely Mama is elegant and serene and green-fingered. None of those adjectives could be applied to me.

I'm like my dad, sturdy (ahem!), doughty and with a strong right hand for pouring. At his funeral, I met an old army friend of his for the first time. He did a slight double-take and said, "Well, there's Miles living on, right there." And I felt proud, even though it might not be every woman's dream to be compared to a slightly overweight ex-Royal Engineer with flyaway hair and bushy eyebrows. It's the spirit of him I carry in me, and I have his twinkle in my eye.

He was the sort of man you'd want to be godfather to your firstborn, or executor of your will, or to give you a character reference. He was meticulous and reliable and calm. So very calm. If ever there was a drama or a crisis, I'd call him and he'd say "Ach, it'll be all right." I say that now, to my boys, when they come to me with their woes.