“Alright, imagine this…
‘*I raised all five of you, and you lot can’t even feed one father.*’
A heartbreaking story from a sleepy village in Yorkshire.
‘*Victor, get up—it’s well past morning, time for work!*’ His wife, Evelyn, nudged him with one hand gripping a burnt frying pan and the other clutching onto the faint hope he was just having her on.
‘*Not happening. Leave me be, Ev. I’m done. Not setting foot in that factory again.*’ Victor didn’t even open his eyes—just rolled over to face the wall.
Evelyn laughed at first—figured he was just dragging his feet after their daughter Charlotte’s wedding.
‘*Oh, come off it! We had our fun, now back to the grind. There’s loads to do!*’
‘*Dead serious. Finished. Quit. Handed in my notice before the holiday. Yesterday was my last shift.*’
‘*Have you lost the plot?! Where d’you think you’ll find work like that again? You’ve got two years till pension! Tough it out!*’ She went pale, nearly dropping the pan.
‘*Can’t do it anymore. No strength left. We raised five kids—three sons, two daughters. Got ’em all educated, settled, on their feet. And me? I just want to rest now. Done my bit.*’
‘*You’d be daft to think the kids’ll carry you now,*’ Evelyn hissed. ‘*Who’s going to feed you? My pension’s peanuts. So you reckon they’ll keep you?*’
‘*Course. They’re not strangers, are they? Five of ’em! D’you think they’d let their old man starve?*’
‘*You’ve lost it, you old codger!*’ Evelyn snapped. ‘*The kids have their own troubles—mortgages, grandkids in school. And here you are, playing the scrounger!*’ She grabbed his sleeve and yanked.
He shoved her off—hard—and she smacked into the wardrobe.
‘*Back off. It’s settled.*’
Tears pricked Evelyn’s eyes. She knew once Victor dug his heels in, that was it. She whipped on her cardigan and bolted next door to Auntie Marge, the village wise woman—even the bobbies went to her for advice.
‘*Oh, Auntie Marge, it’s a right mess! Victor’s gone barmy—quit his job, says he’s done working. How do I talk sense into him?*’
‘*Why the fuss? Man’s knackered. Raised five—not exactly a walk in the park. Let him rest. Be kind.*’
‘*Kind?! I’ll show him “kind” when the kids come round—we’ll give him a proper “holiday.”*’ Her eyes flashed.
A week later, the whole family was gathered. Evelyn had called them all, laid out a proper spread so no one left hungry. Laughing, hugging, grandkids tearing about the garden. But after supper, when the plates were cleared—silence.
‘*Dad,*’ the eldest, Oliver, finally spoke. ‘*Is it true? You quit?*’
‘*Aye, son. Had enough.*’
‘*But Dad,*’ piped up Thomas, the middle one. ‘*Two more years. Push through. This doesn’t add up.*’
‘*Made up my mind. Forty years on the books. Pension’ll cover me. And you five—sure you can spare a bite for your old man?*’
Evelyn smirked behind him. The kids shifted. Oliver coughed.
‘*Well… we’ve just got a loan for the car. Bit tight.*’
‘*And our Lily’s at music school, tutors—money’s flying out,*’ Thomas’s wife added. He stayed quiet.
‘*I’ve got the house renovation,*’ muttered James, the youngest. ‘*Need it done by winter before we sell. Can’t stretch further.*’
The daughters jumped in—one with furniture on finance, the other with her husband on contract work, money tight for months. Evelyn stood, like a general rallying troops.
‘*See, Victor? Everyone’s stretched. And you—dead weight. No shame? Dragging from them, not helping. Tomorrow—job hunting. No work note, no coming home. Clear?*’
Victor stood. Silent. Looked at his kids. At his wife.
‘*Raised five of you… and you can’t feed one father.*’ His voice cracked. He walked out.
Next morning, he went job hunting. Got hired. Half the wage, but still work. Evelyn was chuffed—*fixed him*. Two days later, he didn’t come home.
Late that night, a knock. The hospital rang—Victor was gone. Massive heart attack. Collapsed at work. Didn’t make it to A&E. Died in the ambulance.
Now Evelyn’s alone. Pension’s pennies. Kids visit rarely—mostly the daughters. Sons call on holidays.
And in her head, over and over—Victor’s last words:
‘*Raised five of you… and you can’t feed one father.*'”
