“I raised all five of you, and you won’t even feed one father?”
A dramatic tale from the depths of rural Yorkshire
“Walter, get up! It’s long past morning—time for work!” Valerie prodded her husband, clutching a burnt frying pan in one hand and, in the other, the frail hope that he was only joking.
“I won’t. Leave me alone, Val. Enough. I’m not going back to the factory,” Walter muttered, eyes still shut, rolling away from her toward the wall.
At first, Valerie laughed—he was just adjusting after the holiday, slow to shake off the rest.
“Oh, come off it, talk sense! We’ve celebrated Emily’s wedding, had our break. Now it’s back to the grind. There’s work to be done!”
“I mean it. It’s done. I quit. Handed in my notice before the holiday. Yesterday was my last shift.”
“Walter, have you lost your mind?! Where will you find work like that again? You’ve got two years left till pension! Just hold on!” Val paled, nearly dropping the pan.
“I can’t do it anymore. No strength left. I’m finished. We raised five children. Three sons, two daughters. Educated them all, set them all up. Got them on their feet. And me? I just want to rest now. My job’s done.”
“You’ve got no sense if you think you’ll just sit on the kids’ necks,” she hissed, voice thick with hurt. “Who’s going to feed you? My pension’s a pittance. So you’ve decided they’ll keep you, then?”
“Of course. They’re my own flesh and blood. Five of them! Surely one father won’t go hungry?”
“You’ve lost your marbles, you old fool!” Valerie’s temper flared. “The kids have their own burdens. Mortgages, grandchildren in school. And you—! Bloody freeloader!” She seized his sleeve and yanked.
He shoved her off—hard—and she stumbled back, knocking into the wardrobe. “Keep off me. Don’t touch me. It’s decided.”
Tears burned in Valerie’s eyes. She knew her husband: once his mind was made, there was no turning back. She snatched her shawl, rushed next door to Aunt Mabel, the wise old woman even the constables turned to for advice.
“Oh, Aunt Mabel, it’s a disaster! Walter’s gone mad! Quit his job, says he can’t work another day. What do I do? How do I knock sense into him?”
“Why’s all this fuss? The man’s worn out. Raised five souls—that’s no walk in the park. He’s done himself in, plain as day. Let him rest. Treat him kindly.”
“Oh, aye, I’ll show him kindness! The kids’ll come round, and we’ll give him a right holiday!” she spat, eyes glinting with spite.
A week later, the whole family gathered. Valerie called them all, piled the table high so no one left hungry. They laughed, embraced, grandchildren charging about the yard. But after supper, plates cleared, an uneasy silence settled.
“Dad,” Thomas, the eldest, finally spoke, “is it true you quit?”
“Aye, son. I’m done. No more in me.”
“Come off it, Dad,” cut in Edward, the middle son. “Two years left. Push through. Christ, it doesn’t add up!”
“My mind’s made. Forty years I’ve worked. Pension’ll keep me. And you—there’s five of you. You’ll feed your old man, I’ve no doubt.”
Behind him, Valerie smirked. The children shifted. Thomas cleared his throat.
“Well… we’ve just taken on a loan for the car. It’s tight.”
“And we’ve got Lucy in music school, tutors to pay. Money’s vanishing, you know how it is,” Edward’s wife added. Edward stayed quiet.
“I’ve… started on the house. Got to finish by winter, then sell up. Can’t stretch further,” sighed George, the youngest.
The daughters spoke over each other—one with furniture on installments, the other with her husband on contract work, not seeing wages for months. Valerie rose like a general before battle.
“Well, Walter, see? Everyone’s stretched thin. And you—just another burden. No shame in you, eh? Looking to take, not give. Tomorrow, first light—you find work. Don’t come home without a job offer. Understood?”
Walter stood. Silent. He looked at his children. At his wife.
“I raised all five of you… and you won’t even feed one father,” he said hollowly and walked to the bedroom.
At dawn, he went to find work. Hired. Half the pay, but a job. Val was satisfied—she’d “fixed” him. Two days later, he didn’t come home.
Late that night, a knock. The hospital called. Walter was dead. Massive heart attack. Collapsed at work. Didn’t make it to A&E. Died in the ambulance.
Now Valerie lives alone. The pension’s pennies. The children visit rarely. Mostly the daughters. The sons call on holidays.
And in her memory, Walter’s last words echo, over and over:
“I raised all five of you… and you won’t even feed one father…”
