He was always there, my father, br constant as gravity. br br And photogenic too, br with scrubbed square hands br and a pugnacious Roman profile. br He looked just like Henry XIII. br br His surgery was his kingdom br and he ruled over his patients br with firm benevolence br and a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. br br As children we didn't see much of him br - mum made sure of that - br but he was always there, br dependable as the Herald Sun. br br He adored mum with fierce, br uncomplicated tenderness br and they fought long and hard br (mostly about me) . br br He used to stamp his feet br (literally) over trivial things, br yet when the final diagnosis came, br he took it in his stride. br br Latterly he grew thin and grey br and lost his colonel's moustache, br but he always enjoyed his glass of red br and watched the Channel 2 news every night. br br My last picture of him br was a pair of pretty feet br at the end of a hospital bed...