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Sunday, 5 December 2021

A life well lived 

Daniel Furey, wisecrack, snazzy dresser, Paralympian and caring fundraiser died on Saturday 4 December 2021.

Uncle Danny was one of the most inspiring men I have had the pleasure of knowing and loving.

Danny will be missed not only by those who knew him, especially his wife Aunty Liz, but also by those whose lives are better because of his campaign and fundraising efforts.

A couple of years ago I interviewed Danny for a holiday accommodation resort which was adapted for persons of all abilities in the south of France. (First published on the Domaine Du Sourire Website, 2018).

Be inspired and finally, to honour Danny, write to your MP to work to improve services for persons with different abilities, or at the very least do an unexpected and unsolicited act of kindness for someone. ‘It’s not about doing the right thing; it’s about doing more

 Domaine du Sourire Blog interview 2018

I caught up with Danny Furey, retired Scottish Paralympian. Scottish born Danny competed and won a medal in the 1988 Seoul Olympics and was selected for the Barcelona Paralympics in 1992.   

 

Danny at the Seoul 1988 Olympics


Danny and his wife Liz, photo courtesy 0f Uphill Trust

Impressions on meeting this inspirational man are his wonderful sense of humour, indomitable Christian spirit and genuine humility. Danny has communication challenges, but this does not inhibit him being great company, his great-nephew Daniel said of him “he is the type of guy you could sit and listen to for hours! He has filled his life with so many adventures, the stories never run dry.  You cannot walk away untouched by this man whose smile is infectious and whose heart almost explodes with a care for others.


The infamous Danny smile, sightseeing after the Olympics at Seoul. photo courtesy of Disability Sports Fife

Danny told me he was born in June 1950 in Dundee, the youngest of three. Danny went on to say:

“I was born with Cerebral Palsy as a result of the rhesus syndrome which then was called the blue baby syndrome. I lived, some didn't. Some are physically impaired, whereas some have mental problems, and yet some have both. I lived at home for the first 5 years then it was suggested that I go to a special school in Edinburgh where I boarded until I was 16 years old getting home for the school holidays, it was tremendous strain on my family especially mum & dad.”

What drew you into wheelchair racing?

“I never thought of entering wheelchair athletics until I was 31/32.  I can't remember exactly what drew me to competitive racing because my first love was football in sports, which was out for me.  Although now they have wheelchair football and wheelchair rugby which, with my competitiveness, would have been a bit dangerous. Had these sports come earlier I might not have been here to tell the tale!”

As Danny has said he began competitive wheelchair racing in the early 1980’s, in the days before special racing chairs or Paralympic Games.

He raced for 10 years, becoming known as one of the world’s finest foot-pushing wheelchair racers of the time before being selected for the Seoul Olympics in 1988 and the Barcelona Paralympic Games in 1992.


Danny wearing his "tartan trews"

 Twenty-nine Scottish athletes were selected for the GB team for the Paralympic Games in 1988. Over four thousand competitors from sixty-one nations took part and for the first time Paralympians accessed the same stadia and were supported by the same officials as the Olympians of 1988. I asked Danny:

What did it feel like to be selected to represent your country at the Seoul Olympics?

“Depends on what you mean by country, I gained a lot from my Scotland selection but didn't fancy the British set up. It was an honour to be selected for GB, but the experience taught me from the organisation of the BPA it didn't really inspire unity among the different disability groups that were represented.” 

Richard Brickley MBE – President Disability Sport Fife told me “I was in Seoul in South Korea in 1988 with Danny. It was his finest hour and the last occasion when foot pushing wheelchair athletes competed at a Paralympic Games. Danny's greatest rivals were Danish, Irish and American. The great Dane, as he was known, was the world champion. Danny was the most likely athlete to defeat him over 200 metres. Danny pushed forward and the Great Dane pushed backwards. The result of the race is irrelevant but my memory of these two amazing athletes at full speed never deviating from their lanes will remain with me forever. The crowd in the packed stadium in Seoul were on their feet. One of the great moments in Para athletics.

In each direction travelling for team GB must have been a gruelling journey for athletes and support staff alike. I asked Danny:

Danny, how did you manage the challenges of travelling to a foreign country?

“Quite well, but there were some of us that suffered a lot of jet lag including me. My body clock was all over the place. I was waking up at 3am thinking it was time to get up and dressed, then having to reverse the whole process. That's just one of the issues I felt personally. Our wheelchairs and the stuff that we needed for training with came about two days after we arrived. I remember we were told not to eat anything like beef burgers because they might be cat or dog, and they told us if a policeman said stop, he would mean it by showing us his gun!”

What Danny hasn’t said is that for many of the team it was a demanding journey of moving and handling in the most confined of spaces. For all the team, Seoul was a steep learning curve. So, I asked Danny if he felt travelling had improved.

Do you think transport and services for people with disabilities has improved?

“Mainland Britain and Northern Ireland could do with some improvement particularly with public transport. It seems that public buildings are catching up, but some structures need access improvement even for some ambulant. I feel those with mental health issues and the visually impaired are most catered for but there is room for improvement here too.”

Danny does not believe in sitting back waiting for others to take action, either. In an unfortunate incident Danny got stuck in a church toilet in 2014. While struggling with his wheelchair he fell and got stuck, waiting 20 minutes before someone came to help.

He told Dundee’s Evening Telegraph in 2014, “I’ve never been one to sit around and wait for others to do things, so I decided to take the matter into my own hands.”

Staging a sponsored wheelchair run around Dundee, he raised more than £1,000 to hire an architect to draw up plans for new loos. Despite dreadful weather on the day - pouring rain with thunder and lightning – unwavering, Danny completed his wheelchair marathon. He said he was “determined to do it regardless.”

What would be the top thing you would like to see improved in services for disability?

“More training in the caring side and more awareness what caring for people with disabilities requires, not treating everyone with the same brush remembering that disability comes with many varied and different caring needs.”

Danny believes that it’s not just able-bodied people who need to work to improve services, he went on to say:

“Disabled people need to learn that sometimes things will still be out of reach and able-bodied people are not at their beck & call.”

What are your most prominent challenges and how do you overcome them?

“Accepting the way that I need more support, sometimes it seems as if everything is being stripped away but I guess that's goes for all people whether they're disabled or not. This is where my faith makes me able to cope, as a Christian I find strength in knowing that Jesus is always with me and no matter what comes up I find peace when I lean on Him. Many times, in the hurly burly of life I don't think that God hears me but in my heart of hearts I know that He's just a prayer away. Someday, I know that I will know what my life has been all about.”

Having begun fundraising for new loos for his church in 2014, Danny has gone on to raise funds for other charities, one being the Uphill Trust a small Scottish charity founded in January 2015 to support the development of Uphill Junior School, located in Uganda. I asked Danny,

I hear you still do some wheelchair racing, why is it important to you to do these charity races?

“Children. Especially children who don't have much of a chance in life. In places like Uganda they have less of a chance because their dreams have been shattered before they dream them.”

He went on to correct me,

 “I don't race any more I just do-little marathons around Dundee accompanied by my wife Liz who has started doing them as well.”

These “little marathons” are at least 10K!

completing a marathon! photo courtesy Uphill Trust



All done, still smiling after completing a 10K marathon. photo courtesy Uphill Trust




How fast is Danny going? Liz can't keep up,,, Photo courtesy Uphill Trust

What keeps you motivated?

“It’s nothing to do with doing the right thing, it’s more that more needs to happen.”

He continued:

“And knowing that no matter what comes up, no matter what's been taken away, I will always have Jesus. Friends mean a lot, but I'd better put your Auntie, who just happens to be my wife Elizabeth, and he continued, laughing, as he said “she bullies me continually (that's not true, - well not all the time!)”

Danny Furey, an amazing gentleman whose friendliness is evident to all who meet him; an outstanding sportsman and a legend in disability sport whose contribution to Dundee, Scotland and Great Britain is significant. It hasn’t stopped there, of course, his impact is reaching across the world to Uganda and elsewhere. Richard Brickley told me this little snippet, which sums up Uncle Danny so well (for he is my uncle!) so well “Danny will also be remembered as one of the first high performance Para athletes to compete in very fetching coloured tights. Now everybody does. A real trailblazer in so many ways.”

Thank you Danny for taking the time to let our readers have a little window into your life and to be inspired by you.

                                         --------------------------------


Danny’s work here is done. He received the call from his Saviour with that one time offer he could not refuse. He will not be returning from that appointment, but it does have a huge benefits package, not just a reunion with family and friends he has not seen in a long time but a crown and commendation “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23)

 Amanda Mair

5 December 2021

Tuesday, 13 October 2020

The end of Love

 

The End of Love

 

Where did the feeling go?

Landed a hefty blow

Sharp pain

Flash of Light

Dark as night

Numb

 

Where did the feeling go?

Wedded bliss all aglow

Pummelled Love

Bruised Oppression

Dreams Undone

Numb

Wednesday, 1 January 2020

Somewhere

Sometimes in the midst of a situation leaving seems impossible for whatever reasons. There is no judgement here. But most of all stay safe!

Peace can be found in dreams
A world of fancy delusion
A sanctum of seclusion
Escape there from the screams
Away from
Love that turned sour
Eyes that glower
Mouth that venom spits


Lips that deceive with a kiss. 
Serenity in a corner of my mind
A world I can create
Love is there not hate
A place to be tender, kind
Away from
Love that oppresses
A mind that possesses
Teeth that flesh, tear and gash
Hands that bones, break and smash.

Solitude in the hearts recess
Fantasy is the key
To this sanctuary
This ethereal wonderland of peace
For now
This is it
This is my quiet place
This is where I can be who I am

One day this will be my reality.



There is help out there, please take that step. YOU are WORTH it. 

Amanda Mair

Words are subject to copyright no part or the whole should be used without permission of the author. AM  

Who was that man?


A few years ago working in the city centre of Belfast I often passed a homeless person sleeping in a doorway. It prompted to me write this poem.


Who was that man I passed today?
Slumped in an abandoned doorway
Alone, unkempt, dirty even.
Alcohol, urine, blood and death reeked to heaven.
Who was that man I passed today?
A down and out or tramp?
A drunk, a loser, a bum?

Was he that father who once played football in the park with his kids?
Or pushed them on the swings?
Did he wipe their tears and runny noses, read them adventure stories?

Was he that husband who once brought home on Fridays red roses for his wife?

Or curled up on the sofa and stroked her soft hair?
Did they talk of their great plans for the future , whisper sweet nothings?

Was he that son a mother once was so proud of on the day he was born?
Or bounced him on her knee and curled him into her breast?
Tucked him in at night, planted butterfly kisses on his ruddy cheek, sang sweet lullabies?

Who was that man I passed today?
Slumped in an abandoned doorway
Alone, unkempt dirty even.
Alcohol, urine, blood and death reeked to heaven.
Who was that man I passed today?
A lover a husband, a father?
A friend, a brother, a son?



Words Subject to copyright. No reproduction in whole or part is permitted without the author's permission.

Amanda Mair







Tuesday, 16 December 2014

some 60 worders

A writing challenge of mine is to write a story in 60 words or less....here are a few attempts. Please feel free to critique any or all....


THE OLDEST TRICK
 
Evelyn didn’t understand why her husband detested Luci, she was such a friend. Well he needn’t know where this evening’s delights came from. Luci had convinced her this was the elixir of life and tonight they would be not only immortal but omniscient.

Emerging from the darkness Luci hissed:

“Tonight , you’ll be with me in Hell.”


 


My Friend -Ricky
 
He had coughed all night long keeping me awake. It sounded like he was choking but I knew he had had nothing to eat that he could choke on. Old age hadn’t crept in it had just leapt in. One day Ricky was fine running around chasing the grandchildren, the next, well…. I cried all the way to and from the vets.







 

SO AFRAID
 
The dark stillness hung in the air and encroached my senses. The flurry of snow became more of a blizzard. Shadows crept and leaped at every turn, my heart raced, I tried to quicken my pace but the icy snow crunched underfoot and I found myself slipping. Slow down, don’t be stupid I told myself. Crunch, footsteps behind. Complete darkness.






TIME TRAVEL

“I don’t want to be in that stupid Nativity” Rhys snuggled beneath the quilt. Waking suddenly a bright light created unrecognisable shadows in his room. What was that smell? A lamb bleated, shadows became people. He dived undercover peeping as a baby cried and angel voices sang:

“Hail, Prince of Glory”

Rhys would never view the Nativity the same again.

 

 

OLD WOUNDS


Elsie sat staring at the man at the adjacent table. He was handsome and charming, the lady facing him was enthralled. Elsie’s heart fluttered, she tingled then involuntarily shivered , raised her hand to the scar running deep down her face.

Flicking back her hair she motioned to them to look at her scar.

“That’s how charming John really is.”

 


Saturday, 29 November 2014

Losing Love

A little autobiographical story.....please feel free to critique.


The day I lost one of the greatest love’s a daughter can ever know is etched in my mind and I have no doubt that although years may pass and fade that day will remain with clarity.
The sun had shone brightly on that day and I, with my 2 children, had spent it at the beach. We played ball games, dug holes -our Alsatian Ricky won the prize for that game, and we buried each other up to our necks in the sand. We cooled off with frequent dips and races in the chilly Atlantic Ocean. I had unwound with a good book and lay back dreamily absorbing the scenery: the beautiful azure blue of the sea as the sky reflected on it. To my right reared the imposing Giant’s Causeway and to my left the picturesque houses along the Portrush to Portstewart coastline rose along the hill and in the distance the rugged coastline of Donegal. It was an idyllic day.
My husband had gone home on the previous Sunday evening after a fraught weekend with us. Relationships were not good. I was to stay in our mobile home with our 2 children and dog for the summer and my husband was to come back next weekend bringing my mother to stay with me.
After dinner on that unspoiled Tuesday my son went into town with his friends and my daughter Kate and I went to the family disco on the caravan site. I left a note on the table to let my son Geoffrey know where we were, knowing he would join us when he returned. The night was going really well and I self-indulgently lounged in the cosy chairs sipping my diet coke with ice and lemon watching kids, full of zest, having a blast with their holiday friends. 

My peace and enjoyment was suddenly shattered when I saw my husband walking towards me. How like him to come all this way to check on me. Anger rose within me.  But before I could argue with him for spoiling such a superb time, what he said to me jolted me and my anger dissipated into fear and panic. Mum had collapsed, she’d had a stroke, was in hospital, all the family were there and Jackie, my oldest sister, was on her way from Scotland. 
 Once packed, although I have no idea what as the following day there was no clean clothes or underwear, we raced away from the caravan park; bombing down the road with sincere urgency. In less than an hour the children and cases had been left at home and I tumbled out of the hospital lift to be met at the door by my aunt Adeline. She tried to prepare me for what to expect but I doubt that there was anything she could have said or done to lessen my shock.
In the lonely yet crowded side ward mum lay in the bed so frail and gaunt, looking as if she had shrunk in only the few days since last I seen her.  Her body heaved, shook and rattled with every laboured, rasping breath. Her hand that so surprisingly gripped mine felt like bone covered only with fine filament of skin. Instinctively I knew her so short life was ebbing to a close, unlike her previous stroke no prayer would restore her to health.
These were to be my final moments with mum, the last chance to say I love you, to say thanks, to say goodbye.


Wednesday, 26 November 2014

A beautiful story....


To Fiona, my sister and friend.

 
A beautiful story...

The story for you began  22 years ago, 26 November 1992. A story as individual as the son you brought into this world. The hours of labour that marked the beginning of something so wonderful it is indescribable. A story no mother can ever be actually prepared for.

 

 

A beautiful story...

when you delighted in first smiles and breathed in the sweet, clean baby smell as something precious; when you listened even while sleeping; when you experienced love like you never knew before. When you're only half a person and the other half lay sleeping in your arms.

  

A beautiful story...

Where tantrums were common, very common; where melt-downs were typical and life felt like it was no longer yours yet it was so complete;  It was a job with exhausting hours, no pay and no holidays. Yet it is animated, magnificent, heart-stopping even when the storm is raging all around. It is confusing yet awesome and inspiring yet it needs much desperate prayer. A story when Ryan hurt you hurt, when you sat all night nursing him until the feverish delirium passed, and you smiled through the tears the first time he went off to school, the first time he told you he loved you.

 
 A beautiful story...

When it all seemed so hard and muddled, when you cried and ached to do what was right for Ryan while trying to hold onto some piece of your self before you reluctantly let him go into the world that seemed to want to destroy and crush his innocence at the first step. You are only half of the story and you were the very best half you could be. You loved him well, you held your hands open and embraced the mess of life that raising a son can be.

 

A beautiful story... 

Began 22 years ago with a son so beautiful beyond description. The real mothering never really ends it comes in seasons and in the ebb and flow of life; from the messy hands, the sleepless nights, to the tear filled conversations over a broken heart, to the ache of unbearable loss, the real loving is endless.

From baby to boyhood to the threshold of manhood you clasped your arms around him, enveloped him in love and prayed you would never have to let go, that your best would not be extinguished by a cold and indifferent world.

It is not over, loves ties can never be truly broken, all hope can never be altogether lost.
 

A beautiful story forever woven together, you and your precious son Ryan.

 

A beautiful story..... 

Ryan John Girvan 26 November 1992 - 1 August 2014