John Bacon
Dad grew up in Hendon and as a young teenager, worked part-time for a glazing company. His job? To throw stones through random people’s windows… shortly followed, of course, by the glazier offering very convenient replacement services. An early introduction to sales and marketing, you might say.
Dad didn’t go to university, but instead immersed himself in work. At the very start of the computer revolution, he built a successful business selling printer ribbons and listing paper. I remember when his company had a computer that filled an entire room, with 5MB hard disks the size of car wheels. I loved playing in his warehouse, but I loved that computer room even more. Without either of us realising it at the time, that room quietly shaped my own career path and instilled in me a lifelong love of computing.
From computers to becoming a major chocolate importer, he could sell anything to anyone, whether they needed it or not
He was related to Max Bacon, a successful famous drummer and comedian of the 1930s and 40s. Clearly, those entertainment genes skipped a generation, and came straight to me instead. Dad was an entrepreneur, focused on business. From computers to becoming a major chocolate importer, he could sell anything to anyone, whether they needed it or not.
When Alyson was born, Dad was apparently delighted. He thought girls would be easy. Little did he know. He was far more nervous about having a son, largely because he had absolutely no interest in sport and assumed that a father-son relationship required at least a passing knowledge of football. So any possibility of me growing up sports-obsessed was gently but firmly eliminated from an early age. To this day, I can confidently say he did not once shout at a television during a match!
Bnei K’doshim v’Nitbachim — Sons of the Holy and the Martyrs
About twenty years ago, Dad decided to trace the origin of our surname, Bacon. He traced it back to late 18th century Galicia in Poland, to a time of pogroms. Some pretended to convert, some were killed. Later, when families were required to adopt surnames, ours created a Hebrew acronym: Bnei K’doshim v’Nitbachim — “Sons of the Holy and the Martyrs.” In memory of those that had died. The acronym in Hebrew formed BAKON and somewhere, at a border crossing into England, BAKON became BACON — and here we are. Quite possibly the most kosher bacon you’ll ever encounter.
Dad didn’t just complain, he elevated it to an art form. He liked you to know when he wasn’t happy, and even when you resolved the issue, he would expertly identify a secondary concern. Some complaints were entirely valid. Others were… ambitious.
For example, he once insisted his carer had pulled far too hard helping him into a sweater, completely overlooking the strong possibility that the sweater had shrunk. Or perhaps, more plausibly, he had put on a few pounds.
And yet, sometimes his complaints achieved remarkable results. On one trip to Eilat, he accidentally booked us into a truly dreadful hotel. After a sustained and highly committed campaign of dissatisfaction, he somehow secured for us the manager’s penthouse suite in an entirely different hotel. It was, frankly, very impressive.
My youngest daughter, his lovely granddaughter Adiella, recently observed that if the Winter Olympics introduced a category for Professional Complaining, Dad would undoubtedly take Gold for Great Britain. And I suspect if he only got silver, he would have lodged a formal protest.
many successes in his life, and he achieved them through determination, resilience, and sheer force of will
What he really taught us was not how to complain, though he did provide a masterclass, but how to not settle. To stand up for ourselves. To argue for our rights. To speak our minds. To expect what we are due and not quietly accept anything less.
These past few months been a difficult period. Dad died exactly three months to the day after my stepfather, George. It feels like a generational shift, the quiet but unmistakable passing of the baton. Sometimes you only realise how much someone shaped the background of your life when that background suddenly changes.
Dad had many successes in his life, and he achieved them through determination, resilience, and sheer force of will. Like all of us, he wasn’t perfect, but even those moments became lessons. What he gave me was perspective; a clear example of what to strive for, and the wisdom to grow stronger with each experience. That, in itself, is a lasting and valuable legacy. And for that, and for him, I am grateful.
Our dad would always have the last word and in this case, it would be to Toria who spent thousands of hours over the past four years looking after him. He regularly expressed how grateful he was for all you did for him and he loved you dearly.