My story starts way back on the 5^th July 1984, a really hot summer’s day, but a day which was to haunt my family forever. Kenneth Hume, my Dad, was an electrician who worked for S.S.E.B (Scottish Power). He served his time with them and was an experienced 29 year old operative. I vaguely remember him being on call or standby a lot of the time and having to go out through the night to deal with faults and issues throughout the area, but on this particular day he was carrying out maintenance at Gartcosh Substation in Lanarkshire which was around 3 miles or so from where we lived. My Dad took the opportunity, as he was working so close to home, to come home and have lunch at my Gran’s and spend some time with myself and my brother Scott.

We had only just celebrated Scott’s 2^nd birthday a few days previously. When it was time for my Dad to go back to work, I remember asking him to give me a lift to my friend’s house just around the corner in his Ford Transit. I was obsessed with his van and in particular his tool chest in the back which had a photograph of a chimpanzee on the lid, I would often ask to go out to the van to see the chimp. These are the sort of things that interested me at 4 years old, I guess.

Dad told me that he couldn’t give me a lift, I can’t quite remember if it was because he was in a hurry to get back or if it was because he wasn’t insured to have me travelling in the van, but in any case, being a child, I threw a tantrum because I wasn’t getting my own way. The words that came out my mouth next are words that I have wished I could take back for 30 years… “I hate you!” I know my Dad would not have taken it to heart and would know that I was just acting like a spoiled brat, but it tears me up that those are the last words I would ever say to him.

Later in the afternoon the sound of sirens could be heard heading towards Gartcosh. I remember years later my Mum saying that she got a really horrible feeling when she heard them. However, not knowing or even thinking at the time that she was to become a widow with two young sons. The sirens were heading for Gartcosh because my Dad had been electrocuted.

I’m not going to go into too much detail about the actual incident, mainly because I still don’t have the full details. I want this article to focus on the how my family was affected in the aftermath. The files relating to the Fatal Accident Inquiry were to be kept with a lawyer, with instruction, for myself and Scott to receive when we were old enough to handle the details contained within them. These files were destroyed without permission and we have never seen them.

Part of the reason I became an electrician was to try and understand how electricity works and maybe understand what caused my Dad’s death. You can imagine how my Mum took the news about my career choice. Initially, she found it quite difficult, but I reassured her that I wasn’t going to be working in the high voltage side of things. My brother is also a spark and I often think about how things could have been very different as Mum used to tell me that my Dad’s dream was to have his own electrical business someday. Maybe Dad would have tried to direct Scott and myself down another career path or would he have supported our career choice to make it a family business? Something we will never know.

I remember Mum being very upset at times after my Dad’s death, I can only assume that the reason she carried on was because of Scott and me. The police asked very personal questions about her marriage, my Dad’s state of mind, if he had been drinking, etc. I know they were only doing their job but the timing wasn’t appropriate. The press were turning up at the house as well and my Gran had to chase them off the doorstep. It was all putting strain on my Mum as she started the grieving process.

I also think about my grandparents, who had already lost a son in a tragic accident. My Dad’s eldest brother William had been killed in a road accident at 13 years old. I really don’t know where they got the strength from to hold it together. I wasn’t at Dad’s funeral as Mum felt I was too young, but everyone always tells me that there was a queue of cars behind the hearse that stretched through all the streets of the estate where we lived. That comforts me to know how much my Dad was loved by family, friends and workmates. I suppose the funerals of young people are always well attended as it is such a shock that a life is cut short prematurely.

Now that I am a parent myself with a daughter Jorja and a son whom we named after my Dad, it really hits home to me all the things that my Dad missed out on as Scott and me grew up. All the advice that we should have got from Dad as well as the telling offs for all the crazy stuff we used to get up to as teenagers. Holidays, family gatherings, birthdays, nights out, being there for us when we had a problem, the list is endless.

I truly am grateful to my Mum for giving us a fantastic upbringing under such tragic circumstances with help from friends and family. I really wish Dad had been here to see his grandchildren, every time either of them do or say something new it makes me think about Dad and all the joy that he has been robbed of, and that Jorja and Kenneth have been robbed of too. I hold every hour I spend with them precious. You never know what is around the corner.

This is the true cost of an industrial accident, not the delay to a project, not the suspension of production, not the cost of a HSE investigation, not the cost of a Fatal Accident Inquiry, not the cost of expensive company lawyers, not the cost of the emergency services attending an incident and not the cost of compensation if there even is any. The cost lies with the families left behind, the emotional and mental cost. No amount of money can take away the pain.

Please take part in International Workers’ Memorial Day, I know I will. I will be thinking of my Dad in particular. I’ll have a photo of him. Remember the dead and fight for the living.