I got to know Dad really well again in the last few years, after the death of my beautiful mum Monica in November 2019.
I would sit with him for many hours listening to the stories of his youth and later life, some of them toe-curling.
Lesley Herbert Arrowsmith was born in Didsbury, Manchester on December 14 1935.
He was one of five siblings – along with Kevin, Sylvia, Alan and Lewis – who, apart from Lewis, were adopted after the second marriage of his mother Bertha Margaret McKeown to William Herbert Cunnah.
His adventures started when, as a 17-year-old, he enlisted for 12 years in the Royal Navy. It was a point of great family pride to learn that he was actually serving aboard the destroyer HMS Decoy in the early 1960s when it helped turn around and escort home the Soviet ships carrying nuclear missiles to Cuba.
To me he was living history. As part of the Cuban venture, they later had to pick up Fidel Castro’s defecting sister Juanita (who also died last month). Dad was Chief Steward, in charge of looking after the officers, and so he ended up having to bring Ms Castro some food.
When he entered the cabin, as he recounted with glee, she emerged from the shower naked, before introducing herself as “Juanita”. He would later quip: “It must have been cold in there, if she only had ‘one heater’!” He loved the wordplay of a pun.
He once made a bet with his fellow sailors that he could get the captain of the ship, HMS Ark Royal, to say “Cuckoo”. He took their money and made a call to the bridge, mumbling just one word, “Cook”, into the mouthpiece. When the captain asked who he was, to identify himself, he again muttered “Cook”, prompting the angry captain to demand, “Cook who?’
The entire ship’s galley was assembled on deck to cheer on the performance, and Les was given time for insubordination. But the kind of man – and dad – he was, he thought it was well worth it.
On discharge, he set up home in Derry, marrying my mum Monica McDowell, whom he’d met at the Embassy Ballroom while stationed at Ebrington.
He would become father to myself, my sisters Lesley-Ann and Angelique, and my late brother Brendan, and later a doting grandfather and great-grandfather.
After the navy, he worked as an insurance man, servicing the Waterside on foot, walking through both Protestant and Catholic areas. In testament to his character, he became friendly with all his client families, kept his mouth shut, and managed to go pretty much unmolested despite a strong Manchester accent and Dennis the Menace tattoos.
Dad was a Johnny Cash nut – not just a fan. He took me to my very first gig, the Man in Black himself, at the old Opera House in Belfast when I was nine years old. And he would later give me my first electric guitar, because I showed promise. In retirement, he was delighted to serve a stint as president of the D:Ream fan club.
When we were touring in the 1990s, we had a support act called The Hysterics. The lead singer was a guy nicknamed “Tokyo Tone”, who was married to a Japanese woman who designed for the Moschino fashion house. At an after-show in our house in Clarendon Street, Tokyo Tone put a top hat on dad, walking him around the crowd, proclaiming him the “King of Derry”. I can’t tell you how chuffed he was to be the centre of the craic.
Les Cunnah died at home surrounded by his family on December 18 2023, just a few days after his 88th birthday.
Here’s to the king of Derry!