My father would have been 100 today.

He was born close to the very center of Birmingham, England to an English father who drove a hansom carriage, and who died when my father was 4, and an Irish mother from a Co. Clare family. He was desperately poor all his early life.

After his older brothers joined the army in World War I, he enlisted as a boy soldier and caught a little of life in the trenches. He was reviled by violence but was unable to find any work in post-war England and simply had to enlist again. He was stationed in many places including a fort at the foot of the Khyber Pass and had many a hair-raising tale to tell of his life in India. In Ireland, he saw first hand the terrible religious discrimination that was allowed to perpetuate in the North. He was a life-long anti-monarchist who simply rejected out-of-hand the notion that some people are born inately better than others and, untried, are fit to rule.

He married my Irish mother when he was 40 and the two of them worked in factories during World War II. My mother's building took a direct hit. After the war, our family tried living in Ireland but eventually we came out to Canada and then to New York. As a child, I remember being in one of Horn & Hardart's old Automat's with dad one Saturday. There was a poor old woman at our table whom I did not understand and thought strange. She was nursing a cup of tea. After a while, father reached over and took her hand and said, "Would you like something to eat, mother?" In addition to providing her with a very welcome meal, he gave me a lesson to carry through life.

Because of his early poverty, he received very little formal education but he was, like other more recogniable names to Mudcatters, a self-educated man such as A.L. Lloyd or Stan Hugill. He would sit and read the dictionary or encyclopedia for hours. He had a great love for music, was self-taught on piano and taught my brother and I many songs including some he had learned from his maternal grandfather and while in the army. He was a great influence on my singing. It was because of him, really.

William Milner did not survive his second bout with cancer and died in 1972. He was a very kind, encouraging and charming man and I just wanted to honor him today.

All the best,
Dan Milner