Lord Mayor's year of meeting Birmingham's heroes

May 19 2008 Agenda

Proud son Simon Brew here pays tribute to his father and mother, the outgoing Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress of Birmingham, and praises our city's unsung heroes.

September 15 last year was a glorious, quite unique night in the middle of Birmingham.

As part of ArtsFest 2007, the CBSO was giving a free open air concert in Victoria Square, accompanied by a fireworks display that had to be seen to be believed.

Just five minutes away, a spirited bunch of Brummies were sat in deck chairs on a fake sandy beach outside Central Library (knotted hankies not included), without questioning it for a minute.

And back at Victoria Square, one of Birmingham's finest - Jasper Carrott - was becoming the second to receive a well-deserved star on Birmingham's Walk Of Fame.

I, along with thousands of others, was there that night.

I remember standing towards the back of the crowd, listening to a clearly-choked Jasper on stage telling everyone that this could be them.

That anybody watching could go on and do something special, and come back and be celebrated by their home city.

No disrespect to him though, but I wasn't looking at Jasper at that moment.

I was looking to the man stood to the side of him: Councillor Randal Brew. For the past twelve months, he's been the Lord Mayor of Birmingham.

For the past 33-and-a-bit years, he's been my dad.

Back to that night. In the midst of a great Birmingham evening, I dare say there was nobody quite as proud as my Dad. Not only because he's a long-term, paid-up Jasper Carrott fan (he's still got his copy of Funky Moped in the loft, I'm reliably assured, although I'm amazed he can even dig a Christmas tree out of there every year, yet alone an old record), and not only because he has a genuine love and affection for his home city.

He was proud for the same reason he'd been for the many months preceding, and the many months since: because he was doing a job he'd never dared dream he'd get the chance to do. He was Birmingham's first citizen.

It was a year ago, on the eve of him becoming Mayor, that I first wrote a piece for The Birmingham Post on this subject.

Once you'd waded through the self-indulgent tales of an overweight, balding, but otherwise perfectly content son, the core of it was that becoming Lord Mayor of your city is, in many ways, an old-fashioned dream, particularly so in a world full of mobile phones, reality television and celebrity.

But then it's never a job you take on for fame and fortune, and rightly so.

The rewards are far richer, and far less fickle, than that.

Because my parents - and I've learned that where there's a Lord Mayor, there's an extremely busy Lady Mayoress - have embarked on a extraordinary journey, clocking up thousands of miles around the roads of Birmingham, a city they've spent pretty much every day of the last year exploring.

One year ago, I would have struggled to list what a Lord Mayor does on a day-to-day basis.

Now? The answer is most definitely 'a lot'. On a personal level, I know this, because for the past twelve months, trying to get a window to see my parents has required a logistical effort of some magnitude.

I've never, as everyone I'd accidentally stood up over the years can testify (er, sorry about that if you're reading), been one to ink things in a diary.

But this year - and I think I can speak for my siblings here, too - the need to invest in at least a calendar has been high on the agenda.

All for the simple business of, well, sitting down and having a cuppa with my folks.

This is all because my parents' schedule has seen them visiting anywhere up to six or seven places (sometimes more) in the city a day (and there's no such thing as a weekend off, either), often without enough time to even sneak into the Esso station for a cheeky sandwich.

It's perhaps understandable, therefore, why Lord Mayors serve just a year each, because the schedule could kindly be described as punishing: and that's even before my Dad has been let anywhere near the diary.

By the time he's finished, a quiet evening at home becomes rarer than a London bureaucrat even working out what the M40 is, let alone travelling up it.

But you'll never hear my folks grumbling about it.

For the thing about those numerous daily engagements (and they've easily done more than 1,000 over the year) is that, while there's a small amount that are the glamour occasions that make the headlines (and I don't think the pair of them will ever get over meeting Terry Waite), the majority are about all the smaller stories that define all that's best about Birmingham.

Make no mistake: this is a city swelling with unsung heroes, and if the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress can shine even the smallest light on some of these extraordinary people, then it's a job very well done.

There are the people celebrating their 100th birthdays, who are still happily organising everybody around them.

Children who have overcome horrifying circumstances, and still managed to excel.

People from all four corners of the city who have demonstrated a pride and resilience that you simply can't help but admire.

These stories, and many like them, are happening around you right now.

Today.

And while they may not all make the papers, or appear particularly newsworthy, these people are the lifeblood of this very special city, and I know that my folks have been humbled to meet them.

Of course, not all of the stories they encountered had happy endings.

The military funerals they have attended as representatives of a grateful Birmingham are a cast-iron reminder of that.

I remember someone commenting around this time last year that being Lord Mayor changes your perspective on life, and nothing did that for my parents more so than the tragedy of some of our finest falling in war on the other side of the world.

These young soldiers, and the families they leave behind, are surely among the city's best.

Over the course of the last year, I've both accompanied my dad on some of his engagements, and watched from afar (there's nothing quite as surreal as watching a bell ringer announcing your mum has just walked into House Of Fraser - I know she likes her shopping, but that's taking things a little far, surely?).

And I've concluded this: that what the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress do really, really matters.

I'd like to say I could paint a 100 per cent idyllic picture of the relationship I had with my dad growing up, but like most fathers and sons, we had our days.

And yet I get it now.

I get what he was driving and fighting for, and I get why he spent so much of his spare time striving to make things better. People really can make a difference. And this year, he's met hundreds of people who are living proof of that.

My father has, for the vast majority of his adult life, fought for Birmingham in one shape or another.

Whether it's as a school governor, a local councillor, a magistrate or one of the other umpteen activities he's involved himself in, he's - and I appreciate I'm biased, here - a man of extraordinary generosity with the most precious commodity of all: time.

What I've learned most crucially of all over the past year, though, is that he isn't alone.

And while I can't help but feel he's a bit special, he's one of many shining lights in a city that's hiding extraordinary people on every street corner.

My dad's term as Lord Mayor of Birmingham comes to an end at the end of a year that's paradoxically flown by, and felt that it's gone on forever.

But while on one hand there's a chance that getting a babysitter's about to get a little bit easier, I can't help but feel that for both of my parents, the work of the last year will follow them, and be with them, for a long time to come.

Personally, I couldn't be prouder of the pair of them.

* Coun Chauhdry Rashid will become the new Lord Mayor of Birmingham tomorrow at the annual general meeting of the city council.