We have been without internet access over the weekend, but now we are back. It isn’t many years since most of us were saying “Well, I’ll try it, but I don’t suppose I’ll have much use for it” and now a few days without and we feel utterly bereft!

Election Picture 2009

During that time my father was re-elected at the County Council election.

Was I – was anyone – surprised?

No.

Perhaps the only surprising thing is his age (82) and the number of years since he was first elected (55). However, you mustn’t get the impression that he is a doddery old institution re-elected out of habit. Far from it: he is a very hard-working and effective councillor who puts in far more hours than many of his younger colleagues.

Unlike many younger colleagues he is not ambitious: at 82 he is not career building, neither looking for chairmanships and quangos within the council nor seeing the council as a step towards parliament. (He has been there, done that, and – as I wrote a week or so ago – turned down the offer of the T-shirt.)

This means that all his efforts are centred on his constituents rather than himself. He doesn’t need to please the party bosses so he can be as much of a maverick as is necessary to achieve what needs to be achieved. And this is what he does.

He attends dozens of little Parish Council meetings each month, noting down their needs and their worries, reporting on what has and will be done by the County Council within their area, and taking on board what they want to be done. Quite often he also makes notes for the District Councillors as well because they find it harder to attend the Parish and Town Councils as their own meetings are also held in the evening whereas County meetings are for the most part held during the day. He deals with problems large and small which are brought to him in person, my telephone, letter and email by his own constituents and, quite frequently by people from neighbouring areas who find him easier to deal with, more accessible and generally more likely to get results than their own councillor. And, of course, he also attends County Council meetings in Lincoln and meetings of bodies – e.g. Eastern Sea Fisheries, the Humber Bridge Board and Humberside Airport – where he is either the nominated member or designated substitute.

All this may seem rather a lot for an octogenarian, but he still (after 55 years) loves every minute. He whizzes around the county to meetings (and before anyone remarks about the safety of elderly drivers, not long ago councillors and council employees were invited to a driving assessment: Pa took up the challenge and, after a couple of hours driving around, the assessor had to admit that he couldn’t find a fault), getting up at about 6.30 most mornings and going to bed sometime between 10.35 and midnight most nights. No, he’s not superman: if the opportunity arises he will have forty winks either in the afternoon or in the evening while ‘watching’ television. In fact the only thing that age has so far done to limit his effectiveness is to make him somewhat deaf so that, despite the hearing aid, he is of the opinion that most people mumble and that I am becoming a fishwife because I sometimes have to shout at him.

Some members of parliament have recently brought all politicians under suspicion of being dishonest and in it for what they can get out of it. Back in May 1954, when my father was first elected to Cleethorpes Borough Council, there was no attendance allowance and I don’t believe there were any expenses either. Six years later when the baby of the council was elected the borough’s youngest ever mayor, that too had to be done largely at his own expense; they provided him with a chauffer driven car to take him to official engagements and a small budget for Mayoral Receptions etc. but that was it – no money for time taken off work and no money to help my mother dress as befits a mayoress. Thank goodness he worked for Granddad in those days and my mother was an expert needlewoman, or he would never have been able to afford the honour.

Even after attendance allowances and expenses came in, it was some years before he availed himself of them, and it was only when he retired that he started claiming. Unlike MPs’ expenses, councillors’ expenses are up for scrutiny, and published for anyone to see.

Because of all this – his effectiveness, his busy-ness, his probity – my father has a high profile in the community: if you live round here and have any interest at all in the life of your community, you will have run across him. So, at the election, he sent out leaflets to every household, but he didn’t have to canvas (he hasn’t canvassed for years) because every day for the four years between elections he is up in front of the people of the area, with his phone number, email address and home address on every village notice board and on every village website, and anyone can get in touch with anytime of any day, and if he’s not at home he will get back within a day to anyone who leaves a message.

Look him up: he hasn't anything to hide - Councillor Anthony (Tony) Herbert Turner JP, MBE.

Am I prejudiced? You bet I am!

But am I telling the truth? Yes, but not the whole truth, because it isn’t possible in a short blog to give a real idea of just how much my father does, and always has done from the days when he was the baby of Cleethorpes Borough Council, through his time on Humberside County Council, to being the Grand Old Man of Lincolnshire County Council.

As he said to Prince Charles at his investiture with an MBE a dozen years ago when he asked if he had any thoughts of retiring, “Maybe when your mother does, Sir”. The Queen is seven months his senior and is probably one of the few people of that age who works as hard and as long hours. I hope she enjoys her work as much.