I was about six years old when my friend’s rabbit escaped from the garden. My father was called in to assist and I remember him charging around, trying to corner the energetic animal. Bertha Greene, my friend’s mother, then amazed me by joining in the chase. How could it be that my friend’s mummy could run like that? My mother never ran and I kind of assumed that all Mummies couldn’t run.

It was only later that I understood that my mother had contracted polio as a child. She was probably one of the luckier ones; not only did she survive but she was able to walk unaided. She was slow and halting but I never really thought of her having a disability at all. Indeed, I can’t remember any discussion at all about her disability in our family life. I suppose looking back on it, my father did a lot more in the home than most fathers may have done and she did have some help with the housework.

I first met Sir Bert Massie through our common membership of the Board of Local Solutions and then Liverpool John Moores University (LJMU). Sir Bert had not been so lucky in his dose of polio and it left him dependent on his wheelchair, which was admittedly an all singing and dancing one. When meeting Sir Bert on his way into a meeting, I learned that it was not necessary to offer any sort of help. He was quite able to negotiate his way from his vehicle into his wheelchair, onto the ramps, onto the platform lift and then into the meeting room. He preferred to get on with all this himself whilst perhaps discussing some item on the agenda for the meeting which had particularly exercised his mind.

I was immediately struck by Sir Bert’s comprehensive knowledge of all things to do with disability and his willingness to highlight issues that arose in the committee head-on when disability was raised. And of course he was even more determined to raise issues on behalf of the disabled when they were not mentioned or were being overlooked. Whenever such issues were raised, it was never from the angle of a man who himself was in a wheelchair and had to put up with many issue personally during his life. It was never personalised unless he had had a particular problem to do with access to a building when he would make clear what the issues were. Even then it was from the basis that he was OK, he could overcome it but what about the next person who wasn’t as fortunate as he. There was never any taint of self-pity. Indeed, it was very easy to forget that Sir Bert, like my mother, had any disability at all.

Sir Bert also made his contribution to the Board in many other ways. At LJMU, he could always see the student’s point of view and was a vociferous proponent of their interests. Whilst he was like a dog with a bone on issues to do with disability, he also had a great sense of humour. I remember him talking about a restaurant he had attended. He was advised that they did not serve “wheelchairs”. His response was typical; he wasn’t looking for a wheelchair but some food. He was a life-long socialist, Liverpool Football Club supporter, as well as a great advocate for the city of Liverpool and its citizens. His lifetime achievements are considerable and he acquired no less than three honours, the most recent a knighthood.

We only have one life and Sir Bert loved his. Polio could have led him to a life of victimhood but instead he used who he was to make life better for thousands like him who depended on wheelchairs, Motability Grants and specially adapted cars. He was a remarkable man and it was great to work with him. I learned a lot from him and also about how much a difference we can all make in the way we live our lives.

So here’s to all who take what life throws at them and are able to transform their adversity into a wonderful asset through which they can make a positive difference for others.