Thanks to everyone for coming together to celebrate the life of my father. I would like to share with you a few thoughts about his life as husband to Dorothy, affectionately Doff, dad to Tim and myself, father-in-law to Margaret, and cherished granddad to Matthew and Rachel. All have contributed to what I’m about to say. Home life with his parents lacked affection. Fortunately his grandparents compensated with care and love throughout his upbringing. Dad adored them both. His experiences in such early life may have led to the strong sense of fairness in his dealings with anyone and everyone, a part of my dad’s character that endeared him to many. Certainly my father was a great grandfather, the very best to my son and daughter. In his early teenage years, during the Second World War, my dad was called on to labour on his father’s farm. Often the toil was heavy going; carrying coomb sacks of grain weighing 20 stone on his back from the sack lift onto rail carriages at Littleport Station. Literally back-breaking work for any man, let alone a boy. Dad was driving his father’s tractor and trailer before he was old enough to have a licence, often carting sugar beet down to the station. He was well known to the village bobby who give chase on his bike to apprehend him, only to let him on his way with a reprimand not to do it again. These words were ignored by Dad; his bit for the war effort. Despite the toil of those early years, Dad’s love of farming remained with him throughout his life. Unfortunately his own farming career was cut short by spray poisoning in the early 70’s, but my dad never lost his interest in farming. He gained great pleasure at seeing a field of potatoes coming into flower or a golden field of wheat standing upright and even. ‘Like a billiard table’, he would say. Dad adored my mother from their days of courting whilst my mum trained as a nurse at Barts in London. Their dates were done in style – a day trip to the seaside, first class on the Brighton Bell. They visited Keswick, scaling the peaks of the Lake District together. My parents shared their absolute love and unwavering devotion through almost 62 years of marriage. “62, long, weary, years”, Dad would say with smile on his face meaning the exact opposite.
I recall a wonderful childhood. Strong memories of family holidays in Cornwall when the sun always shone. Day after day at sandy coves, Dad sitting on a rock taking the rare opportunity to read a book, his Panama hat offering little protection to his fair skin. We shared such simple pleasures, although Dad never did like the sand between his toes. Dad’s attitudes were ahead of his time. With both my parents working, cooking was an equally shared task, not something many men would have done at that time. Dad loved to sing. Church choir as a boy soprano at age 7. Later tenor in the Littleport village choir. As a grandfather, my dad was always prepared to join in the fun. Willing victim to my daughter, Rachel, who as an infant often enjoyed restyling her granddad’s hair, once with blue and red hair mascara. When Rachel was a little girl Granddad would take her to the dress shop on Fore Hill to buy a new posh frock each season. Granddad’s last dress for Rachel is her wedding gown. We will remember Dad with joy in our hearts on that happy day to come this autumn. Matt and Rachel would always want to share any events in their young lives with their grandad. Matt would call when he’d reached a new level in a computer game. Likewise Rachel would always want to keep her grandad informed, once with breaking news; ‘Granddad, I’ve got nits!’ Granddad was always keen to know any such developments, and so Matthew and Rachel enjoyed keeping him up to date by phone even when they moved far away. Both Matt and Rachel are with us here today. Unfortunately Tim and Margaret cannot be. It is my privilege to read the following message from Tim:
As my father’s eldest son, during my teenage years I did not give my father the respect he deserved. I was an angry, heavily dyslexic teenager that gave no respect to anyone or anything. Once my work years kicked in so did my father’s work ethic and I was able to overcome my dyslexia and hold down good, well-paid jobs, ultimately allowing me to hold a job for 42 years and retire at 58. I will be forever grateful to my father for inheriting his work ethic. My father was an extremely kind and loving man to his family and to so many others whom I will never know and in my opinion he was one of Our Lords best creations. I will miss my father and will think about him and what he would do in particular situations as long as I remain on this earth. He was a great man.
I don’t think any of us here could say it better. In writing this tribute it occurred to me that sugar was a theme throughout my dad’s life: from carting beet and growing the crop, to shifts as foreman during campaigns at the Ely sugar factory and his strong craving for my mother’s cakes, especially during the last years as Parkinson’s took hold. My dad was a sweet natured man throughout it all. Never a sour word for anyone. A true man of the black fen soil. As Dad would always say as an expression of his gratitude, ‘Thank you – Bless you’.