Goodbye, Dad - Sleep Well...

Today, I said my final 'Goodbye' to my Dad; this is my eulogy to him...

It is always difficult to find cheer on such a sad occasion as this. It is only natural, after all, for each of us to feel intense sorrow at our loss of such a wonderful man, but I would personally rather reflect on the positive side of our memories of him, to celebrate his life, rather than to mourn his passing…

“Wor Jackie”…

To a great many people, he was a good friend, a cheerful work colleague, a loyal team mate, and often a tough sporting opponent. His prowess in various sports has received acclaim over the years as he firstly won an apprenticeship with Oldham Athletic, then in National Service, he played for the RAF Regiment’s main divisional side (including an opposition place against his fellow Ashingtonian, Bobby Charlton, in a charity match!).

Then, on de-mob from the RAF, he played for West Ham and Leyton Orient, then Harlow Town – always out front as Centre Forward, frequently scoring some blistering goals – a net-stretching skill he seemed to enjoy and share with Mr Charlton. On one such occasion he accepted a pass just on the half-way line, and with an almighty kick, he actually lobbed the ball clean over the opposition’s heads and into the net – quite probably the best goal he’d ever scored in his footballing career!

Then, of course, there was ten pin bowling with Mum at his side, as well as cricket matches, snooker, darts, and then his long-term addiction, golf…

A very busy, energetic and eventful sporting life indeed, racking up many medals and trophies along the way, always deservedly proud of his achievements – yet somehow, also humble with each success... and all the more astounding when we consider that he carried the legacy of a strong heart murmur, a result of contracting rheumatic fever when he was just 10 years old.

To us, his family, though, he was Husband, Dad, Grandad, and latterly, even Great-Grandad; always our own hero off the sports fields as well as on, we are all very proud of him and his fantastic achievements – and also very, very grateful that he always put his family first.

It was he who put his life and his driving licence on the line, firstly for L#### when she was small, then a few times for me, whenever accidents befell us and he had to get us to a hospital in Epping in the years before Harlow Hospital was opened, as the old ambulance service was a little too slow, back then…

I can also remember him gently cradling C##### in his arms whenever she was sick, too, and also doting on Mum after she’d had an operation all those years ago; a good Dad & Husband, putting aside everything else and placing us first.

There are plenty of fun memories, too – though my own very first memory of him comes from when I was just six months old, believe it or not…and although funny now, it was unfortunately vividly painful then!

I could partially recall the episode, but it was Mum who confirmed to me that Dad changed my nappy - and stabbed me in a very tender spot with the nappy pin! Not surprisingly, my scream apparently made the old sash windows rattle…. I think I forgave him for it, but for some reason as the years passed, he never once stood to my left in the Gents…

He made up for it a few years later, though, by introducing me to the fun, addiction and expense of motorcycles. Way back in the early 1960’s, he fitted a bicycle-type child seat to the back of his old NSU Quickly moped, to cart me along to the various football and cricket matches in which he played; wind-in-the-hair in those days (no crash helmets!) and the heady smell of two-stroke exhaust; PHEW! What a pong!! I can’t remember if he ever transported L#### or C##### in this fashion, but I can imagine their screams of terror if he had!

It was a two-wheeling initiation that would eventually backfire on him to a certain degree, because in my early years of riding – whenever I got knocked off my smaller motorcycles - he would always respond by dashing to my rescue no matter where I was, without quibble or complaint about inconvenience or any expenses incurred, whenever I rang home and said, “Dad! I got it wrong again!” - although he always asked first if the bike was OK… and then he’d add, good-humouredly… “Oh, and are you alright?”

I didn’t care about his flippancy at all – it made me smile, afterwards - but I was just always grateful that he WAS there…and he often also helped me to repair the damage to the bikes, both physically and often financially, as Dads always seem to do without second thought.

He would also drive each of us many miles to meet various friends, or collect us whenever we were stranded by public transport failures and the like – even in his beloved petrol-guzzling Jaguar - but maybe that was just a good excuse for a luxury cruise…

…And how did I pay him back? I occasionally did a bit of gardening and car polishing for him…until – one day - while clearing out a few boxes and fitting a radio aerial in the loft, I planted my size-12 boot through the ceiling! He was white-faced, alright – but from seething rage, not plaster dust; I think I was only saved because Mum was struggling not to laugh…

After the dust settled – literally, by a year or so - I eventually let fly with some practical jokes that gave him a good laugh during a Medal Competition at Canons Brook Golf Club, for which I’d offered to be his Caddy.

At the first tee I deftly switched his ball – and when he smacked it good and hard with a 4-wood, the ball exploded in a huge cloud of chalky dust! He looked confused for a second or so as the gathered 'Foursomes' roared with laughter – and luckily for me, he had the grace to join in as I passed him another ball. No threats of punishment – just a shake of his head and a chuckle…

…Until he smacked that next ball down the fairway, and it wobbled an erratic path through the air and landed in the brook… Yes, it was a weighted ball…

Luckily for me, the assembled club members didn’t tally those hits onto his card, and Dad actually turned in a very good score from being in good humour all the way around…

So, each and every one of us will have very special memories that we will all cherish and smile about as we recall them here, today, but whatever he was to each of us, he was always a special man; caring, affectionate, always wanting each of us to achieve our best, and always there with a smile when we made it…

I know that he and Mum were incredibly proud when first L#### and then C##### married and had their own families – but a few more years were to pass before he finally lost patience with me and told me, “Go out and find yourself a wife, man!” - and so I did; someone else's!

It took a good while longer, but I can still see that same big smile when C####### and I married; he’d finally got all three of his fledglings paired-off and gained peace of mind – and peace and quiet! C####### was so very touched when Dad also readily accepted her own son M### into the family with open arms; a soft gesture that meant so much to her…

Sadly, in more recent years, Dad suffered several strokes that ultimately caused him a great deal of anxiety and frustration as he sometimes struggled to communicate clearly with us all.

There were times when you could see the frustration in his eyes and almost feel it in the air – not surprising, really, given the enduring strength of his character – and although he has now sadly passed away, I just have this feeling that he hasn’t quite said “Goodbye”. I have the impression that he’ll still be watching over us all, one way or another…

Four years ago, when we lost M### in a road accident, C####### found a piece of prose that had been written by a past Canon of St Paul’s Cathedral in London. The verse was titled ‘In The Next Room’, much of which gave a great deal of comfort to us, given the nature of some odd events at that time of our loss. We were devastated, but we still felt…“in touch” with M###, somehow…

I have read that verse so many times in the past four years, felt so much comfort from the words, yet some of it seemed a little harsh and out of balance, so I have adapted it for a softer approach. I would like to offer that adaptation here, today, in the hope that you, too, may find some comfort in the loss of Dad. I have called my version…

"Waiting For You..."

In your hearts and in your minds, I have not passed away,
I have only slipped into the next room, to rest a while, to stay;
In this room, I will wait for you, I am somewhere very near,
I am just around the corner - I am safe now, have no fear…

I may be out of sight to you, but I live on in your minds,
I am here in spirit, to watch over you, however life unwinds.
I am still I, and you are still you – that will never alter,
Whatever we have been to each other, that can never falter…

Speak to me through a picture, call me by my name,
Talk to me in an easy way, so you always sound the same;
Put no difference in your tone, and wear no air of sorrow,
Laugh as we have always laughed, at the jokes we used to borrow.

Please, let my name be mentioned, both cheerful and carefree,
Let my name be a household word, not hallowed – that should not be;
With each call, I will hear you, so let it oft be spoken,
For I will always listen, our bond cannot be broken.

So, think of me and smile again, remember me today,
For I will always think of you, forever and a day;
I will be here to smile with you – I promise, all is well,
Until we meet again, my friends, I bid you all farewell...

© BL