1066 All Stars

For Dad. In loving memory...

This is both the hardest thing I have ever had to write and yet, in some ways, also the easiest.

It is the hardest, in the sense that this is the piece I never wanted to write.

Yet it is also the easiest as there is so much that I want to say.

My Dad will be different things to each of you, depending on how you came to know him.

I would like to share some memories of him as a father and a grandfather.

When I think back on my childhood, my abiding memory is of being happy. We never had the fanciest new toys or top of the range clothes but we never wanted for anything. And if we couldn't afford it, he would make it.

Both mum and dad brought us up with a clear sense of right and wrong but that didn't stop us from having fun. Ours was a house of laughter, never taking things too seriously.

It is perhaps only in later life, after having a family of my own, that I really came to understand and appreciate the type of man my dad was. Looking back, I have come to realise the sacrifices he made; the 12 hour shifts in a job he hated; the 90 minute commutes; scrimping and saving to ensure we never went without.

And through it all, he retained a remarkable energy and enthusiasm. He was there on parents evenings to support us, at football matches, at my graduation. And he was there at events for the cubs and scouts, where he found the Salvation Army.

I never shared my dad's faith but I know he took great comfort from it, especially towards the end. He took great interest in things that stimulated the mind, helped him to consider things in a new way.

The cruellest part about my dad's illness is that it took away so much of what defined him. He was always so busy, so active, never able to enjoy a lie in even when he had been up at 4am the day before. He was always willing to give, even to his own detriment. Now, he found he had to accept the help of others.

I can only imagine how it must feel as your body slowly betrays you until you are confined to a chair, reliant on the support of others.

I can only imagine the feelings as your grandchildren are passed from person to person and you are unable to hold them, unable to get on the floor and play with them.

And yet, remarkably, he never let the disease beat him. Right to the end, he retained an incredible perspective on life. He was never bitter, never self pitying, instead looking for the positives, finding different ways to enjoy life. He took pleasure in seeing his grandchildren playing together, even if he couldn't join in.

Truly he understood that life is what you make of it.

No doubt some of this strength came from having such close support of friends and family. In particular I think of his brother Michael, who found himself being designated as the resident handyman. Also our neighbour Brian, whose companionship and friendship was so valued and to whom we owe a debt of gratitude, for the precious extra 48 hours he gave us.

And most importantly, my mum, who dedicated herself to my dad, becoming not only his wife and companion but also his full time carer. As difficult as the illness must have been for my dad, my mum shared the pain and the heartache at every step. She went above and beyond any reasonable level of duty to ensure that my dad's last few years were comfortable and happy and I am full of admiration for her devotion and love.

Right to the end, he was thinking of others. In what turned out to be our final conversation, far from worrying about his own condition, his only concern was that I go back to work the next day so as not to jeopardise my future prospects.

It became somewhat of a family joke over the years that mum and Stuart would say that I was just like my dad. Well if that is true, then I take it as a tremendous compliment. If it is cliché then so be it but if I can be half the man my dad was, then I shall have reason to be proud.

As we think about my dad today, there will be tears and there will be sadness, and that's okay. But when I think about him, I will think about the happy memories. The family holidays, the time spent with his grandchildren, the time he almost puked after a ride on the Quasar, playing his trumpet on the toilet, that stupid bloody thumb trick. These are the memories I will cherish and when I think of them, I will smile.

My dad will be different things to each of you; loyal friend, loving husband, dutiful father, doting grandfather.

Whichever he was for you, I know I speak for all of us when I say we love you and we will miss you.