Bye Dad II

We had Dad's funeral today and he would have been extremely happy with it.  Myself, my brother and my sister all spoke and I'd like to share with you my tribute to him.

I just want to say a few things about my Dad. He had, on the whole, a disappointing life. There wasn’t a film he hadn’t seen before, nor was very realistic. There were lights that didn’t turn themselves off once you left a room so cost him money. As a lifelong Leeds United supporter (a disappointment in itself) he had sons who support Manchester City and Tottenham Hotspur. And then there was Anne-Marie who knew all the right buttons to press to get her way. Really he didn’t stand a chance.

He was born at Lofthouse Gate on the 17th December 1937 to Irene and Harry. He was a big brother to Carol whom he constantly annoyed, attempted to leave in a quarry and paid her off when he wanted some peace and quiet. As a young he was also renouned on days out for having to go trouserless until everyone else was ready as he was very good at finding dirt and getting covered.

He moved to Derby as a young man where he met Doreen, his wife to be, at a cricket match in which her Dad was playing. They were together for 53 years and married for 50 of those (which he frequently commented worse than if he’d killed someone and had a life behind bars).

After moving from Derby they set up home in Filey in the 60s to take up a job at Dale. He stayed there for 27 years until he retired and decided to annoy Mum on a full time basis. This also gave him a chance to take part in his other hobbies – annoying sales men in shops and on the phone in an attempt to get the biggest discount and phoning his children with computer related issues.
But he did get upto a few other things in this time – there were the three of us to start with. Arriving at around about three year intervals, but you can come to your own conclusions about that. Then there were his associations with darts & domino leagues, playing pool and Filey Town football club.
Growing up we underwent a regular litany of messages which are now burnt into our minds.

• “Put kettle on, who’s mashing”
• “I was watching that” (usually whilst having his eyes closed)
• “Were you born in a barn”
• “Turn some lights off it’s like Blackpool Illuminations in here” (which needs mentioning more than once as it was a very common theme)
• “My hair’s not grey it’s silver”
• “Do you want to talk to the old dragon”
• And, once he was bitten by the video gaming bug, “bloody hell it’s killed me again”

A few of these were combined on a Saturday afternoon whilst sport was on after a lunch of fish and chips when he was generally sleepy.

He had some other legendary traits as well. He had amazing culinary skills – I’ve never met anyone else that would have a good go at burning water. His general levels of tightness – it always astonished us when his wallet appeared first in a pub and, to be honest, we’re not entirely sure where it is right now. His masterful illusion of removing his thumb which mesmerised each of us kids and the grandkids. And his ability to cheat at Scrabble – there were words that he used to use that’d you wouldn’t even find in the latest dictionaries of allowable words.
On top of all this he accepted our extended family of friends who were often around the house – in fact he was a pretty good collector of waifs and strays. From those that tormented him (generally about his health) *Liz* to those that insisted he was a great Nigel Mansell lookalike during the years he sported his moustache *Owen*. He would complain about it constantly, though we paid no attention to it whatsoever. We knew that he really enjoyed the vibrancy of life, family and friends in the home and his protestations were just part of his grumpy, cantankerous mask.

But we all know that the last 14 years have been taken up with the grandchildren. They have been the big light in his life. Georgina, Xena, Lucas, Steph, Persephone, Jensen and Dexter. We knew how proud and excited he was when they were born. Personally one of the strongest pictures I hold in my mind is that of when he got to hold each of the kids for the first time. His love for them knew no bounds.

His fight against cancer lasted just short of a year and the only relief we can take from this is that the end came quickly he was spared too much pain. His last day was spent surrounded by his family who’d come to say their goodbyes and offer him reassurance. In that room at St Catherine’s the wicked and dry sense of humour that he’d embodied in life was echoed back as we talked and laughed. There was no way he was going out with us mourning him before he was taken from us. It would have annoyed the heck out of him for having inconvenienced us all that day.
To close we’d like you to sit through Abide With Me, a hymn with strong footballing connections and remember him with fondness in your hearts.

In the words of his Mum “Night night, God bless and no shouting down!”

Dad we’re going to miss you.