This was a piece I wrote to read at my Dad’s recent funeral, I have agonised over whether to post this or not but in the end I can see no reason not to. It’s something I would much preferred to have not done but under the circumstances am glad I did. It was read pretty much verbatim but got faster and less intelligible toward the end. I’ve omitted some names and places for obvious reasons.

Dear Dad,

You always would go to great lengths to make sure we all got together at Christmas time.

When we decided I should say something we had so many ideas, now I sit to do it this blank page is terrifying.How do we sum up nearly 90 man-years of parenting in a short letter? How do we accurately express that to each of us you were a mate as well as a father? How do me and Adam thank you for the ridiculous hairline we inherited which Dan has so far somehow managed to avoid?

The truth is, I’m not sure we can, and that’s not just sour grapes on the hair-line.

We thought about talking about your superb taste in food, or even how you developed that into fabulous cooking skills, meaning everyone looked forward to your Sunday Lunch and how Christmas Dinner at your place was the stuff of annual legend, (generally the red wine in the gravy helped spread the word). There were mis-steps of course, you never quite lived down your lemon soup experiment and as Adam finds KFC a little too flavoursome it may not be a trait we’ve all inherited.

Ok, we need to find something we all share.Well, there was your love of football and cricket. A regular topic of conversation between you and Dan. You went to each game you could, and as a committee member at the Cricket Club frequently tried to explain the scoring to me. Sadly, I don’t know my Adebayor from my elbow so we can’t use that.

I know you taught us all valuable lessons, Adam says he’ll never forget not to pour boiling water onto his coffee for fear of burning it and he still claims that you CAN wash yourself in cold water, regardless of how many times you told him he couldn’t when he was a lad. He admits he still can’t think of anything other than teeth, but as that stumped you so well the first time he says he doesn’t need another.

You were always impeccably turned out, always clean shaven, always in crisp shirts and shiny shoes. Though I do remember the first time I saw you clean shaven about 20 years ago. Your Noel Edmonds beard shorn by surprise one morning, we collapsed with laughter but now can’t remember you with it. I’d be surprised if you ever missed a day shaving from that point. We can’t use that as a common trait though, Dan and Adam may well be tidy and stylish but I’ve lost count of the number of times you told me my winter jumpers made me look like Val Doonican or asked me if I was wearing something for a bet.

Hmmm…A trait we all share?

Well you liked a pint.

Ah…Now we might be getting somewhere.

You’ve no idea how many times I’ve used visiting you as an excuse to get to the pub or the Cricket Club. We could always walk straight to you and latterly, to your stool. You would always be pleased to see us and welcomed us into your group of friends as though we’d always been there. Always having something to talk about, always intelligent and funny, you suited the banter of the bar very well, quick witted enough to hold your own. And liking a pint is definitely a trait we all share.

But I like bitter. Dan and Adam like lager. Does that count?

It doesn’t matter. I think I have it.

The thing we all share is the group of people you introduced us to, the children we wouldn’t have had and the friends we would never have met had it not been for you. That’s the impression you made.

I was speaking to your brother a couple of weeks ago about how difficult is for people to leave a legacy these days. Nobody is a mill owner or runs huge tracts of land any more. Ironically, it’s harder to make your mark now there are more places to leave it.

I’ve since had time to think. I’ve realised these aren’t the things that are important. What’s important are the ripples we make, the lives we touch and people who will miss us. In your case, these ripples are huge and the number of people here today to bid you farewell is testament to that.

We hope we can raise our own children as well as you raised us, you will leave a huge hole in our lives but that’s not terrible thing, there should be hole when good people leave us, but we should recognise it by continuing the relationships you introduced us to and making sure we never forget your part in forging those relationships.

So thank you for everything and everybody, as a friend and a Dad, we will miss you terribly.

It’s your round

Love Jamie, Adam and Daniel.