Eulogy for my father

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My father died last Friday. I've taped the following and mailed it off and hope it will be used at his funeral.

Not very long before he died, my father sent me some old photographs and documents. Among them was a reference he was given by F. Spencer & Son when he was 17 years old and about to go into the pit at Welbeck. It said Dad had worked for the firm for two years and they had "always found him honest and willing and he has a pleasant manner." Dad was so proud of that character reference, he kept it for 68 years and then sent it to me for safekeeping. It will be handed down with other treasures to his great-niece, Abbie (who, with her brother Luke, pleases me immensely by calling me Aunt -----).

"Honest, willing and pleasant." He was, wasn't he? Except that as he grew into full adulthood, he developed avery healthy aversion to fools and knaves and did not suffer them at all gladly! His efforts to thwart big developers in Retford were amply recorded by his letters to the local paper and by his appearances before the Bassetlaw and District Council, whose members he regarded as irredeemable fools and knaves. Although Dad had been a Labour Councillor in the late forties, he became a Thatcher conservative in later years, never losing his interest in politics. I've inherited that trait too and have worked on political campaigns, both professionally and as a volunteer. It probably helped that the first thing I remember reading with Dad was the Labour party platform circa 1950!

I may be thousands of miles away but Dad and I chatted several times a week, sometimes every day, often enjoying variations on a theme of "We've seen the best of it." We bemoaned the loss of countryside and wildlife habitat, the gobbling up of small shops by huge supermarkets, and the genetic engineering of crops, among other things. Dad fretted over the disappearance of various birds from the field adjacent to his house, because it had been sprayed with poisons. No more did he see flocks of goldfinches shining in the sunlight, no more did blackbirds rear young in the nearby trees, and no more did colourful butterflies please the eye. He grieved over the ruination of his view of the church spire when Morrison's hulk of a building went up.

Most of all, Dad and I grieved over the loss of many of the old-fashioned values and standards we knew in earlier days. My father was one of the very few people I know who never told me a lie. In all the years I knew him, I cannot ever remember him lying, either by commission or omission. "Honest, willing and pleasant." They're no longer common character traits, are they? But Dad found them in some of his neighbors--his much appreciated extended family.

There's Martyn ------, for instance, whom Dad regarded as a son. He trusted Martyn so implicitly, he gave him power of attorney over his financial affairs. What more could I say that would confer more honour than that? Then there are the ------ --Sue and Graham and their daughters, Naomi, Johanna and Sian. They were the closest of his "neighbor family." In the latter part of his illness, Sue and one or more of the girls would take Dad meals, beautifully presented on cloth-covered tea trays with an assortment of dishes to make the best restaurants envious. If I made the mistake of phoning Dad at a meal time, it wouldn't be long before I heard, "Oh, you'll have to phone me back, duck, I can see Sue and Sian coming, loaded down with trays." I'd call him back half an hour later and listen to a full rundown of the menu, often with such luscious descriptions, I'd have to make myself a sandwich as soon as I put the phone down. Sue--you're fully responsible for this extra weight, you know! And, when he could no longer ride his bike, it was mainly Sue who took Dad shopping and to his medical appointments.

There were other neighbors who helped out, but Martyn and the Goodwins were the ones Dad loved best. To all of those who acted so unselfishly in Dad''s best interests, please accept my utmost gratitude. I know a lot of people wondered why I didn't come home. There are many reasons which Dad understood perfectly; at one point he actually forbade me to come. It didn't matter; we spoke so often by phone that the bond between us grew ever stronger.

Dad and I shared a great love and respect for animals and when we sent him cards, they were signed from Jim, Hilary and the grandcats. Dad was the one neighbors relied on to look after their pets when they went on holiday, although Kate and Dave's escaping rabbits sometimes presented a challenge! My earliest memory is set in Sherwood Forest. I am being carried on my father's shoulders and I see him part the tall bracken to reveal a very new fawn. Taking me to see "Bambi" seled my fate as a bleeding heart! This love for animals has been passed on to my son, who actually changed his name to his grandfather's and became Eric ------ when he was 12, because he admired and loved his grandfather so much more than his own absent father. Besides making donations to the RSPCA, Dad also saved 5P pieces for the cancer fund championed by Martyn's mother Jean--another close neighbor-family member.

Dad sent me a book on last month: "Nottinghamshire Within Living Memory." In it was a note which thanked my beloved husband Jim "for giving my precious daughter the best years of her life." After a gloriously misspent youth and a couple of false starts, I finally found someone who is "honest, willing and pleasant" and Dad knew it, not just from meeting Jim, but also from my subsequent anecdotes, and many conversations he had with Jim. Yes, I married someone very much like my father. It was thanks to Dad that I intrigued Jim right from the start. Dad took me to the Royal Farnborough Air Show when the new Hawker Harrier jump jet was first demonstrated. It was this knowledge that caused me to appear interesting to Jim, who was then a US Navy carrier pilot! Incidentally, I met Jim shortly after he had returned from hammering terrorists in the Lebanon the beginning, I suppose, of the knowledge that we had "seen the best of it." Dad was right--I'm having my best years now, crumbling and decrepit though I am, secure with a husband who adores me and doesn't care that I'm no longer the vivacious woman he married 15 years ago. I derive an enormous amount of comfort from knowing that my father died happy in at least that one respect, harboring no more anxiety about the future of his much-loved daughter. However, there was one anxiety my father could not put completely out of his mind--everyone who was at all close to my father knew he was firm about not ending his days in a nursing home; in fact, he confided in me that he intended to go for a last walk around his favorite place--Hallcroft lakes--and chuck himself in! But it was not to be and poor Dad did spend his last day in a nursing home.

Just so that you don't think my father was absolutely perfect, let me mention the time he was messing about being silly and fell in the filthy coal dyke at Welbeck--with his adored niece Sue on his shoulders. Sue's never forgotten that, probably because of the colourful language employed by Dad at the time! Their clothes were mi9red in black coal muck--and he was in his best suit! Sue's mum, who was Dad's sister Muriel had a terrible time getting that suit clean and pressed so he could go back home to Sheffield. In younger days, he was accosted by the local bobbies after a night out with the lads when he was caught, erm, watering a statue--at Warsop, I think it was. And those 20-odd stitches on his nose came from tearing about on a motorbike in his youth. Dad loved poetry and particularly liked Keats's poignant poem Autumn, with its familiar phrase "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness." It described Dad's later years perfectly, the just reward of someone who was "honest, willing and pleasant." But I'll conclude with a quote from King Lear that we had once mused over together.

"We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves."

It's all right, Dad. It doesn't matter now. Rest in peace, love.

--------------

The person Dad trusted the most betrayed his trust right at the end, before Dad became semi-comatose, so he KNEW what she had done--and shoved him in a nursing home last Thursday. Why? Because she was going abroad on vcacation on Sunday. She also funneled info to my brother--the last thing my father wanted. He cut him out of his will and didn't want him to know anything so he wouldn't know about his death until it was too late and the funeral was over. Thanks to cuz, my brother will be at the funeral. Cousin didn't let me know Dad was in a nursing home and didn't call to let me know he was dead. I heard it from the Staff Nurse at the home, whom I had called to introduce myself the night before after the doctor thought I might not know where Dad was (24 hours after the fact).

Cuz also didn't let any of Dad's other blood relatives know, including his sister and his late sister's daughter, she only contacted HER relatives on mother's side of the family.

If you don't know any of this, you can't really tell from the eulogy--until you realize there is no mention of my cousin or brother. Both of them will see immediately that the references are to them and not to the politicians and developers. Will they care? Yes, I think they will, because they will think everyone knows it's about them. Oh a lot of people DO know, but that still leaves a good number who don't.

There's nothing much anyone can say. Just let this be a lesson to you and make firm, written, legal arrangements for your own failing health and demise, do not trust ANYbody to do the right thing; they may not.

I'll be back but still need some time to do a few things.

Love, OG

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002

Answers

Thanks, Git.

Making it possible for my Dad to die at home this spring, instead of at a nursing home, was one of the hardest, and most rewarding, things I have ever done.

With no children or nieces or nephews or cousins...it does make me wonder what the last days will be like.

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002


Old Git,

You are one heck of a person! Here are as many {{{{{{{{{hugs}}}}}}}}}} as you need to get you past this difficult time.

Hang in there!

apoc

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002


I'm so sorry this happened to him -- and to you. (((Git)))

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002

You know, I wish I'd have known this fellow.

But in a way. . .I do.

It's obvious your father left us a priceless legacy... YOU!

And, I'm grateful to him for it.

Godspeed, Eric. And thanks.

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002


I dunno what we'll do, either, Brooks. I think I'll just keep a stash of glucophage within easy reach and hope I'm able to take it all before I become completely ga-ga.

I talked to the other executor today, Martyn, who is shattered, just home from Spain. He feels terribly guilty because he was on vacation. Hence, if you have a friend who will take care of things, make sure they always leave a number where they can be reached at ALL times and make sure ALL the neighbors and the doctor know that person is to be consulted before any action is taken. Bear in mind the Evil Cousin waited until the doctor couldn't be reached and a fill-in was on duty before she had him admitted. Martyn kept saying Dad would NEVER have agreed to a nursing home, as do I and anyone else who knew him. He's so angry but he has to work with my cousin and can't antagonize her until everything is settled.

I've told him about the eulogy and advised him not to ask my cousin Sue for a preview; that way he can honestly say he didn't know what was in it if anything comes up.

Thanks very much for all your kind words, really, I mean that. I'm doing remarkably well, considering. I knew my brother was evil and knew my cousin wasn't to be trusted, I just didn't realize she was completely evil too. I think their plan was to have few people at the funeral, which would look real bad--and not take much out of the estate vis a vis refreshments, etc. However, between good cuz, good neighbors and me, we've got the word out and there ought to be a good turnout.

Sudden thought: perhaps the local animal shelter might be a good choice. I.e., you take good care of me and my animals till the end, and you get the estate. Animal people generally behave much better than other people. Generally. After this, I don't think I trust ANYbody.

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002



{{{{{OG}}}}}

I am so sorry that this has happened. I wish I had words of wisdom, but just know that I care.

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002


(((((Git)))))

what they all said! I know how it feels to be grographically at a distance, too.

know that it all is done now, and he is strolling to meadows and mires he so loved..and....the evil ones...have to live with the knowledge of their ways. they may not think much about it now..but trust me...paybacks are a bitch!

that was a beautiful eulogy. you done HIM proud yet again!

-- Anonymous, June 24, 2002


Thanks for sharing this. It's things like this that show one is considered a real friend.

It's a big responsibility. Thank you, friend.

((((((OG))))))

-- Anonymous, June 25, 2002


An inspiring eulogy, OG, for a truly fine man.

-- Anonymous, June 25, 2002

OG,

I'm so sorry to hear of your father's passing. I, too, was touched by your eulogy. Thanks so much for sharing it!

Anything I write seems so inadequate for this occasion! Let me just close by wishing you the best in the days to come.

-- Anonymous, June 25, 2002



Thanks, y'all. I'm doing okay, running up astonishing phone bills, talking to his old friends, tracking down people he knew. It's a slow load, but here's a painting of Warsop Parish Church where dad will have his funeral service Link I don't think the painting does it justice but it's all I could find. The history goes back over a thousand years. Grandparents were married there, Dad was christened there, parents and other relatives married, christened, etc., I was christened there. Dad will be buried next to my mother at the Warsop cemetary.

It's not far from where Robin Hood used to operate. (Robin, Earl of Loxley--yes, he WAS a real person!) It's also only a few miles from where D. H. Lawrence lived, Newstead Abbey.

-- Anonymous, June 26, 2002


Good photo of Warsop Parish Church here.

-- Anonymous, June 26, 2002

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