Funeral

Today was my Dad's funeral. We were pleased with how the day went. Such a wonderful turn out. Standing room only. A few people brought along old photos, which I loved. Here's my Dad (first kid on the left) with his family.

My Mum and I spoke, and this is what I said.

~~~

Someone once asked me if I fit in with my family, and I didn’t understand the question. My Mum, my Dad and me, we’re none of us the same as one another and that has always been a good thing.

Although I think I might have baffled my Dad from time to time with my sociology degree and my husband that doesn’t follow the football, let alone play football!

But it didn’t make any difference, I have so many happy memories of times with my Dad.

Some of them little things – how he used to blow dry my hair and it was so massive he said I looked like Tina Turner. How he used to make me eggy bread for my breakfast on a Sunday morning.

Then there’s the traditional Lake District pursuits of collecting frogspawn, or feeding the ducks, or teaching me the correct way to catch minnows in a bottle.

Holidays were a big treat throughout my childhood and always times when me and my Dad would get involved with something active like pedalos or waterslide parks or whatever the hotel had on offer. Scarborough was notable for its beach cricket with the other families in the guest house, then there was France with its epic game of boules lasting many hours and filmed on the video camera for posterity but never watched again.

There was this other time on some greek island where my Dad was pulled into a silly game where the menfolk had to stand on the stage while a load of blindfolded women felt their legs and had to identify their own husband. All of the women picked my Dad. I’m not sure what that says but it was hilarious.

When my Dad worked for Lakeland in shop fitting he used to travel around a lot. I thought his job was drawing pictures and going on holiday, which sounded great to me. We would go to visit him, and I distinctly remember the glamour of staying in a flat and discovering you could order pizza and it would come in a box. It seems I told a teacher ‘my Daddy is staying in a flat and I am going to visit him’ which caused much confusion and unnecessary sympathy as the teacher thought he had left us.

Later my Dad had his sports shops, and I worked there holidays and weekends for many years. At the time I enjoyed the laugh I had with my colleagues, and listening to radio one all day, and having my own money in my pocket to buy alcopops and Oasis CDs. But it’s funny what sticks with you. I’ve been self employed now for three years and it looks like a bit of my Dad’s entrepreneurial spirit has rubbed off on me after all. He always had some very firm ideas about what constituted good customer service, and I still see the legacy of that in my work today.

After I’d left home a lot of the socialising in our family revolved around eating out, and it was then that I realised the mafia connection that my Dad seemed to have about the village. Me or my Mum would ring up a restaurant on a Saturday afternoon and be told it was fully booked, then my Dad would have a go and it’d be all ‘yes, of course, the best table tonight for Liam’.

The last time I saw my Dad was in September. We had a lovely weekend, and finished it up at a farm shop. My Dad had an icecream and you could choose two scoops but when it came it must have had 15 scoops in it. It was enormous, and he was gleeful with delight. When we went outside there was all these sheep and llamas and stuff and he was pulling up clumps of grass and feeding them through the fence. It was just so typically him.

My dad has gone far too soon, but if he had to go I’m glad for him that he went quickly, I’m glad for him that the last thing he knew he was going on his holidays, and I’m glad we had such a nice time the last time we were together.

And after he was gone I have been so grateful for all of the kind messages from people who knew him, and particularly from the guys at Heathwaite Football Club who talked about what a difference my Dad made to them when they were little. I’m an extremely proud daughter.

So I guess this is goodbye.

My Dad spoke for me at my wedding and he gave me away, and I’m glad to be able to do the same for him today.