That’s that then. One week after my his passing, almost 300 people said goodbye to my Dad at a little church in Bromham, Wiltshire last Thursday. It was almost completely overwhelming and I don’t know how I got through it. I managed to keep it all together by thinking of everyone else. If that sounds strange, I can only say that’s the best way I can find to describe it. I didn’t have many moments to myself and when I did, I was always pulled out of them by something else going on nearby.

The days leading up to it were strange. I tried to carry on as normal, but every now and again it would just come back I would think of him. As I said just after it happened, I still search for some sense of regret at his passing. He was far too young at 59, but as was said by so many last Thursday, he did so much and he did it all so well. He saw almost the whole world in his life. Crammed into the small church were people from Africa, France, America, Scotland and The Middle East and there were apologies from so many more.

So full was his life, that there were not one, but two Eulogies. Donald Campbell, a friend of our family for all of my life told everyone of my dad’s life as a young soldier in Plymouth where he met my mum in 1967 until he left the army. So many stories, full of smiles and things that not even I knew. For the last few years, Dad had worked for Stirling Security and Mike Lord, the CEO finished the story of his working life. More stories, more smiles and even a laugh at my Dad’s inability to be a true Civvie.

Outside, we greeted and thanked as many as we could but there were only so many shaken hands and kind words that I could take. Faces from twenty and thirty years ago shook my hand or my shoulder and told me of the little boy they remembered running around the mess at curry lunches. After half an hour of this, we just let everyone get in their cars. It was absolutely draining.

After the service, back at the house, the not-inconsiderable sized grounds could not really contain the many who had travelled down. I did my best to speak to them all but failed miserably. Instead I stood with my cousin Martin, my sister Jo and her husband and Sean and let them all find me in their own time.

Eventually, shortly after Sean left (I am sure they were waiting for someone to be first mate…), they all started to file away and I managed to meet the remaining few. One after another, with firm handshakes and twinkling eyes they went. Some wonderful words, some with just a smile. If you need a DYRMS connection, fittingly more than one hand that shook mine had taken the salute on the Dais in Dover before, during or after our time there.

Towards 5pm, there were only 10 or so of us. By now, just smiling and remembering in the garden my Dad loved so much. My Uncle Dave (Dad’s brother) making us laugh. A perfect end to a day like no other.

Except….there was one more thing.

On the way home in the car, Martin told me a story from many years ago.

It would have been the late 60s, maybe around the time I was born. He came downstairs on a school day to find my Dad sat on his sofa, eating cornflakes from a tupperware bowl. He was bedraggled and looked damp and very cold. He was in the middle of Marine training and as part of an Escape and Evasion exercise had been thrown out of a helicopter into Plymouth Sound (the big natural harbour in Plymouth). They had expected to be dropped on the Dartmoor as per usual but somebody obviously had a better idea. He had swam ashore (about a mile) and walked/run the few miles to my Auntie’s house in search of a meal.

I learnt a few things that day that were new to me, but that story will now stay with me. I have been sitting on that sofa on and off for 38 years and never knew where that stain came from. I wish I hadn’t been too polite to ask.

Goodbye Dad

Categories: Family
Tags: