Humbled that so many gave up their time to remember my dad and offer their support

CANTANKEROUS, opinionated and a wonky legend – is how my best friend referred to my father when I told him of his recent passing. This week I opened with those words when I began my eulogy at my dad’s funeral.

It was, as you would imagine, an emotional affair for all concerned. Not only did I have to stand and deliver my own memories to a packed crematorium but so did my sister and niece, who had travelled from their homes in Somerset.

All three of us, I am pleased to report, held it together and even gave those who came a couple of laughs along the way.

Family members who I only seem to see at such occasions were there to support us and pay their respects and so were many friends and former work colleagues of my father.

And while it would be easy to simply write this weekend’s column as a tribute to my dad, who was taken from us suddenly and unexpectedly last month, instead I want to use it to heap praise on the monumental efforts of the congregation who have filled my heart with nothing but good feelings during what has been a particularly difficult week.

Because as I nervously stood at the lectern to deliver my eulogy, I was struck by many of the faces of people who had sacrificed their day to support me and my family.

My friend, Mike, whose house in Edinburgh I was at when my sister called me last month and simply said “dad’s died” had caught an early morning train from the Scottish capital to be there.

Another pal, Duncan, had driven up that day from Surrey to show his respect and support, as had my best friend – who gave me the quote at the start – from where he lives in south London.

And a mate of my dad, called Ted, who stood alongside him on the terraces of my father’s local (very) nonleague football club for years, was there having himself driven up from the South West, where my dad has lived for the past near four decades.

In fact, the club were so affected by his death that they carried a fullpage obituary to him in a recent programme and held a minute’s silence for him before a match.

All of which is hugely touching, moving and, I don’t mind admitting, brought a tear to my eye when I was told about it.

My father was a man of science, a retired chemist, who never really got over my late mother’s death from a brain tumour, nearly 18 years ago.

As such, there wasn’t a religious bone in his body and nothing at Wednesday’s funeral carried any theme of faith.

He also bore the burden of years of illness, having been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease in the late 1960s, something he battled with courage and fortitude.

He was a good and kind man with a strong belief in fairness.

And I firmly believe he would have loved the send-off he was given this week and the Herculean efforts so many people made to be there for him, for me and for our family. People are often mean, bitter and spiteful. This week I was shown that countless others can be precisely the opposite.

This now orphan would like to thank each and every one of them for it as I move on to the next phase of my life without the support of the “cantankerous, opinionated wonky legend,” who was taken from us last month just days short of what would have been his 85th birthday.

People are often mean, bitter and spiteful. This week I was shown that countless others can be precisely the opposite.