On Sunday, a long way away, we lost a very close relative.

I'm not including any pictures of him. He never trusted the internet, and I will continue to honour that wariness. Instead, the photos in this memorial are of a place that he loved, and that we often visited all together.

For me, he was a relative-by-marriage, but we actually had many similarities. He preferred to be inconspicuous; he needed to escape from people every now and again in order to top up with therapeutic alone-time (ideally in a nice cosy shed at the top of the garden); he hated winter; and he was a worrier. These are all things I identify with (OK, maybe not the shed bit...) 

He was a feisty, no-nonsense employee in his younger days, and although retirement mellowed these traits, he maintained to the end a steely streak of stubbornness. (He was always promising to reform, vowing after every crisis: "I'm only going to do as I'm told from now on..." We'd all just smile...) 

But he also had a much softer side. A beautiful piece of music, or a stirring bit of pageantry, or a warm story of human courage or generosity would move him to tears. 

And, surprisingly, perhaps, for such a down-to-earth person, he had a very endearing quality of whimsy, inventing exotic versions of his name, or tall tales about the buildings in his neighbourhood.


He didn't find it easy to age (which of us does?), and lamented his decreasing mobility. But he had perfected the precious art of deriving enjoyment from what was simple and accessible. Watching the birds and the squirrels in the garden was one of his enduring pleasures, which he often returned to in our phone conversations. He enjoyed the detail of slow-moving processes. Whether it was birds building nests or workmen setting about a job, he liked to take the time to watch developments unfold. He would have appreciated our neighbouring building site much more than we do... 

There were many other things he loved, however.

His family, of course. That goes without saying. He was very proud of them all, and grateful for everything they did for him.

But also organ music. Brass bands. Home. The radio. A good traditional dinner. A little nip of whisky. The royal family. Horses. The Royal Air Force, where he did his national service (on the way back from outings by the seaside, we would always have to drive by his old base).

And politics...

Politics was his passion, and it would be hard to find a more astute observer of the British political scene. Latterly, he sometimes stopped watching because he felt so discouraged at the way it was all going... But he never stayed away for long. And he was always ready with insightful comments on the interviews or panel discussions he had watched or listened to. He was a canny judge of character, with a knack for cutting through the weasel words of politicians to the back-story lurking beyond. His own political experience, in trade unions and town councils, gave him a rich context to draw on, and his prognostications were on many occasions more accurate than those of the professional pundits.

We're so sad to lose this unique and irreplaceable person. 

We're doubly sad that we can't pay our last respects in person.

On Sunday evening we drank to his memory (whisky, naturally) out on our balcony (which was the closest we could get to the garden and conservatory that were his vantage-points of choice). 

The rain had dried up. The builders had stopped work unwontedly early, and it was calm and quiet out there. No birds by then, of course, just the fluting of crickets. As we toasted, and remembered, and cried, all the illuminations at the neighbouring temple came on, just for a few minutes, as though paying tribute with us.

Rest in peace. You are very much missed.