I once told Dad that he was the cleverest person I know. I meant it. He was a polymath. As a child he was intellectually advanced; as an adult he was able to fit into any conversation on any subject – big or small – with anybody; as a Dad he always gave the best advice or practical assistance; but according to himself he was ‘just a decorator’. 
 
This was typical of Dad. Despite his larger than life personality, he was in fact happier in the background letting others shine or take the limelight. However, he also knew when it was the right time to speak up. He was a member of several history societies and groups, and when he attended one of their many lectures on a wide range of subjects he would always sit at the back; partly because he was a tall man and didn’t want to sit in the way and spoil someone else’s view, and partly because he wanted to listen, watch and read the room, and if the room fell silent after the lecture had finished he would stand up to ask a question relevent to the topic. He felt it was important to make the speaker feel as though they had made a difference and that the time they had put into writing and delivering their talk had not gone to waste. 
 
And that is why I am standing here today. Initially I had declined the opportunity to speak, preferring to remain silent within the congregation. When I explained this to Evelyn, she asked me which of my parents I felt I took after most. At the time I couldn’t put my finger on it, but as soon as I began writing my personal tribute to him – at that time to be read by someone Evelyn – it became obvious. 
 
It was Dad’s love of history that sparked my own interest. As children he would ‘drag’ Jase and me to London – that is how we felt at the time – to look at some old relic in a musty museum or maybe to watch an orchestra playing some nerve jangling world music. At the time we didn’t realise the importance of those days out – both culturally and intellectually – but we look back now grateful that we got the opportunity to see the Terracotta Warriors on their first visit to London in 1987, or to watch the space shuttle ‘Enterprise’ piggy-backing into Stansted Airport on a jumbo jet as part its European tour of 1983. However I’m still not sure what to say about the nerve jangling world music concert at the Barbican where we sat immediately behind the orchestra, afraid to move because of the spotlights shining in our faces throughout placing us in full view of the entire audience.
 
His favourite subject was American History and its links to our region, and he enjoyed nothing more than sitting at the computer following a lead and researching a small detail in the hope it would reveal something important. Many a time it did, and he often sent letters to the editor of the local newspaper, or the chair of the local historical society, to either share his latest discovery, or one of his own stories from his long and interesting career. He met hundreds of fascinating people over the years and provided a confidential and rational ear to many, and he was an enthusiastic sparring partner during a good number of healthy political debates.
 
For Dad this cruel disease stole his most precious possession. It was his brilliant brain which made him stand out from the crowd, despite his attempts to remain out of view. Through his actions and example,he instilled within us a strong sense of justice, the meaning of hard work, the value of money, and the importance of family. I cannot say that coming to terms with his death will be easy, but he gave me the tools to cope with it as he forced us to discuss it, often using a particular metaphor, and therefore to normalise it. He believed firmly in the mantra ‘let there be no surprises’.  
 
His illness may have parted us from him in life, but he will never leave us in death. Rest in peace.