For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Louise – Vic & Janet’s second of four daughters.
Firstly, I’d like to say thank you on behalf of my family. There have been many cards, flowers, gestures and kind words of condolence since Dad’s passing and there are so many of you here today to pay your respects, Dad would have been overwhelmed at such friendship.
In 1941, Dad was born in Crewe, Cheshire to Victor and Pearl. He didn’t remain a northerner for long though, at the age of 14 he moved to Kenilworth and when he married Mum in 1967, this was where they began their family life.
Kenilworth was always to be their home and I think it’s fair to say that Dad was a person who didn’t need to venture far from here. Trips to his beloved Lyme Regis in Dorset were common and Mum & Dad were blessed to have a week there together, in May.
For his 60th birthday we did succeed though in taking him to northern France to visit the landing beaches and military cemeteries from the wars – he was very well read on this era but of course that doesn’t quite prepare you for the impact of the cemeteries and he spoke of feeling very proud of the fallen and their sacrifice. We were privileged he said.
I do remember one particular morning on this trip, Dad appeared dressed for the day – in shorts. Now you will know that my father wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers every day of his life but to make this outfit particularly special, he wore his socks to his knees and with shoes. I’m sure my mother had something to do with it, probably telling him that everyone wore shorts when you were “abroad”, anyway he was asked if he could move his socks somewhere closer to his ankles, so that we could at least get on with our day.
Dad began his working life by training to become a motor mechanic, a passion that stayed with him throughout his life. Many of you will have memories of him hidden under the hood of a car bonnet tinkering with the engine at the roadside. Or perhaps some of you will remember the blue Ford Zephyr we had in Hyde Road, now its engine or parts of it at least, were often to be found on the kitchen table when we came down for breakfast in the morning.
Dad also served with the Kenilworth Fire Service as a retained firefighter in the early seventies, he worked for the Kenilworth Library Service but much of his working life was spent at Pickering’s, as a metal fabricator at their Clinton Lane factory and then when they moved to Farmer Ward Road.
You see Dad was a maker of things – sledges for Amanda and I, which were lethal on Abbey Fields in the days when we used to have snow. A go-cart for Patsy and Elley, which began life as a pram but was rescued by Dad from the tip. He built a loft conversion at their house in Wincote Close but perhaps his greatest build was a 4-berth cabin cruiser, built in the garden of our house on Hyde Road and launched onto the River Avon as the “Manda-Lou”.

The down side of having a DIY Dad? We were the onsite labourers! “Stand on the bottom of that ladder and don’t move!” was often the request.
He had many other interests: amateur radio, Formula One – I don’t think he ever missed watching a grand prix, he loved music and has an interesting vinyl record collection, old movies – especially the westerns with John Wayne and Clint Eastwood…had no time for romcom’s, embarrassing when you’re a teenager trying to watch Dirty Dancing and he’s making kissing noises in the background.
Since retiring, a lot more time was spent quietly reading – biographies of world leaders, autobiographies from soldiers of WWII, engineering feats, historical events and of course his Land Rover magazines. Toby was his constant companion, both to be found enjoying the sun in the front window at home or on daily walks around Kenilworth.
To many, Dad was a kind and thoughtful friend and neighbour, who was generous with his time and more than happy to be of help if he could.
He was a private man and lived his life in quiet dignity. He listened well, was respectful and respected, witty and wise.
In the end, he said he was a member of the C Club but he never spoke of dying, for the most part he lived with hope. He was considerate of us all – a few hours before he passed, Patsy wanted to come back and visit with Mum for the evening, he said no – your Mum has suffered enough and then he left us.
“Catch you later” he’d have said.