24 December 2012
December in Haga Park
18 December 2012
Dads Funeral
In the end the Dad died sooner than any of
us could have imagined. He died in hospital on the 28th November 2012 with
Penny at the side of his bed. It’s strange, but in the weeks before he died, I
had this strange idea that I might not be upset when being given the inevitable
news of his death. But when I finally got the call from Penny to say he had
died in the night, I was sad. I did cry. I was in a taxi at the time, on my way
to the airport for a business trip to the US, so the timing wasn’t perfect to
say the least. I don’t think the taxi driver noticed my tears. I was OK by the
time we arrived at the airport. I remembered that morning at breakfast that I
had told Caroline that I’d woken in the night and that I had wondered if it
might be connected with Dad’s condition. Of course I don’t really believe that
it was related to him dying, but it was a bit strange anyway that it happened
on just that night.
We
all would have gone to the funeral had Nicholas not been so young, so Hannah, Emma and I went in the end. We took an evening flight
to Heathrow, picked up a hire car and drove first to Michael’s in London to
stay the night. On the day of the funeral, the 18th December, the
drive up to Oakthorp the next morning was almost a disaster. We hit a closed
section of the M25 due to an accident. But thanks to the satnav in the car, we
made some cross country detours and got to the Shoulder of Mutton just in time
anyway. Penny and her family were already there and soon we were getting into
the large black car that had been ordered for us. It was a bit strange, sitting
in the car with Penny, the children and Julie from the pub, and then seeing the
funeral director walked in front of the cortege for the first roads out of the
village. I wasn’t expecting it, I had no idea they still did that. Michael was
waiting at the chapel and there was quite a large group of friends and
acquaintances waiting in the small chapel. The service was very relevant and
emotional. I made a reading during the service. It was quite hard to deliver
without tears, but I’m glad I did it. Considering the comments afterwards, it
seemed to have been appreciated by the people attending. When we got back to
the pub, there was an air of sadness and relief. We had some drinks and chatted
with the people who had known Dad at the pub. Julie had organised some tasty
food for all the close friends and family and we all sat around chatting and
reminiscing about Dad and his eccentric ways. It was really good to have the
chance to talk to his friends at the pub, most of whom we had never met before.
They had some funny stories and fond memories of Dad and it left me with a warm
feeling knowing so many had such high regards for him. The girls and I stayed
in a local hotel that night and the following day we drove back to Heathrow for
the flight home. I hope I will have the chance to visit the pub again sometime
in the future, just to remember it and the people and for what it meant to Dad.
My
reading at the service read as follows…
Ian Graham Smith was a kind, caring, loving
person, he was our Dad.
He was many things to many people during
his life.
He was a son to his mother Eileen and his
farther Kage and he was a brother to Carol, his sister whom he loved dearly.
He was a school boy, growing up away from
home at a boarding school, Rossal, in Lancashire. Then he joined the army and
he became a soldier, a marine in the Royal Marines. He was proud of that
He was a husband. He married Jean and soon
he became a farther. He has 3 children, Penny my sister, myself, and Michael my
brother.
He was a great Dad and we loved him for
that. He was a great holiday Dad too. We went to the beach a lot, often in
Wales where the sand was good. He loved digging with us in the sand and there
was always a bigger castle to make or a longer dam to build. He took a garden
spade to the beach; toy spades were not big enough for him! We loved his
digging and so did half of the kids on the beach! He was unstoppable. He was
great on the beach.
He was a salesman and for most of his life
he worked in sales. As his job moved, so did we. We moved from Cheshire to
Yorkshire where he had a house built. We moved many times. We were good at
packing and un-packing.
He travelled with his job to, often abroad,
to India, to Asia. He became worldly, a source of information, experience and
advise. His pub mates liked that. He met a lot of customers and they liked him,
I think they trusted him. He was good at his job.
Later he re-married to a girl called Sue.
He met her while he was travelling in the UK with his job. He moved to Ashby
where they bought an old Victorian house together. One of his passions was
renovating. He was good at fixing, re-wiring, painting, he was a true handyman.
He was a collector. He collected all sorts
of things during his life, things he liked, things that took his fancy at the
time. The things he collected changed over the years, he collected match boxes,
tea spoons from airlines, milk bottles, and all sorts of other things. He had
endless time and patience to sort and store the things he collected. In his
later years he also started to do car boot sales, initially I think to sell
some of the things he had collected but no longer had space for! But in the
end, I think he bought more things than he sold!
He was a gardener too. He loved to grow
things and keep them alive, no matter how much effort it took. I think the
flowers at the pub were his pride and joy.
He was a character. He loved the pub where
he lived and they loved him. It gave him the best of both worlds. It gave him
peace and quiet and time to just potter around his room, do his crossword, call
his sister, and as soon as he came down the stairs, it gave him company,
friends and his social life. Julie’s pub, The Shoulder of Mutton, was his home
for the last years of his life and I don’t think he would have had it any other
way. Ian was a kind, caring,
loving person. He was our Dad.
02 December 2012
Winter has arrived
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