Rob

That was what we've been calling him since we were teenagers - not sure why, a one syllable word similar to 'Dad' that indicates that he is a friend as much as a father and a role model. The amount of wisdom and knowledge that was lost when he closed his eyes for the final time is incomprehensible. The amount of love in his heart that couldn't keep beating was boundless. There isn't much I can say other than thanks to all those who have offered their condolences and those who have would like to offer condolences but can't get in touch. And also apologies to all those who wanted to attend the service last Tuesday but we weren't able to get a message to in time. Instead of thoughts offered to me and my family I would prefer people to reflect on or even imagine the wise, gentle lion that is my father. We are so proud of him and everything that he is.

I don't want to write a thousand words on the gentleman that my father is or I'll ruin this keyboard with my tears. So I'll just copy in the speech that I read at his service.

My mate Rob.

People have spoken about the many wonders of my father, and there are so many more people touched by his magic who could tell you of those shining attentive eyes, his vast knowledge that he imparts to those seeking to learn, his voracity for hard work and his sweet softness that touches us all.

But the thing about my father that has fascinated me ever since I was a small boy are his hands.
He has always had these broad brown leathery hands with strong sturdy fingers.
I often wondered whether I might have hands like his when I grew up,
but even as an adult my hands are like a child’s again when he holds them.

They are such powerful steady hands.
Capable of simultaneous feats of strength and delicacy.
He can lift a boat up onto a trailer and tie ferocious knots with coarse rope, or bowl a seaming bouncing off cutter.
He can fix a hearing aid, play the guitar and put stitches in a mouse –
but he has never quite got the hang of the remote control.

His hands showed me how to hold a cricket ball, how to grip a golf club, and how to tie different knots in our fishing line.

He speaks with his hands, always with poise and elegance.

If I would fall asleep early he would gently carry me to bed, or if I couldn’t sleep at night he would stroke my hair until I slept.

I held his hand as he lay on the floor of the gym, and I held it as he lay in his final doze.

My cheek will always be against your big soft furry face and my hands will always be in those big warm hands.