Family Tribute for Grandad by Nancy, Suzie and Lydia.
Read by Nancy in the chapel.
Over the last few weeks, we’ve sat down as cousins and grandchildren to speak about our Grandad. We’ve shared moments of laughter, memories of his endearing ways and some of the cherished times we had with him.
So here we are, a few words for a man of few words.
We’ll remember you as someone who always had time to talk. Sat in your chair. When we needed an audience, you were there. Whether our art, music, poems or food we’d cooked. You sit there, nod and say “that’s quite good”. And it didn’t take us long to work out that, to you, “quite” really meant “very”. Or, more importantly, that anything we did, you’d probably think of as great. Thank you for that.
We’ll remember your music and how you carried it everywhere. A man so smart yet also so casual. We’ll all try and carry that smartness, that casualness with us. Your singing at every moment — on the bus, in the car, in the waiting room and in the playground. Al Bowlly, Frank, Ella and Matt Monro. We’ll think of you whenever we hear them.
We'll miss fish and chips every Friday. And you ordering a wally, but never eating it. We’ll miss Sunday lunches at the pub, with you knowing everyone inside. We'll carry on those traditions in your name. There’s a special sense of a pride a grandchild gets when walking through a pub with your grandad and every old boy giving you both a nod.
We’ll share our favourite memories of you. Lydia remembers how you held her hand under a pub table during a difficult conversation. An unprompted gesture that meant a lot. To you, actions always spoke louder than words and we always felt you understood us. Whether with a smile, a raise of the eyebrow or a hand held.
And, in that vein, we thank you for always respecting our decisions and acknowledging our agency in making them. As we grew older the making of these decisions grew more complex, but you were never one to question or criticise how or why we’d ended up at a certain point. You’d trust that we had our reasons, stand by us and nothing more needed to be said. We’ll always respect you for that.
We thank you for all those times you picked us up from school. We’d spot you across the playground in your flat cap and we’d always be so excited. We remember how you’d kiss us on the forehead and say “hello bubba” and, all these years later, on your last night, your final words to each of us were: “goodnight bubba”.
We’ll speak about you as a man of culture, proudly working-class. During your early days on ship decks you captured everything on camera. We loved going through those photo albums with you, and will cherish them even more now. We’ll think of your later days spent working in the Royal Festival Hall surrounded by music and art. The conversations we had with you about poetry and paintings. We will always see you in Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. We’ll never forget that when we asked you what we should look out for when visiting New York, you listed all the best Irish pubs. Wherever we are in the world, we’ll seek them out too - for better or for worse - and think of you.
We’ll tell the story of how you met your hero to all our friends. You told us how you walked straight off the ship to an underground bar in Canada in search of an illegal drink or two. And there, sat at the bar, was Sugar Ray Robinson, fresh from a fight. You sat next to him while you drank, and although you didn’t chat much, you got in how much you respected him. Like so many of your stories, Grandad, you didn’t realise just how extraordinary they were until you shared them with us at the dinner table. (Our mum) Nena says you were possibly the most contented man she knew.
We’ll hold on to the way you always made time to thank (our mum) Nena after the love and care and time she put into supporting you. You'd always make a point of saying "Thank you for all that you do" and the importance of that will stay with us forever.
We’ll remember the last night of your life with a smile. Nana attempted to smuggle in bottles of Gin and Tonic to your room. And then the two of you cuddled on top of the bed, chatting away into the night, with family in the next room.
We'll remember the love and care you showed towards our nan, your darling Paul. Towards the end of your life, even when it was becoming more difficult to speak, you always wished her good luck before every hospital appointment and hugged each other on her return later that day. The tenderness and love you felt towards one another will stay with each of us. And we'll remember you as a kind man of integrity, one who put kindness, loyalty and the thoughts of others before everything else. We probably didn't tell you enough just how important it was to have a role model like you in our lives.
We loved hearing your stories. On those rare moments when you’d open up. We’ll remember you as the quiet man who had travelled the world - and inspired us all to do the same. And when we’re back home - going to work, to school, to meet friends - we’ll remember you when we look at the Thames. The tale of the man who travelled the world and always came back to South East London. As you said, there’s no place like home.
And it was here, South East London, the boy became a sailor, became a husband, became a father, became a grandad. Waving out the window, to each of us, goodbye.
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