Whilst Kemba and I are utterly devastated, as many of you here I am sure also feel, we also feel incredibly lucky to have had the most loving, doting, intelligent, funny and often very irritating dad. Despite the many difficult times that we’ve faced over the last 10 or so years, Kemba and I would not have changed him for the world. He tried so hard to give us everything we needed since our mum died, it was an impossible task to be honest, but no one could have done it better in such tragic circumstances. I can’t put into words what he meant to us and there’s no way I could do him justice in the next few minutes. However, I can do my best in the circumstances by sharing some words of thanks to him and some memories that we will always hold dear. I hope they may resonate with many of you too.

Things we’d like to thank my dad for:

There is so much that we’d like to thank him for, and probably a lot that we’ve selfishly forgotten. But here are a few:

Thank you for always making us feel valued and being proud of our achievements. Our dad never put any pressure on either of us (Kemba and I are good enough at that ourselves!) He always just said to ‘do your best, that is all that you can do.’  Thank you for making us feel special and for championing us always.

Thank you for educating us about music… even if you were very pompous and often irritating about it. We will always think of you when we hear Miles Davis, Bob Dylan, Dusty Springfield, The Beautiful South, Tracy Chapman, Otis Redding and many others.

Thank you for introducing me to tennis and teaching me to play. I will always remember my first trip to Wimbledon, where you helped me to collect individual blades of grass from each of the courts and wrapping each in Sellotape so that I could put them in a scrapbook and take them into school. I’m sure he’d have rather just been watching the tennis…

Thank you for the times we laughed at The Vicar of Dibley, Only Fools and Horses, Fawlty Towers or I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue.
Thank you for being so patient and kind when playing any kind of game with us. Growing up, we would play pool, card games, tennis, cricket, basketball, snooker – he always would throw a game for us, unlike our mum who was fiercely competitive– I still don’t know if he was better than me at pool. I suspect he was. He never let us win when watching University Challenge though – he always knew the most obscure art, music or Geography answers.

A more personal one – thank you for showing me how to be the most loving father – Bryony and I are expecting our first child in August and if I can be even half the father that he was to me, then I know we’ll be doing alright.

Happy memories of our dad:

Kemba and I could not have asked for better or more loving parents. We will always remember the many special family holidays that we went on to Guernsey, France, Spain and Cornwall. Our dad would have so much excitement and enthusiasm when the weather was good – rubbing his hands together, exclaiming ‘Scorchio!’ or ‘Wahahey’! Whilst our mum, Kemba and I were happy to chill out and lounge around, it was always ‘Wagons roll!’ – we had to get up and about, find somewhere new to visit and make the most of the day.
On holidays to various locations in the South and South West coast of France, we have our happiest memories. Playing tennis and cricket for hours on the beach. More memorably on the journey there, before the invention of google maps, we nearly always got lost. We always felt sorry for the poor French people, as my dad pulled up alongside them. They would give instructions in fairly good English, to which he would shout directions back at them in French. ‘Gauche!’ Very embarrassing at the time, but quite funny now.
On family trips down to Polzeath in Cornwall with Grandad, Ian and Sarah, Oliver, Ella and Owen, and one time Neil also, we had a great time. He would also always mention the microclimate the minute the sun came out, even though it had rained the rest of the week. We’d spend long days on the beach, body boarding, surfing, throwing the ball for Porridge the dog, eating pasties and getting the ferry to Padstow. I don’t think I ever saw him happier than in those moments.

The year before last, Kemba and I took our Dad to Malta for his 60th birthday. We spent a wonderful few days in Valletta and hired a car to drive around the island. It was magical and felt as if we had him back after many years of battling with alcoholism, anxiety and depression. Anyone that was close with our dad knows that he was such good company when he was on top form. He would wake up early, go and buy us some coffees and pastries ready for when we stumbled out of bed. We would be silly, laugh and have fun all day, exploring various beaches and eating in different restaurants. Those days will stay with us forever.

Silly memories of my dad:

As well as his witty sense of humour, he often made us laugh in spite of himself. I’m not sure he’d appreciate it but we were always able to have a laugh at his expense and he gave us regular opportunities to take the mickey.  

I remember when Kemba and I were very young and as a family we were living in Handcross, we found a large wasps nest in the shed. Anyone with any sense would have called a pest control or at the very least covered themselves in protective clothing when trying to get rid of it. Not our dad. Dressed in T shirt and shorts, he decided the best course of action was to go into the shed and hit the nest with a spade as hard as he could. I’m not sure what the intended outcome was. The next few hours consisted of him screaming ‘Get me a doctor!’ As he writhed around in pain on the living room floor, having been stung all over.

Our dad could also make mundane and seemingly more innocuous gardening activities into an almighty drama and medical emergency. When trimming the hedge, obviously without a face covering for safety and for some strange reason with his mouth open, somehow he managed to swallow a large twig. Much coughing, choking and familiar shouts of ‘Get me a doctor!’ ensued. Our mum tried giving him ice cream but eventually it was only the reassurance of an A&E doctor that he was fine and that the twig was much smaller than he imagined, that he could go home and laugh about it, despite his sore throat.

Reasons Kemba and I are proud of our Dad:

I know that many of you are well aware of the battle that our Dad has fought with alcoholism, anxiety and depression over the last 13 years. We could not be more proud or grateful for the way in which he brought himself back from rock bottom on a number of occasions, giving us the chance to make happy memories again during periods of sobriety and better mental health. We know that he tried to survive for us right up until the end.

He was above all, a good man. During the first lockdown last year, the father of the family he lived next door to in Haywards Heath tragically took his own life. Without hesitation, and despite his own poor mental health, our dad immediately stepped in to take the children for days out on bike rides and to buy them ice creams, providing an invaluable distraction in what Kemba and I now know are the darkest of times.

Things our mum might have said if she were here:

When I was planning this speech, I thought I would share some thoughts on what my mum might have said if she were here. I ended up getting upset because I didn’t know what to write. I know it would have been something lovely, funny and positive and we all would have laughed and felt comforted. It then dawned on me that it would be impossible to know what she’d have said, because if she was here, then he’d certainly still be here too. She was what he needed. I don’t really believe in God or heaven or anything like that, but I’d like to think that somehow they are together again now, dancing, laughing and loving one another as they always did. 

Final thoughts:

I’m sure my Dad would approve of me finishing this tribute by referring to his favourite poet – Spike Milligan.
Milligan’s epitaph famously read ‘I told you I was ill.’ Our dad found this very funny but I think it was also very true of my dad’s condition. Sadly he did tell us and doctors that he was suffering but he did not receive enough support. Although this is not the time or place, I think it is important that we reflect on the importance of supporting people with ill mental health and the need to escalate this conversation so that services are improved and tragedies like ours may be prevented for others.

The second Milligan ditty that I thought related well to the circumstances of our dad’s tragic death was, ‘I don’t mind dying, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.’ Our dad wasn’t there – Unfortunately his mental illness had consumed him. I know he wanted to feel better and he didn’t want to leave us. He just couldn’t take the pain and suffering any more. We can all take solace in the fact that he is no longer suffering that pain through the crippling anxiety and depression which had taken hold

We’ll miss you and love you forever. Thank you for always doing your absolute best for us and we will always remember the happy times when you were really there.