Duty, decency, reliability, honour, dignity, respect: these are all qualities that my father not only held in high esteem, but wished to practise every day during his time on this earth.
He was a serious and disciplined man, but he could never resist the opportunity to engage in humour with friends and loved ones, given half the chance. I do remember an occasion, when aged 16, I travelled to my father’s house in Guyana, South America, anticipating paradise in the South American jungle, but soon learned a valuable lesson; being forced to weed a large garden in tropical heat! This is one of the countless life lessons which he endeavoured to teach me.
He experienced a great deal during his lifetime: travelling to over 100 countries, both accepting and appreciating different cultures and customs. As the Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen wrote, “to travel is to live.” My father certainly epitomised this throughout his lifetime, notwithstanding the social and cultural revolution exploding around him with the onset of the 1960s.
He certainly lived life to the fullest in his early years, as those of you knew him will attest!
Rather poignantly, my father was born on this very day, the 25th June, sixty-nine years ago. He had an extremely joyful and tranquil childhood with his parents, Charles and Edna, his elder sister Christine and his cousins, some of whom are present and very welcome today. My father experienced countless enjoyable summers in Devon, particularly Ilfracombe. His fascination with the sea commenced at an early age, discovering his family history and the stories of his forefathers exploring every corner of earth via the sea. The paintings of Cape Horn, the southern-most part of Chile, in the late 1700’s by his great-great-great grandfather, Captain Thomas Birmingham had a particularly elucidating and inspiring effect. He was fascinated with tales of his ancestors from a very early-age, particularly fond of stories of their ships in the most remote, and interesting parts of the world.
My father and mother met 1979, often travelling to see each other and then marrying in 1983. They remained together for the rest of his life, combined with a life of travelling, save for the six years in Clifton. He loved and was very much loved through both the calm and rough seas.
Dad was a wonderful father and instilled a sense discipline and resolve that Tom, Marcie and I will carry for the remainder of our earthly lives. He encouraged both Tom and I in both an academic and sporting sense, introducing us to rugby, football and cricket from the age of four.
I am very glad that I was able to get to know and spend more time with my father in his final earthly years, visiting him more frequently and enjoying long walks together after he recovered from his renal transplant following the most unfortunate of circumstances. His recovery epitomised the very essence of his life, he was walking five miles a day, with his Labrador, Nelson, named after Lord Admiral Nelson who gracefully looks upon us today, together with Sir Francis Drake and Captain Scott. My father would be grateful that his life is being celebrated in such distinguished company!
My father provided sage advice on everything from teaching manners and responsibility, to the other important area of family life: keeping one’s goals healthy and alive. My father was a forthright man, who expected only the very best for his children. Provided he heard regularly from us all—and saw us whenever possible—he was content. And although in his final years, we had all moved on to different parts of the world, that bond was never broken. To me, my father's finest quality was his patience: an inherent ability to listen, to absorb and to offer a point of view based on quiet, measured wisdom. I will certainly not forget the occasion when I asked him as to whether I should move to Japan to continue my studies, his reply was: “Do what you feel, what you believe is right. Follow your intuition, your heart, and you cannot go wrong in life.” I truly have a great deal for which to thank him.
We will miss him dearly, but understand that this earthly life is not the end and only the beginning. My father lived a happy life, and only succumbed to ill health at the very end. He was in no way negative or indignant about the misfortune regarding his health, but rather tried to navigate through every single rising wave or storm. I believe that the essence of my father’s life was best encapsulated when he rather incredibly absconded from hospital almost a month ago today in order to spend his final days and weeks at his home. I was rather concerned at the time, as I told him that in hospital the doctor is Captain, but after three weeks of not walking and being heavily sedated due to his extremely aggressive cancer, he garnered enough strength to abscond from his hospital ward with nurses and doctors frantically following up an extremely precipitous hill at the Bristol Royal Infirmary, pleading with him to return to hospital. He refused, instead entering a public house located next to the hospital, until the hospital RegistAr decided that he was truly captain and were forced to discharge him. Thankfully our final memories of my father are enjoying the comfort of his family, home and nature in his final days and weeks. Despite his illness, he was benevolent, graceful and extremely thankful of all those who surrounded him.
My father was an imposing figure of a man, a character whose reassuring presence we all felt during difficult times. I would also like us to remember my father's elder sister, Christine, who is unable to be here at this time, and hold her in thoughts and prayers, wishing her a very swift recover. My father and Christine had thankfully spent more time together over the past few months. It is often said that our siblings are our best link to our past, and those most likely to stay with us in the future.
As we gather here today to remember and commemorate his life, let us bid him farewell as we celebrate a dignified soul. A soul that brought joy and fulfilment to many, and whose legacy will live on forever both at land and sea. The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea, although hopefully these brief words will provide a glimmer of the sea that was my father’s life.
Until we meet again, may God Hold you in the palm of his hand.