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Below is the text of the eulogy I read on 20 April 2009, from the pulpit in St. Mary’s Church, Kettlebaston, Suffolk, at my father’s funeral. It takes the form of a short essay, called “Things Daddy Taught Me; Or, How To Be On Time”.

Reading it again, I am struck by an irony: that grief is one thing which forces all the appropriate steps on you, denying the possibility of skips or short-cuts or minimal efforts.

I’m sure he would have been good at this too.

A million thanks to everyone who has helped and who continues to help. If you’re thinking about that sort of thing, then please give some money to the Stroke Association.

THINGS DADDY TAUGHT ME; OR, HOW TO BE ON TIME

This is a list of the things Daddy taught me with success:

• How to tie a tie
• What to say when someone says “How do you do?”
• The way to Islington on a bike

This is a list of the things Daddy taught me without success; or rather, which I failed to master (and probably never will):

• How to use a drill
• How to use a chainsaw
• How to whistle
• How to roll a cigarette
• How to make extremely strong coffee using the appropriate ten-step method
• The importance of the appropriate ten-step method, and not just in beverages, although there is one for tea, which I can just about manage, if I really concentrate
• How to drive
• How to play chess
• Why it is always better to start at the beginning and perform all the steps in the right order, taking care over each one, instead of skipping straight to the end in the shortest possible time
• How to fix a puncture on a bike
• How to be physically intimidating and not be intimidated physically; how to face someone down
• The fathomless mysteries of personal finance
• How to be on time

This is a list of the places where Daddy taught me these things on a more or less regular basis:

• The car

To be honest, Daddy wasn’t really that into instruction. Instruction is didactic, it enjoys the process of improvement. Daddy did not. He preferred watching telly.

This is a list of things you might have expected Daddy to teach me, but which he didn’t:

• How to shave
• How to ride a bike
• Anything to do with sex

Daddy wasn’t an improving sort. He wasn’t even into improving himself. He just had a sense of the right way to do things. Some people might call that integrity. But I don’t want to give it a name. To name things is to try and understand them, and understanding breaks down, it deconstructs. Daddy built things up.

Because Daddy knew exactly what it took to do something properly, he didn’t want to do very much at all. This is a list of the things Daddy never did, and warned many times of the dangers of:

• Accept special offers from people who wanted to save him money
• Speak to the neighbours
• Give compliments, especially to Mummy, because if he did there would be no end to it
• Make rods for his own back

There’s a saying: it takes an honest man to make a straight table. When Daddy was a boy, he made a bicycle from scratch. When he retired he built a very sturdy shed. I never showed any real interest in these feats.
We both preferred it that way.

This is a list of the things Daddy never taught me, and didn’t need to, because we found we both knew them:

• The many frustrations of employment
• The careful avoidance of small household tasks
• The way around the great department stores of Europe
• That cream can go with anything
• A bit of butter makes it better

He didn’t teach me about honesty either, not in any conscious way. I don’t think he could have done, even if he tried. His honesty wasn’t conscious – and it’s not the sort of thing you can learn, or think your way into. But he shared it with me in everything he did. He couldn’t have done any less.

Daddy use to complain endlessly about doing the tax returns, yet he died on the very first day of the financial year. There were no part returns in his life.

This is how to be on time:

1. Plan your route carefully the night before and make all necessary preparations. Let these preparations include sandwiches.
2. Get up extra early and double check everything
3. Pack meticulously. Always take a hankie.
4. Wait with rising impatience while everyone else gets ready. You may slam doors.
5. Carry out your contorted plan of transportation. Factor in the price of petrol at every gas station in the South East of England, information you carry in your head.
6. Arrive. You are now three hours early.

That’s the thing about Daddy. He did everything so truly that he couldn’t have done this wrong. He wasn’t early. He was just on time.

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