I am back home and readjusting to life after my father’s funeral. A sad event, but I found it quite moving and uplifting to see the number of people that came out for the service. The final piece of music was the Wild Rover (a song I would hazard my Dad would sing a snippet or two from every day) and there was a spontaneous moment where everyone just started singing along. I know he would have loved that.

Everyone has been so supportive, from my work colleagues, friends and family, especially my brother Andy who has the burden of being the closest son and got to deal with most of the practicalities of the event, plus delivering a heart-felt and fantastic eulogy. The reading I did was a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. I shall resume blogging duties shortly but for now I will leave you with that poem:

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Though he, that ever kind and true,
Kept stoutly step by step with you,
Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,
Be gone a while before,
Be now a moment gone before,
Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore
Your friend to you.

He has but turned the corner ā€” still
He pushes on with right good will,
Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,
That self-same arduous way ā€”
That self-same upland, hopeful way,
That you and he through many a doubtful day
Attempted still.

He is not dead, this friend ā€” not dead,
But in the path we mortals tread
Got some few, trifling steps ahead
And nearer to the end;
So that you too, once past the bend,
Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend
You fancy dead.

Push gaily on, strong heart! The while
You travel forward mile by mile,
He loiters with a backward smile
Till you can overtake,
And strains his eyes to search his wake,
Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,
Waits on a stile.


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