My father was one of life‘s true characters. Larger than life, known and loved by many, and the life of the party. 

He also loved his family. He was a loving husband to my late mother Margaret, and a devoted father to Sarah, Thomas and I. 
In recent years, he and Anne have been devoted partners and have supported each other through some tough times. Philip and Ed & their families have been good friends to Tom and much loved and admired by him.

Dad’s annual extended trips to Australia and New Zealand were keenly anticipated by his adored grandchildren; Natalie, Tommy and Charlotte in New Zealand and Max and Luella in Australia. “Grandpa” brought fun and laughter and adventure (and sometimes misadventure) along with him.

His sons-in-law Warwick in New Zealand and Simon in Australia knew to prepare for his arrival by preparing to cope with his relentless ribbing of antipodean sporting teams.

Dad will be remembered for his love of a party. He enjoyed nothing more than bringing family and friends together whenever an opportunity presented itself. I well remember the famous Low Hall Barbecues which everyone enjoyed except from the farm hands operating the clay pigeon traps while in range of tipsy men with shotguns.

More recently he threw a huge late September garden party during one of my visits. Dad was once rather critical of foreign food (“muck”, he’d say) but since discovering the delights of the Agra in Leeds, it’s now his favourite restaurant and they prepared a feast including spit roast whole Lamb Biryani for 60 or so of his close family and friends. 

Then there was his ‘bird within a bird’ banquet where Dad and his friend Ratty (with Dad as Toad), shot, boned and stuffed a quail into a partridge, into a duck, into a pheasant and finally into a goose. There was no prouder chef than Dad. 

Dad was happy to go native. He rode a Harley along the Sydney Beaches, bobbed up and down at Clovelly Beach in board shorts and a lycra surf shirt that did him no favours, and Sarah and I both still laugh when we remember him heading into the sauna au natural in Switzerland after a day’s skiing, realising he was supposed to be modestly covered, and then trying to do so with a microscopic hand towel and burning his nether regions in the process.

As Grandpa to Max and Luella, Dad revelled in being a bit naughty. He brought them home from a day at Disneyland Paris, not exhausted, but wired on overdoses of Coca Cola and sugar. He entertained them by allowing them to shoot the air rifle from a Nicol End window at a makeshift firing range in the garden, made up of pictures of sweet woodland creatures and endangered animals.
He took Max on his first shoot (something he was never able to do with Thomas), inducting an impressionable inner city antipodean into the joys of country pursuits including G&Ts at lunch and sloe gin cocktails at the end of the day. 

Grandpa probably considered himself to be offering sage advice to Luella when he recently recommended that if she wanted a boyfriend “she should go and lasso one!” Which, being Dad, he could have meant literally.

Dad was one of the most resilient people I know. He survived a car accident at 21 which left him blind in one eye. He lost Margaret and Thomas in tragic circumstances in 1981. He survived a dodgy second marriage and then bankruptcy, only to keep bouncing back and managing to have fun, laugh, and be generous and kind. He will truly be missed. 

His passing has come at the strangest time. We, his family and friends, are not able to gather together in the usual way to commiserate, comfort, reminisce and celebrate his life. That will come later when the world returns to normal, and we plan a party of Dad proportions.
We love you so much Dad, and miss you. Rest In Peace. Love, Anna