Today I want to tell you a little about our lovely Dad. 

Born in 1940, in an ambulance outiside the hospital gates, he grew up in Meols and attended  Calday Grammar School, where he excelled at most sports and got by in more academic subjects. 

When he left school, he joined Liverpool, Mersey Docks and Harbour Board and then moved through a number of businesses before retiring from Whitbread at age 60, in the year 2000.

Mum, who had a hairdressing salon across the road from his friends garage, came into his life  in 1964 and they were married 18 months later. Ever the romantic, he watched match of the day on his wedding night. 

Despite his obessession with sport, Myself, Holly and Ben soon arrived, to his absolute delight. 

Sport remained important and over the years and he was remained involved with Tennis, Badminton and Golf, holding the positions of Chairman of Cheshire County Badminton and then to all of our great pride, Captain of Bromborough Golf Club in their centenary year, 2003.  

He was also involved with Round Table for many years and was one of the few to have a 100% attendance at fundraising, fireworks and social events. Many of his closest friends to the end, came from this time in their life. 

His retirement came at just the right time for the family as his services were required for the nursery, primary and even seconday school runs. he was known and loved by every Mum at the school gates. he retired from this position after 16 years. He would also drive any of us anywhere anytime, even to the other side of the country to look at a bargain car that his research had found for one of us. 

He loved his food. He mourned the loss of Griffiths’ after the gas explosion in New Ferry and never quite found an egg custard to match, even the Frank Sinatras in our favourite Portugese cafe were not quite up to the mark. 

Rum and Raisin Ice Cream from Nichols, a biscuit with his daily half a half coffee and drumming with two knives on the biscuit tin, butter dish, kettle, marmalade jar and anything to hand whilst waiting for the milk to heat or toast to pop up, were all part of his routines that we knew and loved. Salad was however a less popular choice. 

He developed his own terms of endearment for all of us. Punk, Thing, Stupid half baked nincompoop, Pest and Funny Face were all regulars, but over his last year or so, Poppy was always his ‘Precious’. He was the most doting and proud great grandfather you could ever imagine. 

You knew you were loved if you had your own nickname. There were Mum’s Dozy mates, Thing from Nottingham when Holly was living there and many of our friends were welcomed with a quip about arriving on their motorbike, in the days of back combed hair. 

He was a founder member of the Terrible Ten and the infamous Spital Meads Tennis Club and taught all of us to Ski. We were packed into a car and driven across Europe, years before it was trendy and often in place of a summer holiday. His love of snow filled mountains was a gift to us that we have appreciated more and more as we have all in turn, passed it onto our own children. 

One of his greatest loves was our regular Friday drinks, where the whole family across all the generations got together to share the stories of their week. It wasn’t as though he was even a drinker, but rather he just loved to have his family around him as it was all the entertainment he ever needed. 

He was a gifted story teller and had the ability to pull a relevant, funny story from almost any sitiuation and wherever we were in the world, that none of us had ever heard before. 

Time today doesn’t allow me to say much more, but if you knew him you would would have known what a warm, generous kind man he was. 

He was our Dad a proud husband to Mum for over 54 years and a great and loyal friend to many. His memory will live on through all of us. 

But i’ll leave the last words to his grandchildren. Whilst he was a wonderful father to the three of us, he really embraced his role as a grandfather with open arms. he was adored, admired, respected and loved by his six grand children and his face lit up when any of them were around, right to his last day. 

And the final, final words, have to be one of his favourite expressions of all time. Mahoola Mahalla. 

So, Mahoola Mahalla Dad. Sleep well.