Remembering and Memorialising My Dad 23/02/19

After my bonus week off, and after another back in work (where the considerations made for me by the management and supervisory staff after suffering my bereavement have been superlative and due the highest amount of public gratitude), the family can all reconvene back in Leicester to publicly memorialise and commemorate My Dad, four weeks after his passing. It will only be a flying visit for myself, but My Sister and My Nieces have been Down Country for a chunk of half term week to aid My Mum with catering preparations and to get cake baked in vast quantities so that all the attendees for the Memorial Service at Abbots Road URC won't run the risk of being underfed. As they've also taken on the task of doing the AV presentations, by scanning countless photographic prints and collating them all in a digital collection, as well as printing the orders of service, I'm left with not a great deal to do come Saturday morning, which puts me in the situation of being the muscle for laying out the church hall for the buffet, and the tables and chairs are a lot easier to handle than the ones that we used to put out when organising so many church socials way back in the day, when we'd somehow seat 100+ people in the church hall. So seats are laid out for 54, which still manages to fill the hall, and we've got a lot of organisation in hand once the church social group start to arrive to do what some have them have been doing for 50 years now, and I create such a familiar shape moving around furniture and laying tables that at least three people greet me with a genial 'Good Morning, Dave!' before realising their error and apologising profusely, not that I'm going to take offense, as making myself physically useful is probably the best way paying tribute to My Dad, as that was always his thing too. I also give the approval to the using beakers from my parents' overly vast collection as a personal touch for circulating brews, and when the idea is hatched for letting people take them away as a personal memento, I'll approve that too, as that's an excellent way of getting rid of two cardboard crates of them and not having to worry about disposing of them later down the line. After set up is done, I'll retreat to the quiet of the church for the hour before the service is due to start, and sit alone watching the slide show that we set up for the occasion, seeing so many images of Dad from my youth that make me realise that I'd really forgotten about that man that had been a father to me after he'd become older, memories obscured as he became unwell and frail in his later years, which gets me feeling deeply nostalgic and actually realising just how badly I miss him, because it really has been such a long time since I last saw him in rude health, physically busy and in perpetually good cheer.

Doing What We Do Best at ARURC!

Service time rolls around and it's heartening to see that the church fills up with many enduring members of the congregation, along with folks from Dad's distant years right through to his later days in work, and it's a deeply curious experience to see faces that I haven't seen since we passed out of the 1980, and folks that recognise me still despite us having not crossed paths since I was a pre-teen. Rev PS presides again, but we are having an altogether looser affair than the funeral was a fortnight ago, and the floor is thus opened to anyone who wishes to speak and share their memories of Dad, who had been such a fixture of the congregation for well over 60 years, and thus the lectern is initially taken by EC, KW and MC, all friends of his from his days in the church youth group. Tales are forthcoming from this trio, many of which have been family legends for such a long time, like how they all gave each other special names and why Dad became David Isiah Constable Wren, and how he saved up his initial wages to buy an Austin A35 van, which was used to transport far more people that it was ever designed to carry to hostelries and events all around the county. The legendary church panto of 1965 is recalled, where Dad was the lighting technician and already demonstrating his skills for engineering and organisation, as well as his prodigious feats of memory, as well as occasions of carolling into the wee small hours over many festive seasons, and how in later years he'd be willing to drive across the county for church events, to aid people as they moved away and to visit rural Berkshire on a whim to see the woman who'd later become his wife when she was home for the holidays, away from university. Tales are recalled too as two of these men became surrogate uncles to our family, and how trips were made to North Wales and Essex to accommodate us all when we were visiting, and how for a good decade the growths of all our families were intertwined, to the point of MC acting as celebrant when My Sister was Christened in 1973, and KW acting as Dad's Best Man when he married My Mum in 1967. It's really good to see these guys again, along with others who moved away from East Leicester over the years, and it's immensely heartening to see a bunch of men in their 70s reconvening to recall their younger days, and also saddening to see as it's something I'd really have liked to have happen for My Parent's Golden Wedding in 2017, but Dad wasn't really in a state to enjoy prolonged socialising by then, to our retrospectively immense regret.

Ensuring No one Goes Home Underfed!

Other members of the congregation speak too, notably BW and BR, both long term friends of the family who've had bonds that have endured for 60 or more years, who came together through the various church groups, as Dad aided at the Boys Brigade camp, or threw himself into the activities of the drama and social groups, where his willingness to get involved and make himself useful was always most appreciated. Again is eye for detail is recalled, always a key factor in organising any church social event as he'd organise so much practically as other planned out, often spending hours being busy behind the scenes and still being ready to put himself at front of house as things came together, and he's fondly recalled as being an embodiment of Practice what you Preach, and Actions not Words. In the drama groups he was always willing to entertain, taking on a multitude of roles in dramatic presentations, and always being willing to play the fool for the Old Time Music Halls, all while putting in hours of carpentry, set dressing and activity that seems wholly out of proportion to the funds that could possibly have been raised, and the same was true of so many social activities too, where so many hours of labour were put in at dinners and fund raisers. His role as church handyman cannot be understated too, as he partnered with BW over many years, potentially saving the organisation thousands of pounds in workmen's fees over the years, still active right up until 2015, and the bonds shared are fondly recalled from the many, many hours, days and years spent in the church through labour and entertainment, and through all the good social times had beyond its walls. AH takes a turn to speak, recalling Dad as an extra uncle to herself, and having been as close to him as anyone outside her family through her formative years and beyond, especially recalling his generosity in time and labour when she was setting up the pre-school nursery that she now runs, as his free labour gave her the opportunity to get the preparatory work done without having to run up excessive costs or take out onerous loans before she got her business off the ground. These were tales that I wasn't aware of, and it's heartening to see her recall how fortunate she felt to have My Dad as part of her own family, still fondly recalling him as her childhood uncle after five decades, and still considering him as the godparent of her business as it continues to thrive.

You Will See His Name in Lights.

Two of Dad's colleagues from his later career in stock taking also take the opportunity to speak, recalling his generosity as a colleague and his ability to take charge of working situations, definably being one of those people who'd be apt to a task after only the shortest amount of direction and how he'd mentor the junior staff despite his relatively short time in the job. They'd all gotten to know each other well through the decade they worked together, driving across the country to jobs around the Midlands, and sometimes even further beyond, as far as spending weeks in Belgium, Italy and the Netherlands, and effectively keeping one of them in a job by doing all the extra driving for him after he'd lost his license, for which the personal debt of gratitude was immense an heartfelt. My Mum speaks up next, recalling him as the funny and warm-hearted man that he was, and his enduring taste for comedy, such as the well crafted works of the Two Ronnies, Monty Python, and Blackadder, as well as the raconteurs who were also close contemporaries of himself, like Mike Harding, Jasper Carrott and Max Boyce, and recalling the words of Billy Connolly, who as a man also enduring the onset of Parkinson's Disease commenting 'I don't know who Parkinson is, but he can have his disease back!'. My Sister also speaks, recalling his qualities as a father, encouraging and aiding us in our learning and interests, and his enduring willingness to put out his time for us through our youths and later years, his joy at being a grandparent to her daughters and his essential decency, keeping him in her heart as one of the good guys in her life, and someone that will continue to endure with them in her temperament and that of the girls too. I elect not to speak though, having failed to organise my thoughts into anything coherent despite having had two weeks to prepare, and as I don't work well with a crowd and after my emotional moments at the funeral, I prefer to cede the floor to DR, a friend of Dad's since he was a boy so she can lead the church social group in a song she wrote for the occasion, demonstrating the skill with words that she's always had, set to the tune of Dad's favourite hymn 'Thine Hand, O God, has Guided' (which Dad always called the Abbots Road Anthem, and was probably beloved for its awkward and hilariously alliterative line 'the faithful few fought brafely').

My Dad in his Element.

Thus all that remains is for Rev PS to wrap up proceedings, recalling Dad as a dutiful member of her congregation when she was minister of this church, and as a friend having returned to it after her retirement from professional ministry, and then we can all move on to the Bun Fight afterwards, where so many people can circulate in the hall, demonstrating just how well loved he was, and how we had underestimated the amount of seating required for the occasion. We hadn't under-catered though, and My Sister and Younger Niece take the opportunity to circulate and ensure everyone gets their fill of cake, while I hold down a space at the table, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the crowd, and accepting the best wishes and commiserations that come my way, and it's gratifying to get such a response as many of these good folks have remained family friends to me, despite me having departed this congregation more than 25 years previously. The fellowship and friendliness of the place endures, and I'm sure that plenty of people have been stung by Dad's passing, with him being been a member of the congregation for so long, and actually being one of the youngest of his broad group of contemporaries as other push on through their 80s and 90s, and the circulating continues until around 6pm, and the throng gradually disperses with many bonds reaffirmed and good times recalled. My Mum is delighted by the turnout, and her being also to see so many people form their shared past again, we can all head away feeling that we did Dad proud for the occasion, as well as not having to worry about having too much cleaning up to do as Abbots Road social occasions have truly mastered the art of cleaning up after themselves, and the one true regret is that we never seized the opportunity to do this while Dad was still with us and well enough to enjoy it. And that's that for this particular chapter, as Dad's journey sadly concludes and the rest of us prepare to continue ours, picking up many, many memories that had been forgotten, to be aired and shared anew as our lives take on a slightly altered course, and it's certainly been a difficult month to pass through, but we can now do more to recall the man we loved through so many years, rather than witness what his horrible illness made of him, that vigorous, funny and warm-hearted man that I am proud to have had as My Father. I'll do my best to not lament his passing, I'd rather be happy that we had him around in our lives for as long as we did;

I Love You, Dad.


Next Up: March means Serious Business.