Looking back on this blog, I see that I didn't write much on here when Dad died, a bit over 5 and a half years ago now. I thought I would write something a bit later, but never did.
Here's a potted biography I wrote for, and read at, his funeral service. Looking back on that service now, it feels like a happy time. I'd done most of my grieving in advance, while Dad was ill, it seems. Also, his funeral, due to various medical cock-ups, couldn't be held until 3 or 4 weeks after he died, so that time wasn't as raw as it could have been. Instead the service was a real celebration of a life well lived.
Anyway - that eulogy deserves to be put somewhere more public and permanent than a Notepad document hidden away on my PC, so here it is:
Dad was born in Surbiton, on 22nd January 1939, to Ethel and Thomas Moore. Sadly, before he was three years old, Ethel was killed when she was run over, during the blackout.In 1947 Thomas married Dorothy and Dad and his older brother Johnny, were proud to call her "Mum" for the rest of her life. Soon they had a younger sister, Pamela, and they all grew up together as a very close-knit family.
Sadly, Pam, and her husband Malcolm, are unable to be with us today, but we are very glad to see the rest of our extended family here.
As a schoolboy, Dad wasn't academically inclined, but he attended Kingston Technical College where he learned carpentry, plumbing, electrics and all the other trades that stood him in good stead for his career as a builder and decorator, at first for a local builder.
Dad was called up into the army in 1958, to take part in his National Service. Joining the East Surrey regiment he served in Cyprus, Libya and Bury St Edmunds!
Back in civilian life, Dad continued working as a builder. When not working, he spent time with his brother, Johnny, and their best friends, Ken and Tommy. Larking around on bikes and cars; going on trips to the New Forest or West Wittering; and going to the pictures.
Tommy Crossley married Lilian, Dorothy's half-sister (are you keeping up?) and one day Lilian invited her old friend Christine to stay for the weekend at the Crossleys' family home in Tolworth. And that's how Mum and Dad met.
They were married in September 1963, and were able to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary together, with a houseful of good friends, just a few months before Dad suffered the stroke which left him so poorly.
Mum and Dad lived in Thames Ditton and then New Malden (where Joanne and I were born) before moving to the "countryside" and settling in Chertsey, while continuing his work as a self-employed builder and decorator. All his jobs seemed to come through word of mouth and personal recommendations, usually from old ladies. I don't know if I was sheltered from such things, but I never remember him being out of a job, which is a testament to the quality of his work and his personal affability.
Above everything, Dad loved working with his hands, and when he wasn't being paid to work he would be improving, or extending, his home and he was always looking for new hobbies or activities to fill his spare time. French polishing and cane chair restoration come to mind, but they did not last long.
In the early 1980s he discovered archery, which was to become a passion for the next thirty years, until the onset of Parkinsons disease meant he had to give it up. He had a long association with Woking Archery Club, helping them to move to, and build their huts at, their 'new' field in Wisley.
In later years, he became one of the stalwart set-builders for Ottershaw Players, spending many Sunday mornings (and lots of other days, when a production approached) building ever more complex sets for the most demanding directors (me!).
Now things start getting less chronological and more a series of memories and things that I remember about Dad, many of which I also picked up:
His love of old maps, newspapers and other documents.
Camping holidays.
Leaving in the middle of the night to miss the traffic and getting to the campsite so early we had to sleep in the car.
Whisky and American ginger ale.
Chinese food.
Spare ribs from the takeaway chicken shop in Chertsey.
Goodwood revival motor racing.
Getting up really early to put out the signs for WACs annual open shoot.
Attaching 4 casters to a 2ft square piece of chipboard, which my friends and I would ride, out of control, all the way down our hill, on the pavement.
My having to crawl under the floorboards to help guide electricity cables through the house.
The resultant arachnophobia.
Learning to drive in Brewery Road car park, when it was empty on Sundays.
LBC radio.
Wrigley's Doublemint chewing gum.
Birdwatching.
Helping me to buy and setup my first proper telescope, and him being astounded at what you could actually see through it.
Dropping me off at the Astronomy Club in Guildford. He would go to the pictures while I was at a lecture about asteroids or type 1a supernovae. Later on I was jealous that he got to see Alien and Airplane at the pictures!
The fact that he was always there to help move house, or do repairs, or with money. He was generous to a fault.
When a sales-person would cold call on the phone, he liked to string them along. One day a woman rang, selling conservatories. He expressed an interest and made it seem like he wanted to buy the biggest and best conservatory that they sold. After spending a good 15 minutes on the phone, he asked them whether it would be a problem to get the building materials in the lift because he lived on the 15th floor.
What I remember most is laughter!
, the novel by 
. I found it an incredible read. The story starts off in the 19th century, with a trader travelling in the pacific. He sails for home and is befriended by a doctor on board ship. Our hero falls sick and gets more ill as time goes along, when suddenly... It's the early 20th century and we're with a con-man/musician, on the run from dodgy characters and trying to make some money from an ailing composer.