It's been a couple of weeks since Sue and I scattered dad's ashes and she is back in Borneo and I'm still in Lincoln.  I've been gradually emptying out his little bungalow of some of his more idiosyncratic personal touches.  Like the clocks everywhere, in wooden boxes with fake pendulums and cheap quartz movements.  Maybe they were his idea of a joke about time passing.  The oddest things make me tearful, such as the plastic model of the USS Constitution that has stood on the living room window ledge for years.  He made it when his hands still worked properly and it must have taken a lot of time and care.  Now it's all dusty and some of its spars are broken, it has no value and I've moved it into the garage to await its fate, probably the recycling bin.  All that time and effort for nothing. Hanging up my washing I noticed that the pear tree was in bud.  A few years ago dad tried to "make a feature" of it by painting it in creosote and sti...

Sue and I made our way to South Dock Marina on the morning of Wednesday 19th March to meet our old friend Pedro Lewis, who had laid on a workboat.  It was a good place to start as the marina is on the site of the old Surrey Commercial Docks where dad guarded the gates for much of his PLA police career. We headed out onto the river at about 10.00am with the tide still making.  The thirty or so minutes down to Greenwich passed quickly as we talked of people and boats we had known, some now dead or sunk.  As we headed downriver the sun began to shine. I remembered the spot where dad and I had scattered mum ashes twenty two years before and gave Pedro directions: "its just after the entrance to the Greenwich foot tunnel on the Isle of Dogs side, where you can see up through the naval college to the Queen's House and the Royal Observatory. On reaching the spot Pedro stemmed the tide while I opened the little tin box containing dad's ashes at the stern of the workboat...

The period after dad's death passed in a blur of administrative stuff.  After someone dies they have to be killed bureaucratically and this takes a lot of effort. In contrast the Memorial Service came together quite easily.  Dad's local social club was the obvious choice and booking and organising the catering was straightforward and dad had given me a list of people to invite.  In the end there were about thirty people, including dad's principal carers which I was very pleased about. One thing I really wanted was a bugler to play the last post and to my surprise the Royal Marines provided one free of charge.  Bugler Gillian Forde, who was very serious and very professional, played beautifully and then ate a vast amount of sandwiches before driving back to Portsmouth. Rosemary operated the lights and Sue controlled the music.  Which made me feel very supported.  It was lovely too to have our friend Claude there, all the way from Puglia. ...

(Opening music: the “One Fine Day” aria from Madame Butterfly sung by Maria Callas) Opening Words Welcome everybody to this memorial service for my dad, Douglas Jean Duckworth.   Dad died of pneumonia on 8 th February 2015 in Lincoln County Hospital. We discussed what he wanted in the way of a send off a few months ago.   He decided that he would like to be cremated anonymously, followed by a Humanist memorial service at a venue near his home.   He liked the idea of the cremation being anonymous, because having been to Lincoln Crem. for the funerals of his first wife, my mum, Eva and his second wife Phyllis, he had no affection for the place and it pleased him to think that this would put more money behind the bar for his friends to enjoy. He also chose the music that was played earlier.   It’s the “One Fine Day” aria from Madame Butterfly.   The “Humanist” bit was mainly to please me, as I’m a Humanist funeral celebrant and he probably t...