A remarkable person

I attended a funeral last Wednesday, at 11.00am, in London. No, not THAT one. It was my uncle's.

He died on Good Friday, at the age of 96. He was a lovely man, and was one of those people who took care to live well. He hadn't married or had children, and out-lived his siblings, so his 8 nephews and nieces were his next of kin. But there were, at a guess, 75 people at his funeral service. He was incredibly sociable, and had spent his life making friends, both abroad, when working for the British Council, and then in retirement in London. I don't think I know anyone who made more effort to keep up with friends. He organised his own 90th birthday party, which he held in a marquee in his next door neighbour's garden. From the nursing home where he spent his last couple of years, he would phone people regularly, and insist that they visited.

I spoke at the funeral service, and shared childhood memories of the uncle who was very much a part of our family life. What I said was echoed by others. He was always so interested in people. If he visited you by train, he would arrive with a story about the person he'd sat next to, and sometimes their entire life story. His interest crossed barriers. He was once asked by a teenager (and this is years ago) for a light. He responded by telling the youth that - speaking from personal experience - if he only knew how hard it was to give up smoking once you'd started, he wouldn't be lighting up that cigarette. The youth came back with "I asked for a light, not a lecture". My uncle was tickled pink, and lived off the story for ages. He wasn't offended at all, as many of an older generation would have been. He thought it was hilarious.

It wasn't just people that my uncle was interested in. He had a natural curiosity about anything that came his way. My brother told the story of how he had taken my uncle to Mcdonald's in Paris (there were small children involved). It was my uncle's first visit to a Mcdonald's. He chose the Filet O'Fish. He unwrapped it, opened the bun, peered inside, and returned to the counter, to ask which bit of it was the fish. Not to be rude, or clever; just because he was genuinely interested. It was The Emperor's New Clothes meets 21st century fast food.

Funerals bring out the lesser known, or at least lesser talked about, elements of a person's life. My uncle had served in Burma in 1944 with the Special Operations Executive. I knew very little about that. He had once told my brother, in detail, how to sabotage a steam train! He had also studied History at Oxford, but left without a degree. I think these days he would have been diagnosed as dyslexic. The irony is that these days, so many people leave university with a degree, but having gained relatively little from it. My uncle left with no degree, but with a lifelong interest in History, which he read widely about for the rest of his life. At the time, the family had treated his lack of a degree as a cause of great shame and embarrassment. I hope he knew, at 96, how proud we all are that he was part of our family.

With my uncle's death, Britain loses its longest operating heart pacemaker. He had it fitted in the 1970s, when it was a new and astonishing thing. I remember visiting him in hospital, all wired up, but cheerful and cracking jokes. It has served him well. It has lasted him all these years, with occasional changes of battery, and regular check-ups at which my uncle enjoyed the doctors' and nurses' interest in the oldest pacemaker of them all.

For me, the funeral event was a swirl of emotions. I was so sad, of course, but so very, very glad to be there. It's something that expats deal with so often. Would you fly home for a funeral? A wedding? A christening? To see a new baby? If someone is ill? You can't return for them all, even if money and time are no object - which, of course, they are. How do you decide whether to go or not? It's agonising. We missed so many family parties and gatherings, and each one was a loss. I was so deeply grateful to be at this funeral, (and the funeral of another uncle a month ago). Although a funeral is a sad occasion, it can be a very rich time. This one was particularly so. I loved it. I loved being part of it.

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