Dad

When I was ten we were skiing in St Anton and in a rare navigational snaffoo we ended up on a short black run.   Having fallen over in a small dip I sat on my bottom crying, and steeling myself to walking uphill for the last bit.   Dad skied down to meet me and immediately sat down in the snow.   He opened his jacket, took out a hip flask and told me to take a sip.  Filled with something like apfelschnapz it was revolting and I failed to see how it might help our current predicament.   Taking a large glug, dad followed suit and put the flask back in his jacket. “Everything will be okay now Chipmunk”. He said. “Come on, let’s get this bit over and done with and go and get something to drink back in the warm”

So with that advice in mind, here goes.  

When we sat with dad he mentioned he would have liked to have his funeral before he died because he wanted to hear what people were going to say about him.   

We started trying to make that happen with short videos but then his condition rapidly deteriorated and, well, here we are.

So for this tribute I am going to recount a few stories from friends in the hope dad might still hear them, and I am also going to share a few things I think dad would want to say to all of us.   Because, let’s face it, dad always had something to say.   Especially to a crowd.  Though rarely a crowd without a glass in their hands so this might be a first.  

It’s longer than Google suggests is the average for a eulogy but as somebody reassured me “a long and wonderful life deserves a long and wonderful tribute”.

One of the first people to come back to me with an anecdote was dad’s friend Rick.

I said earlier that navigational mistakes were rare.  That’s not strictly true.  Apparently there was another one back in China, where dad had offered to tow Stuart’s car after he had broken down.  Over rocky terrain and unmade roads, it was an incredibly difficult thing to do.   

The instructions for the day emphasised – “don’t miss the turn at kilometre X” where you will rejoin a paved surface”.  Unfortunately the concentration required to tow Stuart’s car was such that they drove past the turn and carried on for another 50 miles on dirt paths taking another FIVE hours as opposed to the more comfortable hour it had taken the others.   

They eventually arrived in good humour and it cemented for everybody on the trip that dad was utterly reliable.    And in Rick’s words “a thoroughly good man”.   

I think dad would be thrilled to be remembered in that way.  

Dad’s younger sister Diana is unable to join us today but she sent the most beautiful tribute, which reads:

How do I start? The loss of Neil is devastating to me – but what a life he lived!

For anyone who knows what it is like to have an older brother and younger sister, when we grew up Neil loved to terrorise me.  From encouraging me to jump out of a first-floor window, using my school hat as a football – to scaring me to death by chasing me up the stairs. 

From the age of 16 he worked and supported himself whilst doing his A levels and went on to do a Higher National Diploma.    Meanwhile during the mods and rockers era he met the love of his life Olivia.

Despite a not great childhood, Neil was always driven and hoped to succeed in both family and work life.   And succeed he did! Neil, Olivia and Tanya went on to achieve amazing things.  Ever the adventurers, the whole Donnan family have travelled far and wide and seen most of the world.  Neil was not only an inspiration to me but to both of my sons Paul and Dan and we all looked up to him enormously.  And for that we thank you Neil and Olivia.

We will miss you Neil!  I can’t express how much you meant to me.  I loved you with all my heart and I’m sorry I can’t be there today.  But all the family’s understanding has meant so much to me.

And I’m sure Neil was hugely comforted in his last days to know that all the family, including his niece and grandniece in South Africa, were back in touch again.

Paul and Dan, and Kelly please thank your mum for those lovely words. 

Friends Andy and Sheila said of dad that he was a mellow, intelligent and thoughtful man. On their numerous walks in West Sussex, he would talk about anything and everything; invariably he would have read much around a subject.  They continued these walks all through the covid lockdown period.  At the end of the trail, they would drink their thermos coffee and indulge in mum’s dairy free cakes.   They were even reprimanded by a couple of do-gooders for huddling too close around the open boot of the car at one point. 

Sheila says that dad helped them develop an understanding and appreciation of the wines they drank.   They will greatly miss ‘Neil’s Deals’ that he used to deliver as and when he spotted them.   Sheila  finished her email to me with:

“We shall miss you Neil.     In your battle with cancer, you have set us all an example to follow.  In death, as in life.    RIP our dear friend.”

Over the years Dad taught me many life lessons.  In fact not just me, but many of you here today have first hand knowledge of how much Dad loved to mentor people and to be given the opportunity to share his insights. 

 So to finish my tribute here are some reminders 

Say yes. 

Almost without hesitation 

When Rick asked dad back in 2002 if he fancied joining him and some friends on a drive to Australia Dad said yes almost immediately, even though he didn’t have the necessary classic car.    Within a month he messaged to say Beastie had been bought and he triumphantly went on to arrive in Sydney with her after crossing dozens of countries, thousands of miles and three months on the road.  We have now followed Beastie’s journeys with mum and dad for over 20 years, and we are thrilled that her adventures will continue with Jonnie though they might be more Sussex than Sydney for a while.  

Achieve something every day

Dad said that to me on his birthday when I phoned him in that first lockdown back in 2020 and it has stuck with me.  For him that day, even though it was his birthday and only 10am, he’d been out strimming the public footpath so people in shorts wouldn’t have to walk through stinging nettles. 

For you it might just be getting out of bed one morning or ticking something off the to do list you’ve put off for weeks   They are all relative and of equal importance so I’m sure dad would want to give us all that gentle reminder today.   

Play music 

Loudly.

And often

He loved everything from Opera to Otis Reading, from Edgar to Ed Sheeran, from Jethro Tull, to Jean Michelle Jarre from Bruce Springsteen to Beethoven.  

Dad, we hope you appreciated the loud music that was played when Chris here came round to finalise today’s details and we digressed for a short while to admire your vinyl collection. 

Listen to ZZ Top on a Saturday morning 

Especially ZZ Top on a Saturday morning

Every year dad’s Christmas request from us all was for a CD of whatever WE were listening to because it would introduce him to artists he would go on to love and may not have otherwise found.  

Drink the wine 

Especially the good stuff, how many of us heard “it is made to be drunk, not left in a cellar” over the years?   A decade ago we were all treated to a bottle of wine with Christmas pudding that the kids discovered was worth more than their first car.   We might have only been able to have a mouthful each as ten of us shared it but we will never forget it and are grateful dad thought us worthy enough for him and mum to share that precious bottle. 

Drink it with Scrabble and Lasagne just because it’s Tuesday

Drink it with friends

Especially with friends

And definitely if it is a Coche Dury at a third of the UK retail price.  Dad and friends took great delight in spotting some on a menu in France where they drank the restaurant’s entire supply and coined the phrase “to be Coche Duryed”.   Our current setting precludes me from repeating  the exact phraseology used to describe word for word what this is but I am sure you can guess. 

Dad said when it was finally his time to leave he wanted to be listening to Beethoven and drinking a glass of red wine.  You better believe we played Beethoven’s Fifth loudly at 3am as mum dipped a toothbrush in Pinot Noir, then wet his lips with it in order to fulfill those final wishes.  

Cherish your friends 

It’s testament to the man dad is, I refuse to use the past tense because he’s still a part of us all, that many of you here have known him, and mum for over forty years.   People who were once colleagues;   who ran a play school in the early seventies and offered mum a job;   people met as mature students at university;   skiing;   at events around the world or down the road; back in Peterborough in the eighties or on rallies, have now become firm family friends. 

And whilst I am saddened that it is under these circumstances I am pleased we can now put faces to some of the names we have heard so much about over the years.   Literally planes, trains and automobiles have brought you all here today and that would make dad smile.

It was comforting too for dad to know he was leaving mum in your safe hands.  We reminded him often that we’d all be here for mum and that his legacy would live on in us all.   So many of you have already stepped up and proved that to be true, in supporting us all, we can never thank you enough.

 Most of all we shall remember his kindness; 

His singing, generally with the wrong or even with made up words; 

Dancing in the kitchen; 

His proudly walking me down the aisle when I became Mrs Barrow

The “Sensible and kind life advice” our friend Emily remembers him giving her the night before her wedding in France and over the decades before as he and mum took her, her brother Adrian and their mum Dorie under their wings; 

Making paper aeroplanes with Lily and getting them stuck on shelves we couldn’t reach; 

“Beer stop” on Saturdays

The worldwide adventures and our “you’re  driving where?!!!” exclamations; 

His wise words, some of which were just the week before he died to my friend Annie when they briefly discussed their shared love of photography and each remarked how the other was an inspiration to them; 

His thirst for knowledge; 

His correcting our poor grammar or telling us it’s “bat err ree.  Not battree.” Because bats don’t live in trees. 

And we shall also remember his profound ability to stop a conversation by casually dropping into the family chat new nuggets of information …..  such as telling us four years ago he used to be Sean Connery’s paper boy. 

Thank you for everything dad. Na night. 

And now it is over to Caity for her tribute

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