Eulogy for my stepdad

(from his funeral last week)

I consider myself very lucky to have known Glyn, and privileged to have such a kind man as a step-father.

I don’t think that Glyn would have thought of himself as an heroic man, but he did something pretty brave in his mid-50s – he married my mum. Not that that was brave in itself (she’s lovely, of course), but she came attached to three sons and a very boisterous dog.

It can’t have been easy to adopt a pre-packaged family unit after decades of bachelordom, but he did it with aplomb.

I remember when mum first said that she was going out for the evening with ‘a man called Glyn’. I pictured a big, burly prop-forward kind of fella, with cauliflower ears and a low IQ. Instead, I met a polite, gentle man who liked classical music (especially light opera and Beethoven), and whom I instantly wanted to impress (no teenaged rebel, me…).

Of course, Glyn’s quiet façade soon began to slip, and his true nature showed through, in the form of a river of talk, endless stories and a great big laugh – like a Welsh Syd James on steroids – He yah yah yaaah!

He also revealed his loving and protective nature, looking out for mum amid teenaged tantrums and selfishness, rarely raising his voice or losing his temper (despite heavy provocation from the younger generation…).

For us boys, and for mum, he provided great solidity, security, warmth and comfort: priceless for our family after a period of upset and instability.

In later years, after his retirement, I got to know Glyn better, especially when I was at colleges and had long vacations. We went for lots of walks together, often involving canal tow paths and invariably ending up at a pub, and we would enjoy the countryside and the wildlife together, and get mellow over a pint.

The things that I’ll remember most about Glyn are his kindness, friendliness and generosity, which he showed to everyone he dealt with, every day, every time. I think this capacity for kindness and goodness characterise his essential nature.

He showed me that the value of a life can be measured in the small things that you do every day: in the way that you treat people, in the mark that you make on others, in the security and peace and atmosphere of warmth that you create for them.

If I can live a life as kind and as affection-evoking as Glyn’s, I will be happy. He was a fine role model.

Safe journey, old boy!