Dear Dad,
I hope you don’t mind me sharing the eulogy below with the
world.
But you see I’m proud of it in a strange way. It was the hardest,
most difficult thing I ever had to write, and I sometimes wondered if it was
worth the tears and the pain – or whether I should have let someone else write
it. But when it came down to it – I knew
it had to be me.
This was the last thing I would do for you, and it had to be
the best that I could do. I had to make you proud.
And now I’m sharing it with the world because the internet
is the best way I know of to make something permanent. As long as the internet
exists – this post will exist. A strange, cybernetic monument to you. And I
know you would have liked that – considering how much you loved computers.
I want the world to be able to see the man that I knew. I
want people from all over the world to be able to read this and see a little
glimpse of an incredible father, and a wonderful man who is desperately missed.
I want this out there because I don’t ever want to forget
you.
So this is it, Dad. My tribute to you. It may not be the
most perfect thing I’ve ever written – I doubt it’s particularly grammatically
correct – but it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. The most honest thing I’ve
ever written.
David George Dorrington
1947-2014
JRR Tolkien once said,
through the wise words of Bilbo Baggins:
‘It’s a dangerous business,
going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet,
there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.’
And he was right. It takes a
brave person to let life take you where it will, into new situations and
uncertain territory.
Dad was never afraid though.
He had no fear of stepping onto the road and letting it sweep him away. In
doing so he carried us along with him. Dad never shied away from a road or path
others would turn aside from. When he met mum, a woman with a young child, he
didn’t hesititate. He took the road, and took the woman and child into his
heart.
I never thought of Tracie as
my half-sister, because Dad never did. Because he never thought of her as
anything other than his own. It was the way Dad was.
When his road diverged and
he had a choice - stay in the UK or go to a far off country so different from
the one he grew up in - he made the kind of choice he always made - the brave
one.
He packed up his bags, his
wife, and three small children and took the hard road - but the more exciting
one.
Later when that same road
led him back into Kuwait just before the Iraqi Invasion it became the toughest,
most rocky road our family ever faced. But Dad faced it head on. And Dad, being
Dad, didn’t just look out for himself. Instead he chose to help others. He
opened his home to other men who needed a place to hide, and kept them safe
too.
I was too young back then to
know much of what was going on - or to remember it, but I know Dad was brave
and selfless, helping others get out of the country, even when it meant he
didn’t get out himself.
After the war Dad’s road
diverged again. Most of the expats we’d known chose not to return to Kuwait,
but Dad chose the other path. He chose to go back into Kuwait - back into a
country badly damaged by war - in order to make a difference.
I’ve seen the pictures - of
a sky back with smoke from oil fires - of people’s homes looted and vandalised
- of a church senselessly ransacked.
Dad was there, he packed up
people’s precious memories, he opened his home to anyone who needed a place to
relax, or even a sneaky beer, he rebuilt the church and got it running again.
He did what a lot of people couldn’t or wouldn’t do.
Yet after all that, Dad
still wasn’t afraid of what life would throw at him. He followed his road to
Cyprus, Bahrain, back to the UK, and out to Abu Dhabi. It even took him to
Kenya for a while. Sometimes we went with him, other times he went it alone,
but I know that we, his family, were never far from his thoughts.
Through all these places Dad
had a few hobbies and passions that stayed with him.
He was a Scout Leader - he’d
been a Scout himself as a boy. He was Skip to his Scouts - and it seems is
still an inspiration at 3rd High Wycombe Scorpion scouts, where,
‘what would skip do’ has been known to be asked - even 30 years later.
He loved the stage. From
serious plays to pantomime and he made a fine Zena warrior princess. The only
time I got to shout at him with repercussions was when I played his Grand
daughter in The Weekend - I was fifteen and it was the highlight of my year.
He was passionate about his
darts and his rugby - playing the former and watching the latter, but both with
a beer in his hand.
A lot of people upon hearing
he was into his campanology could only imagine what that was - but he was a
bell ringer from his teens - and anytime he was back in the UK he took the
chance to go and ring some bells. It was the last thing he did, and I know it
made him happy.
But above all else, what Dad
loved more than anything else, was people. Dad was a larger than life, soul of
the party kind of man - because he loved people.
He loved to talk to them,
didn’t matter what colour, race or creed, Dad could talk to them all. It was
one of the things that made him so special - his ability to open his heart up
to anyone. I’ve lost track of the number of ‘adoptive’ kids he and Mum have had
over the years. It’s only surpassed by the number of adoptive animals he and
mum opened their homes and hearts to.
Over his life Dad has been
many things to many people. Son, brother, Uncle, Godfather and friend - but
above all - a husband and a father.
Over the years, as a family,
our lives have all diverged, and we have taken our own roads. For Jo and Tracie
it was families of their own here in the UK. For Ian it was a life in Cyprus
with a wife and a dog. For me it was a life in the sun a thousand miles away.
But no matter how far away
our roads took us we always knew Mum and Dad were there, just as they have been
our whole lives. I, for one, knew I could always look back and see what it was
I was looking for, because I’ve always known if I could have a relationship
half as good as Mum and Dad’s, then I would be an incredibly lucky person.
Like most girls, my Dad has
been the yard stick against which all men are measured, and I feel sorry for
them. Because it’s a very tough act to measure up to.
One day my life may lead
into marriage and a family of my own, and I can only hope I’ll be able to give
them what Mum and Dad gave me.
Dad and I had a conversation
once, and he told me he worried he’d made the wrong choice. Had he done the
right thing in taking us all with him on his road, or would it have been better
to have stayed in one place, put down roots and never let the road sweep us
away? I told him straight that he was crazy. I told him he’d done exactly the
right thing. I had a childhood i would never forget - and along the way Dad
inspired a love of new places and new things - a love of people and a love of
books. Much of what I am - including being a writer - I owe to Dad. Because he
always dreamed - he always loved, and he was always ready to let the road sweep
him away.
Now Dad’s road has taken him
in a new direction - away from us.
And it’s a road we can’t
follow - not just yet. But I know he’ll be watching us - from far down the road
- watching our lives taking us to new places and new experiences. He’ll be
watching his children, grandchildren and great grand-children - as excited as
we are to see what direction our lives take.
And one day, a long time
from now, our roads will take us down the same path and he’ll be there. With a
thousand new stories to tell.
After all -
‘Still round the corner
there may wait,
A new road or secret gate,
And though I oft have passed
them by,
A day shall come at last
when I,
Shall take the hidden paths
that run,
West of the Moon, East of
the Sun.’
I miss you, Dad.