Some thoughts on a final farewell to my Dad, Alan Charles Martin.

Unlike a wedding, it didn’t seem to be the done thing, to capture memories of Dad’s funeral day with photographs and video clips. Not wanting to forget the event, but without such visual memory cues, here are some reflections on an emotional day of ceremony, remembrance and love. And a celebration of a life well lived.

At 13:40 on 19th December 2023, Dad arrived back at Milton Lodge so that he could make one last visit to the house he built and leave with his family. Dressed in his old shirt and tie, patched up jeans and work boots and safely laid in an oak coffin, we followed him on foot to St Leonard’s Church. The heavy rain of morning had stopped and blue sky was breaking out across the horizon. A top-hatted undertaker marched solemnly, with purpose, dignity and respect in front of the hearse and we walked hand in hand behind him. Michelle, Mum, Clare and I, Tracey, Chris, James and Daniel, Howard, Susan, Gill and David. As we came in sight of the church, a single bell tolled out across the Glebe Field, continuing until we reached the church: a bell for each of his years and nine. Cars pulled over and dog walkers stood with heads bowed as we passed. We gave a salute to Number 99 Harrington Road (the house he built when he first moved to the village), and turned right into Main Street with the church in full view ahead of us.

As instructed, Patrick was waiting for us at the church gates and with some assistance from the small army of undertakers we carried the coffin through the church gates. Clare and Tracey were up front, Patrick and Chris took the middle and Michelle and I held the back on our shoulders as we slowly and carefully shuffled forwards, with heads bowed.

At the church porch, the sounds of ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles played loud and clear as we negotiated the low doorway, taking care to ensure that the enormous flower arrangement with protruding hyacinths were not dislodged (these were later distributed among the family). The church was packed, with all the pews full and people standing around the edges of the building. I wanted to look and acknowledge them, but I couldn’t. The choir stalls were also full with close family and in front of the alter was a big screen with a picture of Dad, looking young and cool. Once Dad was in place and we were all seated, Michelle, James and Daniel placed his tool bucket up on his coffin.

The warm and friendly voice of Rev Andy Giles welcomed us in and Clare began the proceedings by reading a poem Mum had written for Dad the previous morning. Aunty Susan was up next, and lightened the mood by tripping up the steps of the pulpit. She told of her memories of Dad as a young boy and his influence as the older brother, who taught her to climb trees and make mischief.

When my time came to read the Eulogy, I mounted the pulpit steps as rehearsed to address the congregation, but found that when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. A strong wave of emotion washed over me, but just as Clare had coached me, I tried to let it pass, and focused on my breath. I’d wanted to look out at the congregation and give them a smile and see who was there, or at least make some kind of acknowledgement. But I could do neither – instead I simply held a hand up to indicate that I just needed a minute and that the show would start eventually! My body jolted uncontrollably as I forced myself to focus hard and breathe. I looked down at the floor as the eyes looked up, collectively willing me on. After what felt like a very long time, on the third attempt, sounds began to leave my mouth and thankfully I was on my way. Several times, I had to pause and take stock before carrying on, but I got through with a steady voice and even with a few laughs from the crowd (at the right places). Here’s what I had to say. A snapshot of over seventy years condensed into ten minutes…

“Thank you all for being here today to celebrate the life and times of my Dad – Alan Charles Martin.

He was born back in 1947, to Charles and Doris, before the time of mobile phones and the internet and died last week having purchased his first mobile phone in the summer of 2023 – on a two year contract would you believe!

And while he wasn’t completely au fait with the internet he could read a blog and check his emails, but most importantly, had a good relationship with Alexa, so he could play his favourite Beatles songs from the comfort of his chair. 

I think it’s fair to say that he was of an old school generation who got on and got stuff done. And if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing properly and with great integrity – always doing the right thing, even when no one else was watching.

Many here today will know Alan as a family member, others will know him as a ‘part of the village’. Over the years he contributed greatly to Loddington life in a variety of different guises, such as being on the church PCC here at St Leonard’s, a governor at the village school and Parish councillor. And to many, he was a builder. He was all of these things, but he was also a businessman, investor and a dreamer.

Growing up Alan enjoyed a typical Colchester family life with sisters Gill and Susan. But aged ten, after a day of swimming in the sea, Alan woke in the night to find that he could not move his left leg properly and was soon diagnosed with Polio. Through this experience, he learnt early on how to face a challenge and after several months in hospital isolation, moved back home with a full length calliper on his leg. The following year, he moved to live with his cousins Robin and Howard in London, to be nearer a Harley Street specialist to try and regain his mobility, strength and independence.

Having found the courage and faith to get through all that, aged 14 he returned to Colchester and formed a friendship with a girl called Bea. He studied construction at college, alongside a gang of close friends, who were affectionately known as ‘The Romans’ because they travelled from the garrison town of Colchester packed into the back of his friend Woody’s enormous Jaguar. This high spec vehicle was the favoured mode of transport until the day that the government introduced mandatory car insurance and Woody was flatly refused any kind of policy.

After finishing college and entering the glamorous world of the construction industry, he took some leave to travel to the continent with his friend, Brain Morris. The two of them toured across Europe in a Mini Cooper, stopping at all the best garages and mechanic shops for running repairs, in between arriving at a few notable tourist destinations, including a very respectable crossing of the Silvretta Pass in Austria. 

Having sussed out the competition in Europe, Alan returned home and promptly asked Bea to marry him over a Gin and orange in the Rose and Crown in Colchester.

The pair shared almost everything and their passion for each other was only equaled by their passion for mixing concrete together. Their first major building project was renovating their new house which they had bought from Alan’s Grandmother. In 18 months, they modernised and extended a good sized house, adding a garage and 4th bedroom.

When a job came up at the Building firm ‘Shepherds’, they made their first foray into the county of Northamptonshire. Living during the week in a bed-sit that was affectionately known as ‘grots-ville’, they would drive back to the luxury of their Colchester house for the weekends. After some searching, the pair found a plot of land here in Loddington by the rec, allowing them to move out of the slums of Northampton. This massive upgrade in living standards was achieved by purchasing a caravan, so they could live ‘onsite’ on the edge of the muddy field they had just bought. 

Now, you might be picturing a spacious static caravan, but finances only stretched to a small holiday style towing caravan – one room with a sink and burner to cook on. There was no shower, but this minor inconvenience was solved with the loan of a tin bath from Grandma Taylor, which fitted neatly under the caravan and could be brought inside. It had to be filled with hot water from the twin tub washing machine!

It’s certainly a far cry from the current family residence of Milton Lodge, where Alan saw out his days.

With ‘Number 99’ Harrington Road completed and furnished with three children, the natural progression was to build an extension. You would have thought that this would be a good time to hang up your trowel and call it a day, now that they had a perfectly good house, designed to their own specification. I guess like many expeditions, for them, it was more about the journey, not the destination. There were further dream buildings for Alan and Bea.

Other notable journeys would be the family summer holidays. With a well packed trailer full of camping kit we’d set off to Lake District or Cornwall, to spend lazy days playing in the river in the Duddon Valley or floating about in boats on Coniston Water. On the Cornish coast, we were coaxed from the car to explore the cliffs, caves and beaches. Looking back, he took us to some incredible places and furnished us with great memories, but I do remember one occasion on a cold and blustery cliff top, Dad insisting that we get out of the car and have a picnic. A short mutiny ensued, seatbelts remained on while Dad, armed with the grub and flapping blanket exited the driver’s seat.  He sat confidently out on the grass in the gale, took off his jumper and gesticulated to the hungry onlookers how hot he was, as he unbuttoned his shirt and pretended to mop his brow!

During this period of time, Alan and Bea had been exploring various additional business ventures that they somehow fitted in around their other jobs and raising a family. As part of their education, they worked with mentors who recommended a whole raft of books that now make up the bulk of the library at Milton Lodge. Titles such as “The Magic of Thinking Big” and “Rich Dad Poor Dad” served him well and remain well-thumbed, with pages folded and quotes highlighted.  

If you’ve ever paid a visit to the loo at their house, you may have noticed a framed sign with various inspirational quotes from this period. While at university, Dad sent me one as a handwritten note which I’ve kept on my desk ever since. 

It simply states:

What are you doing?

Where is it taking you?

Is that where you want to go?

One result of the new business education and mindset was the acquisition of another parcel of land off Harrington Road but this time was a much bigger plot, with far reaching views of Cransley reservoir and the bright lights of Kettering. But more importantly; it had space for sheds to house the ever-expanding range of tools and wood off-cuts salvaged from various building jobs.

If Dad had a favourite quote, it’s probably ‘It’ll come in handy one day’. Literally nothing was ever wasted or thrown away. It’s all very well as a mantra, but eventually you do need somewhere to house it all! The land at Milton Lodge was clearly the solution as there would be space to do just that.

In fact, one day, Chris the lorry driver deposited such a mountain of scrap wood on the driveway from an A.P Lewis job, that Dad had to use some of it to build a shed, just so he could store it! But to his credit, it did indeed come in handy and some of it is now a bookshelf in our Cottage!

But before the house was built their beloved ‘99’ was put up for sale. The house sold quickly – a bit too quickly in fact, as the new house had only just had the foundations put in. For some reason, Mum didn’t seem that keen on spending the next few years living in a caravan on a building site again. Thanks to the generosity of the Martelli family, and no doubt due to Dad’s reputation as a trustworthy and honourable guy, he was given the keys to the very grand Leighton House on Main Street. 

While residing there as Lord of the Manor, Dad juggled a full-time job, while spending the evenings and weekends nipping ‘down the road’ on his bike, to work on his new house.

It was April ‘99 when they moved into Milton Lodge, with its temporary cardboard carpets and old curtains hung in place of doors. It wasn’t exactly finished, but it was theirs. Now they had time to work together putting in all the finishing touches and cultivating the gardens.

While Dad might not have been the loudest person at a party, he was the instigator of many. Having hosted many ‘Martin Day’ celebrations, it was the ‘Anniversary’ parties that will stand out as highlights for me. He was a quiet man, but not because he had nothing to say. When he did talk, people listened. I particularly remember being part of the crowd, that after a night of dancing to a live Jazz band, stood, stunned as he made a long and hilarious speech to the assembled throng as we celebrated his 25th year of marriage to Mum. 

Last year they celebrated their 50th. Reaching a Golden Wedding Anniversary speaks volumes on many levels. But to be in a position to be able to invite all your family and friends to a garden party at your own home, was a very special thing. The live music from the family band will go down in history, as will the emotional viewing of the previously unseen footage of the actual wedding day, along with speeches and poems. To have the space to host such an event was testament to Bea and Alan’s hard work, teamwork, and generosity.

They say that good quality never goes out of fashion and that’s something that I think Dad would agree with. We recently found a photo of Tracey and him scrambling over some rocks in the Lake District. Tracey was about 5 years old and we couldn’t help noticing that Dad was wearing the same knitted jumper that he was wearing in the garden this summer! And while we’re talking about fashion, I’m pretty sure I don’t know a single other person who has never owned or worn a t-shirt! Even out in the garden doing the weeding, replacing the gearbox in the car or mixing a tub of mortar, Dad would be out there in his shirt and tie, with patched up jeans. He’s wearing them now in fact.

And as for the bucket of tools. That was as much a part of his life as his walking stick. Even though he drove a nice Mercedes Benz, he’d always travel with ‘the tool bucket’ in the back – just in case.

Thanks Dad. You were one of a kind”.

I tapped my heart with my fist and then on the coffin as I returned to my pew. My bit was over but I didn’t want it to be. After Tracey read a poem she’d written to Dad, John Lennon gave the soundtrack to the photo montage that we had selected and Clare had prepared for us. It was a happy and proud moment, even if it did make most of the congregation cry. Andrew recovered well to give a chosen reading from the Bible and a vicar friend gave a short address.

We said the Lord’s Prayer together, then Andy gave a Gailic blessing before the committal. It was the same one that Mum and Dad had given to me in a card many years ago, when Clare and I moved to Switzerland.

As the undertakers returned to take Dad to the Crematorium, the sound of ‘Daydream’ by the Lovin’ Spoonful (the original version rather than the family band’s efforts), blasted through the speakers as we slowly followed him out of the church. People from all stages of Dad’s life emerged from the church and we shook hands with as many as we could. Work friends, colleagues and associates, villagers, college friends, family, even grown children of his friends as well as old school friends filed past – some of whom I’d not seen in thirty years or so and who had traveled great distances to be there. Even a former tenant from a house Dad had rented, introduced himself to tell me how kind Dad had been to him.

Onwards to the crematorium we went, in convoy behind the hearse and were soon ushered inside the chapel, where we watched the photo memorial film again as the place filled up. I was glad my speaking ‘duties’ were done, so I could concentrate on the service, especially as the Reverend almost stole a role – but after getting through the first line, remembered that Mark was ready and waiting to give the final reading. Without missing a beat, the two of them traded places, and with good humour, continued the service as if it were planned that way.

When it came to singing, the hymn was announced, but followed by a silent pause, Lloyd the cheif undertaker paced down the aisle and sheepishly explained that someone had just been sent to find the organist some music! (poor guy!). Happily, the unscheduled interlude allowed Andy Giles to give an impromptu speech and tell how he’d been to see Dad and prayed with him in his final days. He also gave thanks to Mum for her dedication and caring before we sang loudly together ‘Lord of all Hopefulness’. I especially enjoyed the line in the second verse which felt especially apt. “Whose strong hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe”.

Just when we thought it was all over, the sound of The Beatles’ harmonica’s broke the silence by bursting through the chapel sound system. As they sang ‘Love Me Do’, we each walked out past the coffin where we were able to say a final farewell as we passed Dad by.

By 16:00, the Hare at Loddington was rammed full and remained so until closing time…