So long, it's been good to know you

We said goodbye to a beloved father, husband, and friend this week, and those title words from Woody Guthrie have been quietly playing in my head on repeat.

Gathering the family together straight away, we shared photos from over the years, and told stories and let the memories flow alongside tears and a few chuckles too. It’s the best way I think to put the imprint of your beloved’s life firmly on your heart. Those hours when our hearts are open, feeling earlier scars tear a tiny bit more and wanting to stop time, to keep our beloved one with us just a little longer.

Like all those times when someone passes, we consider a long life well-lived. We also think back to when we have lost other family members and loved ones, and even muse on our own ever-closer mortality. Our feelings stay a bit tender for a time.

Eric was born in London just before the Second World War. In his early days he skipped around the bombed out buildings going to and from school, such as it was during the war. Sometimes as they scrabbled around the building debris, the kids got shooed away by the American GIs on leave, who always then showered the kids with rare candy and gum. Eventually he joined up with the Merchant Navy to travel the world, after attending Southampton School of Navigation. For a lad from the poorer part of west London, this was a substantial achievement.

He left the Navy after his allocated service, later telling his future wife that it ‘got pretty boring just staring at the sea for days at a time’. He told tales of wandering into the wrong neighbourhoods of New York City whilst on leave, getting escorted back to safe spaces by other kind serviceman. Possibly because of the early gum and candy, he seemed to have a soft spot for Americans.

In post-war years, building housing was a priority to replace all that had been lost in London during the war. He began work as a surveyor, with plenty of work in the large housing developments that were expanding in ripples out from central London. He had a knack for asking smart questions and listening to what the other builders had to say, but also not backing down when something didn’t make sense. He had a reputation for being fair and had a charming sense of humour. That last bit I can certainly vouch for.

Over the years through his work, he found a group of friends who loved to go to dances on a Friday night. Through this group he met the love of his life, and they were married. Eventually they had two children and began taking annual summer holidays to the Isle of Wight. Well, you can see how this is going: eventually we all ended up on the Isle of Wight.

I have been told all these stories, some by the gentle man himself, others by family over the years. I met the group of original—and eventually lifelong—friends a few times before they began to leave us, one by one over the last decade. They were a rollicking bunch, I can tell you! We went out one evening with them about ten years ago, when they were all staying at a hotel on the Island that had an evening entertainment show. The gang kept me and Pete busy getting drinks, and they still loved to dance and sing along to good music, teasing each other relentlessly. It was a delight and a privilege to see this friendship that thrived for well over 50 years.

When I first met Eric, I had just moved to England to join his son. We came to the Island for the weekend to meet his parents. Eric was incredibly welcoming and right away began telling me his stories about other Americans he had met over the years and how much he enjoyed America. Phew, I thought to myself, at least he is not skeptical of me because I come from America.

When we visited a few months later, it was to move them from the house they had been in for several decades to a new, smaller house just up the road. I was tasked with unpacking the kitchen, which was mainly Eric’s domain. I panicked, knowing how particular I am about how MY kitchen is laid out. How will I know where to put all the things for someone I don’t really know? And in a new kitchen layout for them as well. So I did the best I could, putting things closest to the place where I thought they might be used. And I put ‘like things” together: pans with other pans, bowls with bowls, cooking implements together for stirring and mixing, etc.

Apparently, like most of us who have been in a place for a long time, that is not the way Eric’s kitchen had been organised. I put things in all kinds of mysterious places relative to where they had been before. But after I explained my logic to Eric, he had a plan. “Not to worry,” Eric told me afterwards. “I just think about where Sabrina might have imagined the logical place would be and then, I always find it!” He seemed truly delighted with his workaround. And I was ever-grateful for his very kind way of letting me off the hook for befuddling him on a daily basis.

Time passed and Dementia came for a permanent visit. So although the Eric we all knew diminished, there were periodic glimmers of his humour left. Even quite recently he teased his wife about going “off-topic” as she told him a story, which of course was quite a comment coming from one whose brain had tricked him into thinking random words make coherent sentences.

Spending time with the photos from all the years past and retelling stories brought back to life the vibrant loving husband, father and friend we remember most of all. Indeed, it’s been very, very good to know you.

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Thank you for reading my tribute to Pete’s father and a beloved family member to all of us. It has been my pleasure over the years to get to know a person whose life has been so vastly different to my own, and who lived through an amazing transformation of our world. I loved hearing all the stories he told, and will miss his clever retelling of his travels and anecdotes along his long life’s journey.

Sending you all love, with encouragement to hug your family close around you.

xx Sabrina

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