There is a slogan I drew up as marketing officer for my gliding club, “Flight – the greatest gift”. We took Peter, just this last Christmas 2008, for a glider flight, on a very cold, but sunny Saturday. As he grabbed the controls, he smiled and his eyes sharpened, the youthful Spitfire Pilot, in his element once more ... it now seems that this was so well timed, so apt ... so I wrote this little verse. (apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.) T'was a day, after Christmas, and out on the runway an old fighter was stirring, squeezed under the canopy, arthritis and deafness could not keep him down parachute strapped, walking sticks on the ground, Silver hair now framed a 16 year-old's smile his soul in its element, no pain for a while, and skypilot found lift ...through the single small cloud an angel surged upward, this onlooker bowed, Great joy in his flying, great gifts from his life, His spirit ...soars now, free of bodily strife.

Pockets. I loved him for his fire the way he was, his pockets: matches, a handkerchief, a pen, two penknives, a golfball and some string, pliers, a pingway sleeper, a thrush's wing-feather... and five tomatoes. Two gold lions chained his thick black cloak, his sneezes loud enough to wake a hibernating Horace (Horace was a bear). His old Meccano mill turned magically by the stream. Push-button lights in his doll's-house turn-on-able and off-able. In robes of green and gold – or christening white his crook'd arm made a human crib. He trickled water, giant hand soft-touching the newborn's brow. Smiling eyes lighting on eyes. I loved him for his fire the way he was the way he loved.

You’ve heard and know a fair bit about Dad…his love, laughter and larger-than-life character. I’d like to focus on his spirit. I only became aware of the depth of Dad’s spiritual life when I re-committed myself to Christ in my late 20’s. We talked and prayed together at a deeper level than ever before. This crucial part of the man was nurtured through countless hours spent alone in a quiet room with God. Dad’s spirit was/is entwined with God’s Holy Spirit. Dad was loved by so many because he (and Mum) GAVE so much love to them – and they both gave love to others without ‘counting the cost’. The source of this generous love was and is God, the God with whom he spent precious time every day – an example to all Christians and to any who are seeking. This song, I think, encapsulates Dad’s feelings for God, for Jesus, for the source of his joy and love. "This is the air I breathe; this is the air I breathe, Your Holy Presence, living in me. This is my daily bread; this is my daily bread, Your very Word, spoken to me And I, I’m desperate for You, And I, I’m lost without You."

- On my father’s autumnal, woodland burial. FALLING Leaves and letters Like confetti or snow (My mother says) Drift downward Accumulating amidst the clamour of grief. Silence sits Coldly inside me. Incoherent, confused. Drops of memory- The gentle touch Of a storm-blasted man Remains to shelter me From the deluge of words. Tears falling Into the soft belly of the night. Nurtured in stillness. I’m grounded. The birch planted, leafless. Rachel Graham

“In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; and like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid on him in honour. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?.. Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? When the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.” --Kahlil Gibran, as quoted by Peter B. Graham, June 17, 2008.

I am a long way away and have been for some time, but whenever I saw Grampy, I was always so impressed by his warmth, vivaciousness and love for people. Thinking of him fills me with pride and inspiration, which I think is an amazing memorial in itself, and a gift I know I am incredibly lucky to have. Alex

High Flight Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . . Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or ever eagle flew — And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. — Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Here's to lights and virtues Here's to truths yet to be known Knowledge to light the darkness The search for things of your own.. Here's to lights and virtues Here's to reaching higher ground A life of hope and purpose Here's to strength yet to be found Honor, though it goes unrecognized And truth, though liars abound The pleasure of love and friendship The courage to be alone... I love you Grampy Si..xxx..

I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.