When I put myself forward to write Dad's eulogy, I knew it was going to be difficult - yes, he was my dearly loved father and these things are always going to be challenging - but principally because Dad had so many wide ranging talents and a multitude of friends, all of whom have a different perspective on him. This has been made all the more evident since his passing, with each one of the wealth of kind messages expressed through various means - unveiling yet another dimension of Dad's time here on earth, and how he was perceived by others. Running through all of these heartfelt messages however is a common, recurring theme; Dad was universally thought of as a humble, modest, affable and very kind man. Always putting others needs above his own, self deprecating to the last, never one to sing his own praises, and always shying from the limelight. An example of Dad’s modesty was recently highlighted by his very good friend, Terry Herrington. One of Dad’s great passions was working on the restoration of historic aircraft at the former Boulton Paul museum. During his time there he was a key contributor to the restoration of a Balliol aircraft, amongst other projects. He made many good friends whilst there and frequently spoke of the great satisfaction and the sense of comradeship that he enjoyed. It’s evident from the kind messages from friends within the Boulton Paul association that he was held in equally high esteem, yet when the association were given a Queen’s award for outstanding voluntary work in the community, Dad declined to have a trophy since he felt he wasn’t worthy, having not been previously employed by Boulton Paul, in contrast to some of the other members. Terry has since generously righted this by buying Mum a posthumous award in his memory. This crushing modesty was evident in every other part of his life; he shied away from praise or any form of recognition or remuneration. What is clear though, is that whatever task Dad set his mind to, he carried it out with enthusiasm, integrity and a level of pride and workmanship that is fast becoming a rare commodity in today’s society. Although there was one memorable exception to this; whilst attempting a repair on a garden swing, for Charlotte, his grand-daughter, somehow he managed to superglue his hand to the broken part - and found himself in a compromising position, prone on my garden lawn, swarmed by grandchildren delighting in their grandfather’s misfortune. Perhaps Dad’s biggest passion, and the common thread throughout his life, was his love of art. He was incredibly talented and could probably have made money in pursuit of this. However, he didn’t paint for commercial gain - he painted from the soul and for the love of the art form. Although he often exhibited and sometimes sold his work, much of his work remains with the family, where it is revered and savoured as a reminder of the boundless talent that Dad had. Dad was part of an art class at Brewood where they often had models in to sit to be painted. In the later stages of Dad’s illness he was privileged to be looked after by a lovely nurse from Compton Hospice by the name of Rosemary. Rosemary commented that Dad looked very familiar and that she sat at the Brewood art class 5 years ago, enquiring whether Dad may have painted her. Dad didn’t seem to think he’d painted at Brewood that far back, and the conversation went no further. It was only in the days after his departure when my sister Ellie was going through some of his work, that we discovered a painting which depicted an unmistakable Rosemary, and captured her striking beauty and natural compassion perfectly - what a lovely surprise! Dad’s humour was a delight and a penchant for practical jokes was cemented early in his young adult life by his keen interest in manufacturing mustard lollipops, which he delighted in giving to unsuspecting friends and family. Perhaps surprisingly to some, and providing a nice balance to his more cerebral pursuits, Dad enjoyed indulging in humorous nonsensical exchanges, which Ellie and I particularly enjoyed on family gatherings - much to Mum’s dismay and frustration - she never really got it. I could repeat some of our ramblings but I suspect that, out of context, you’d think me rather strange. Dad always had a keen eye for a bargain. Whether it be clothes, shoes or a new gadget, if it had a red ticket he made a beeline for it. His particular weakness was “pork pie” shoes, coats and bags. Mum is now the proud owner of a plethora of bags all of different shapes, sizes and colours - and i'll never have to buy a coat ever again. Dad's eclectic musical tastes were as diverse as his many other talents. From Elgar to Dr Hook, Mendelssohn to Bonnie Tyler and Glenn Miller through Mark Knopfler. One of Dad's favourite tracks was rather left of field - "Where the lighthouse shines across the bay", a track sung by Conrad Voigt and revived by Terry Wogan in the 1980s on radio 2. Those of you joining us at the Tettenhall Cricket Club after the service may be lucky enough to hear this if you listen very carefully to the music being played - not to be missed. However, there were limits to the diversity of his musical tastes - despite his grand daughter Iona's persistence, he never did appreciate the draw of Gangnam style, describing the phenomenon as “silly”. Dad was never a lover of holidays abroad, instead favouring the beautiful coastlines of England, and in particular Dorset and Devon - Lyme Regis, Sidmouth, Beer and Seaton being amongst his favourite places to visit. His biggest weakness was scones with devonshire clotted cream and jam, and fresh seafood. However, he did occasionally get onto an aeroplane, and in one memorable trip to Germany with his good friends Rita & Terry, he was talked into participating in an organised activity that involved him dressing up as a pigtailed fraulein, complete with blusher and lipstick. The photos capturing the fun are truly hilarious and are a great example of Dad’s lighter side and sense of fun. Don’t worry though Dad, the photos are safely locked away, never to be seen again. Unless the price is right. Dad’s talents didn’t end with his love of art and aircarft restoration - he was certainly the most capable man I’ve ever known, having made violins, beautiful oak furniture, carved staircases, violin stands, candle stands - in fact the candle stand just over there was made by Dad for this church. He also had boundless DIY talents and has served as a mentor to many of those that knew him, having fitted countless wooden floors, kitchens, bathrooms, tiles, the list goes on. A point to note though is if you ever had an electric shower fitted by him - get it checked out - my wife Carolyn was enjoying a lovely hot shower some years ago, after Dad had kindly fitted a new model. The shower had to be abandoned in a hurry when sparks begain to eminate from the unit and it glowed a glorious shade of blue. As Dad would say in a reference to his all time favourite sitcom, Father Ted - It must have been fitted by cowboys Ted! Dad approached his final weeks, days and hours as he lived his life; with stoicism, great dignity and tremendous bravery. Despite the psychological enormity of anticipating one’s own demise, Dad was controlled, accepting and resilient to the very end, and me, Mum, Ellie and Zoe all had the great privilege of being with him during his last hours, during which time we made sure he knew how much we all loved him. On a final note, I know from experience that Dad thought of morose and sombre funerals as being self indulgent and spiritually sapping. Whilst Dad's passing has been a difficult time for all of us, he wouldn't have wanted this to be a day of terrible sadness, but a time for reflection on his life. It’s perhaps fitting, that for someone who was so modest in life, that we now take this opportunity to celebrate Dad’s achievements in a way that he steadfastly refused to do in life. Dad’s influence and spirit persists all around us - in our precious memories of him, in his art, the many wonderful things he made, and in his children and grandchildren - his legacy lives on. So, I won’t be saying the traditional goodbye here today, because this is not the end. Richard Burnaby John Randall, Dad, this is just the start of your tremendous legacy.