In 1958, at the age of ten, Dad joined the Scouts. As we have heard, his relationship with Scouting was to become an enduring one. Interested by this time in Dad’s life I looked up the Scout Law as it was in the 1950s. While naturally one shouldn’t judge a man for something he promised the world aged ten, I thought I would share those things a Scout was expected to be and perhaps see how Dad lived up to them.
 
A Scout is courteous.
 
While Dad was a warm and gregarious companion to his friends, I’m afraid his day-to-day courtesy could be tested by encounters with Sunday drivers, sluggish pedestrians, or pretty much anyone who called him when he was trying to read the paper. Whenever our landline rang and we went to answer it, we would hear shouted from somewhere deep within the house, his classic refrain: ‘I’m not here!’. The family developed a code – ring, hang up, and ring back – to get him to pick up.
 
A Scout displays patience.
 
I’m afraid Dad’s chronic impatience was matched only by his fundamental lack of trust in technology. In today’s world of Google Maps and Waze, Dad could always be found at the kitchen table the night before a journey, diligently studying the A-Z, memorising his route and planning the one that required least time waiting at traffic lights. One had to admire his commitment to impatience – the man would go three miles out of his way to avoid having to slow down.
 
A Scout is clean in thought, word and deed.
 
I fear Dad’s devotion to this Law wavered over time. One of his proudest accomplishments, so he frequently claimed, was to be able to get four days’ wear out of a single pair of underpants. Not exactly clean in deed, although rather Scout-like in its efficiency and I should reassure you that this practice was reserved for camping trips rather than day to day life.
 
He would, however, always take my shoes from the front door and give them a polish. Once when I was a teenager he saw me in a particularly ratty pair of old ballet pumps. He told me to immediately throw them in the bin, gave me twenty quid for a sturdier pair of shoes and a brief lecture on the importance of always being, as he put it, ‘well shod’. This was Dad’s style – being helpful to those that needed him was his quiet way of displaying his love.
 
Which brings us to the next Law:
 
A Scout's duty is to be useful and help others.
 
As we have heard from Zoe, Dad was always supportive of us children, particularly when it came to practical tasks. Dad enjoyed driving, and simple though it sounds, many happy memories of mine involve us in the car. He could always be relied upon for a lift to the tube when it was raining and when I was studying at Oxford, Dad drove me and all my worldly possessions there and back six times a year for my whole degree. He once arrived at the end of term and found me so brutally hungover I hadn’t packed anything. He helped me throw everything in boxes, wobbled the trolley from my room to the car, and then took me across the road for a pint and two paracetemol.
 
When I was young, he and I would often drive down to Southampton to visit Simon, see my grandparents, my aunt Gill and great-aunty Barbara, or to go bivvying in the New Forest. To pass the time on the drive, Dad and I composed an anthology of silly poems and mad invented songs, which we would recite and elaborate upon on each trip, or on the school run back in London. I sometimes regret that we never wrote them down, but they just lived in our heads – our secret stash of Lear-like nonsense.
 
But although he was an eminently practical person, Dad and I also shared a love of art, and took great pleasure in drawing and painting. Growing up he would take me and Danny to a different museum every weekend, an exposure to exhibitions that fostered the interests that became my career. On holiday he and I would enjoy sitting with tiny travel watercolour sets, painting side by side the familiar views of Andalucia or the Scilly Isles we both loved so much.
 
One of his last ever outings was with me to see my partner Andrew’s exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. We accidentally scheduled the trip on the same day as London’s Gay Pride parade, which made for a surreal walk down Piccadilly – Dad with his cane, me 9 months pregnant, hobbling along while everyone around us was dancing scantily clad in rainbow sequins.
 
A Scout is thrifty.
 
Now this is an area in which Dad shone. As any good Scout would, he abhorred waste, and resisted throwing away, well, anything at all. A spring clean through the kitchen cupboards might reveal tins of carrots and beans from the 1970s. Our basement at Dartmouth Road boasted no fewer than 4 malfunctioning toasters, each of which might ‘one day prove useful for parts’.
 
A Scout is a friend to animals.
 
We have heard of Dad’s fondness for Hattie the Hamster, but as we all know, his devotion to his beloved dog Roo was unmatched. Until he became too ill to do so, Dad took Roo on her daily walks, no matter the weather; they wore matching Barbour jackets on rainy days. Dad would cook her special meals, and leave the frying pan on the floor for her to lick clean. Whenever he went out Roo would lie by the front door awaiting his return, and they took naps together everyday, Roo curled up at his feet.
 
A Scout is loyal.
 
This we can confidently say he more than lived up to. As a family we have been overwhelmed by the kind messages and letters we have received since Dad’s diagnosis, and in these last few weeks. All of you sitting here today or watching the service online are testament to Dad’s special ability to maintain friendships from every phase of his life.
 
A Scout smiles and whistles under all difficulties.
 
I’m not sure ever-present optimism was really Dad’s style. He loved A.A. Milne’s stories of Winnie the Pooh – a beloved family favourite – and it was the slightly taciturn, pessimistic Eeyore with whom he most identified. However, over the last year Dad braved his illness with extraordinary resilience and courage, and his ever-present sense of humour. I think we can all agree that he’s done his friends, family and Scouting proud.