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Welcome to the August 2006 On-Line Edition of
Waterlooville's Parish Magazine
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St George's News

Ken Bradley

Ken Bradley

This tribute was delivered by Ken's daughter Janie at his funeral on Friday 30th June.

Firstly, Mum, Claire and I would like to thank you all for coming today and for all the many kind and thoughtful cards and letters we have received. They have really comforted Mum in this sad time. Dad would have been quite taken aback, because although he was proud to be part of St George's, I don't think he had any idea of how much he was liked and appreciated. Throughout his life he was a modest man with the simple philosophy of work hard, be loyal and look after your family.

I would like to tell you a little about dad's life before they moved to Waterlooville.

Dad was one of identical twins, and when he was born, the midwife put him to one side as stillborn, but fortunately his auntie saw him move so they decided to keep him after all. Sadly, his brother Eddie was crippled from birth, but this merely strengthened the special bond between them.

At 14 dad left school and went to work with his father, a builder, and although he really wanted to be apprenticed to a carpenter, this would have meant one less wage coming in, so dad spent his days working hard, often having to travel long distances daily.

Dad missed serving in the war by a year, but he did his national service in the navy, aboard Aircraft Carrier HMS Ocean, and rose to be an able seaman, aircraft handler for the fleet air arm. At the end of his service, he was offered a permanent place, but although he loved the navy, he also missed his brother and returned home.

Of course, he had to find a job, and joined Twickenham council as a dustman, a job he did proudly until he retired 35 years later.

Meanwhile, he had met a pretty 16 year old, who was walking her dog near where he had been fishing. He used the unique chat up line "I like dogs better than women", but she didn't believe him and they married three years later.

The following year, I was born, and dad was always there for me, we had long chats as I was growing up and he passed on to me his interest in so many things, and now Sarah has inherited this too.

When I got married and moved away from home, Mum and Dad could have slid gracefully into happy retirement, but the tragic death of Mums younger sister Molly led them to adopting her new baby, and so Claire became the sister I had always wanted, and dad had to learn how to change nappies all over again.

Claire gave dad a new lease of life, and he was very proud of her. And then they moved to Waterlooville and the rest, as they say, is history.

Dad had few regrets in his life, one was not being a carpenter, and the other that his beloved brother died so many years before him.

We all have wonderful memories of dad, his sense of humour, his thirst for knowledge, his love of so many things, most of all of us his family. No one could have a more faithful husband, caring dad and devoted grandad.

Dad was truly a gentleman in all senses of the word, and we hope you will come to the hall afterwards, take a look in the photograph album where we have tried to show a snapshot of dad's life, and pay tribute to him in the way he would have wanted, so please, eat, drink and be merry.

The funeral service concluded with the following words:

We are all born once. We all die once. That is the end of the equality meted out by this world. Let us not fear this thing.

We cannot avoid the fear of painful illness, but we must not fear death itself. It is not only inevitable, but desirable. Eternal life here would be appalling. The value of life lies in its brevity. Relish the miracle of life every day. Make the most if it, both for yourselves and for others. If you live as long as I have and are lucky enough to live a rich social life, you'll go to many funerals. Don't fear them. Don't fear other people's death. Hard though it is, try not to grieve for your loss, but think of their peace and give thanks for their life which lives on in you. Nothing ends with your death but unimportant little you. Life is a relay race. Pass the baton.

David Nobbs

(I didn't get where I am today)

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page last updated 12 August 2006