A fond farewell

I’d like to tell you about a good friend of mine who died recently. I worked with Les for many years before he was forced to take early retirement due to alzheimer’s. He was just fifty –ish years old at the time and only fifty six when he died. It was a shock to everybody who knew him to see his mind deteriorate so quickly. Before this debilitating disease took hold Les was one of the liveliest people I knew. He was a happy go lucky man who loved his wife Shelly and their two daughters, Lindsey and Katie, openly and unconditionally.

In the time that I knew him we played squash together, we spent weekends in our respective caravans together and we worked together. We drank together too and on one inebriated occasion he introduced me to jellied eels, a snack that, when sober, I wouldn’t feed to a starving cat. With a few beers under the belt though I was easily swayed and he had me tucking into them like a regular cockney whenever we went out drinking. Our games of squash could be more correctly described as a game of ‘hit the ball and pick it up’, but we played in an attempt to get fit so the quality of the match wasn’t important, just the exercise.

Les loved life and everything about it. I don’t recall ever hearing him complain about anything or anyone. Likewise, I never heard a bad word said against him. He was a sensitive soul too who would suffer himself rather than hurt someone’s feelings. Les was one of those people who lit up a room. When you were with him you smiled. He did that to you. And he was obviously well loved and respected by many because the chapel at the crematorium was full to bursting and there were as many people outside as there were inside. There were many anecdotes told at his funeral but there’s one that I’d like to share that, I think, sums up just how thoughtful Les was and what a close, loving family he shared:

When Les got up for work he would get himself ready and then he would put toothpaste on the brushes of Shelley and the girls, leaving them ready for when they too got up. Unfortunately though, being a postman, Les was up very early in the morning and by the time the rest of the family woke up the toothpaste on their brushes was very hard and very dry. So much so that it had to be thrown away. But here’s the lovely part to the story – everyone thought this was such a thoughtful thing to do that nobody had the heart to tell him and so the ceremony went on right up until his illness stopped him from doing it.

Les was a modest man and would be embarrassed to hear all the accolades that have come his way these past few weeks but that doesn't make them any less deserved. He was a gentle man and a gentleman and I’m honoured to have known him. Although it’s sad to say goodbye it’s a comfort to know that Les is no longer struggling and suffering. And I know that wherever he is now, that place is a brighter, happier place for his arrival.


Goodbye Les, I’ll miss you.

Night all. x