Dad’s Tribute 2004
Dad was born on December 15th 1921. He always complained about his birthday being so close to Christmas, but he told me once that even though his family were always hard up they usually managed to get him two sets of presents. He always reminded us of this in good time every year.
At the beginning of the 2nd World War, he received his call up to the RAF. He joined 609 Squadron where he became LAC Harold Eldridge, known as Rocky to his friends because he was in charge of loading rockets onto the Hawker Typhoon planes. He always had a story to tell about the war, many of which made us laugh. Although never advancing further than Leading Aircraftman, dad had very fond memories and huge loyalty to the time spent with his squadron. He often told us stories of the pilots, whose planes he worked on, or trips on his bicycle around the French farms selling Calvados! He avoided telling us about the horrors of being in France at that time, but recent research has filled in the gaps and only served to make our memories of him even more precious. He was very proud of his squadron, the West Riding, and of their motto – Tally Ho! The squadron badge showed crossed hunting horns which reminds me of another passion of his, this time represented by crossed hammers, I mean of course West Ham United.
Dad was a lifelong supporter of the Hammers, a season ticket holder for many years. Down the seasons he would moan and curse their poor performances, then celebrate and serenade their triumphs. Literally to his dying day he was still discussing the pros and cons of signing Teddy Sheringham.
Dad spent 40 years of his working life with the post office. Out in all weathers delivering mail, he was known as the Grey Ghost of Godwin. He delivered letters in Godwin Road, Forest Gate, so fast that no one ever saw him. He never took promotion, always preferring to be outside on his own for a few hours each day, meeting people and dropping in to the local hostelry for a pint on the way.
We all have treasured memories of our dad or granddad, from the youngest to the oldest of us. Memories that will make us laugh and sometimes cry. He is gone, but will never be forgotten. We all have much to thank him for. He always knew the answers to everything when I got stuck with schoolwork. He gave me a love of music and literature, he taught me to dance. My sister, I know, has her own memories and reasons to thank him for being such a very special dad.
His grown-up grandsons Trevor and Raymond will miss arguing the relative merits of their favourite football teams with him but I still doubt they will become West Ham supporters.
His younger grandson, Glen, is following in his grandad’s footsteps by being a good cricketer – a demon bowler, just like him.
We like to think of him now together again with our mum, his wife Joyce, who has had 15 years of peace and quiet but will now have to put up with him again.
Neither of them will ever be out of our thoughts. There will be many times, it is certain, when we will berate ourselves for not being good daughters, grandsons or in-laws, when we will wish we had done more or behaved better.
For all our shortcomings we ask you dad, and mum, to forgive us. We always tried to do our best for you, most of the time anyway.
Dad lived a long and commendable life, which cannot be summed up or paid tribute to in so short a time.
In the immortal words of one football commentator –
“They think it’s all over – it is now.”