Ted Bailey - 30/7/21 - 28/2/18.

Completely off topic. But this is my page, so I can relax the rules if I wish.

Here's the eulogy I wrote for Dad's funeral service:

On joining the RAF

To the nurses, to the care-workers, he was Edward. To family, to friends, and everyone, he was Ted. To the charities he volunteered for, he was Ted. RNLI, Cats Protection, RSPB, he helped or donated with equal enthusiasm, he was Ted.

Ted came from a working-class family in the east end of London. Born in (officially) Shoreditch, his father was an upholsterer and his mother died not long after he was born.

Leaving Elementary school, he started work and was called up when WWII started.

In the RAF in Algeria, he told stories of the camp commander selling the food for the troops to local people and pocketing the money, leaving them with fresh fruit and figs to eat. The searchlights, which used silver ingots to provide the arc, remained unlit for reasons not entirely clear…

After the war, he took advantage of the 1945 socialist government’s educational help for ex-servicemen and in 1949 cycled to Westonbirt, Gloucestershire (about 120 miles) from Chingford in a day, to take part in an educational course. Arriving late afternoon, he “freshened up” and when he went down to the common room, gramophone records were being played. He asked a lady (Felicity Bellbonnet) to dance, and she arose, revealing her 6 foot frame. Dad, being 5 foot 6, ended up with his nose in her décolletage.

He took a course at Fircroft College, Selly Oak, in Birmingham, and went from there to Ruskin College, Oxford, where he completed a Diploma in Public and Social Administration from the Oxford University. Somehow, an arrangement happened where Fircroft and Hillcroft students met up for a weekend, and that’s how Mum and Dad met. On returning to London, Dad continued his studies part-time, whilst working and courting Mum who lived 20 miles away from Chingford in Southfields, near Wimbledon. So in 1953, on February 7th, he married Mum, and became a Housing Officer for the London County Council, studying for his Bachelor’s degree part-time, and graduating in 1958. He moved from Housing to Child Care, the move involving (amongst other things) having to retrieve runaway cared-for children. He told me he had to drive, in winter, from London to Skegness and back in one day in a sit-up-and-beg Ford Pop with a clutch as hard as iron. No motorways then.

Seeking a quieter life, he moved to teaching in 1963, starting at a Rotherhithe school,

moving in 1971 to somewhere closer to home in Hounslow Heath Junior which removed the need to commute 20 miles across south London in a 1956 split-screen Morris Minor, which had a habit of breaking down. Once the clutch link went at Chalker’s Corner on the South Circular, a very busy junction, and he had to be pushed to the kerb by fellow motorists. People were more used to cars breaking down, then.

In 1981 he retired and became a handyman at Rusthouses Forte (the sign outside was corroded) near Heathrow, and in 1982 he and Mum moved to Gloucestershire. Finding the Forest of Dean a cultural desert, they decided to move to Worthing in 1984 and stayed there ever since.

Dad took on a job listening to the radio and TV for a press-cuttings firm, and when he and Mum could draw their State Pension, retired fully with a sigh of relief. Dad promptly took on the role of Publicity Officer for the Cats Protection and became busier than ever. He was interviewed on BBC local radio, and was photographed for the local paper receiving gifts of catfood for the CPL.

Dad, September 2007

Mum’s health declined, and he morphed into cook (excellent Sunday lunches) and primary carer. When she went into residential care he took on a new lease of life, but not long after, a fall in Chichester (whence he had gone to listen to me accompanying a choir at the cathedral) started the decline in health. Getting Bell’s Palsy twice, on both sides of the face in succession, was unfortunate, but he coped as best he could, and only after a prolonged stay in hospital in 2014 reduced his mobility so he had to use a zimmer. This actually reduced the number of falls, but when he was last admitted to hospital this year his mobility declined even further. When the shingles moved into his good eye (which must have been terrible) he thought his quality of life was declining and turned his face to the wall, and died in his sleep.

I will miss him hugely. Dad, I wish you Godspeed, and happy reunions with your loved-ones who have gone before. Safe in God’s arms.