by Roland Partridge
I’m going to start - and finish - with a thank you. The first thank you is to all of you. Thank you for all the great times that you shared with Dad and our family. The times you laughed with us, and the times you cried with us. Many of you have travelled long distances and gone to great lengths to be here today, and for that we are incredibly grateful. And thank you - from the bottom of our hearts - for the love and support you’ve given us as a family over these last two weeks.
We have had so many lovely cards, conversations and messages - with so many lovely words. In many ways what I say now are not my words - but our words - because the turns of phrase, stories and descriptions you’ve shared, have been brilliant, and I’ve borrowed them heavily.
It is devastating to be standing here doing this. It has been so hard to write something that is supposed to be a joyous celebration, when actually what you feel a lot of the time is anger and pain. It feels too soon. But I know we all feel like that. It doesn’t seem fair to any of us.
In dealing with this I turned to my Dad, and a phrase he used at difficult times, attributed to Churchill – that: “when you’re going through hell, keep going”.
Dad didn’t really like the solemn nature of funerals - feeling as he did - with his great faith - that they represented a passing from one stage of existence to another in this great cosmos – this great cosmos that he so loved studying and trying to understand. So let us now celebrate - with Dad - as we remember the times we shared.
Dad was an incredible man. An amazingly active mind. Phenomenally knowledgeable. But most of all - tremendously compassionate, generous, kind, and gently supportive.
As one card we received this week read: “There are so many words to describe Gerald - but the one that encompasses them all is the single word: “Gentleman”: “a man of refined manners - a man of good thoughts and instincts - courteous and honorable.” And I think that is just spot on.
It is this one word unites all the messages we’ve received, and I think sums up Dad perfectly. He really was a true Gentleman.
He was ‘quietly passionate’ and incredibly generous. He had a deep sense of fairness and justice, with a huge compassion for those who are suffering. If something wasn’t right - he would do what he could to put it right. When he could see that something was right - he would pursue it.
He always did seek out the big-picture, the global perspective. I think this was in part nurtured by the two years he spent in Canada as a child with his parents and brother Robert. Even though he was only 9 when he came back, it left a lasting impression on him. He would recount fondly the stories of the freezing cold winters - and the warmth and friendliness of the people.
His first degree was in Chemistry at St Peter’s College Oxford, and, while he loved the discipline of pure science, he knew that medicine was his calling. He accepted a place at medical school in Sheffield, but the week before he started - he met a girl.
They met on a Christian student trip to Skelmersdale in Lancashire, and, either by accident or design, they ended up being paired to work together.
On the third day of this trip he phoned his Mum and said “Mum, I’ve met the girl I’m going to marry” – to which his mum said gently “That’s very nice dear – does she know?”. And the punch line to this story - is that actually, she did! She did, because on day 3 of this trip, not only had Dad proposed – but Mum had accepted!
Now, as we all know, and Shakespeare articulated: “the path of true love never did run smooth”, and it would be another four years before they married.
Dad transferred back to Oxford to complete his Medical training and to be closer to Mum, but they went through some difficult times, during which I know the love and support they recieved from their family was hugely appreciated.
Thankfully for Tris and I, they did work it out, and Mum and Dad made a great team. You couldn’t of asked for a better Father – or a better role-model of how to be a husband. He was always hugely loving - and hugely supportive - of Mum, Tris, me - and all of our extended family and friends.
He was an amazing support and encouragement for Mum through her recent pastoral training, Ordination and then her practice as a Priest here in Oakworth. From the big things to the little things, like a cup of tea in the morning accompanied by a wry grin and the word’s “more tea vicar?”
As we were growing up, Dad instigated the “Family Cug”. Each morning, shortly before we left the house - all four of us would gather and have a group hug - designed to let us all know we were greatly loved and set us on our way for the day.
He had a massively strong Christian faith that really was at the core of all he did. He was always keen to articulate the reasons for his faith in Jesus - but never judgmental of others with different faiths, or none.
With the church family here in Oakworth he shared some fantastic fellowship - that encouraged and nurtured him - and he made some great friends.
After retiring from General Practice, he undertook a Masters in Science and Theology at the University of Edinburgh. This allowed him to really deeply explore the relationship between these two disciplines – and substantiated his view that they are not mutually exclusive – that a full understanding of the cosmos requires both science and theology.
Dad was incredibly widely read. A quick scan of just one of the very many bookshelves at home reveals titles as diverse as: “The Existential Jesus” – “The History of Scotland since 1688” – and “The physical basis of biochemistry”. All on the same bookshelf.
He liked to ask big questions and think big thoughts. As one message this week said: “conversations would touch on many subjects: the first causation, quantum time and space - and the day-to-day implications of the cosmic consciousness”. But – lofty all as that sounds – he was always grounded in the practical implications of these big thoughts, and how they could be used to improve people’s lives.
In the pre-Google era, whenever a topic came up in conversation that he didn’t know fully, the Encyclopedia would be brought to the table and we would all be educated. He loved to teach, on topics as diverse as atomic energy, ceilidh dancing, and the importance of the location and direction of walls when map reading.
When he was a Medical Student on a camping holiday in France, one of his non-medic friends asked where the spleen was. It was a hot day and he was just wearing shorts, so Dad proceeded to find a pen and draw the outline of the spleen on his torso. Of course, Dad being Dad, it wasn’t sufficient to just to communicate where the spleen was – he felt this information was only really useful if you know where the spleen is in the context of it’s surrounding organs – so with said pen he proceeded to draw on the liver, kidneys, stomach, diaphragm, lungs, heart etc. And it was only then that he realized – and you may have guessed where this is going – that the bright green pen he’d used for this was a permanent marker…
He always had this great drive to bring together his passion for knowledge of how the human body works - with his compassion for his fellow human beings.
There’s a painting by Luke Fields called ‘The Doctor’ that Dad had on the wall of his consulting room. It was painted in the late 1800’s and shows a kindly and wise doctor looking on with compassion at a sick child. This is how I saw my Dad – as a kind and wise man, doing his best with the scientific knowledge that he had at his disposal. The real driver though, his motivation for doing that job - was his deep compassion for his fellow beings.
The extent of the outpouring of admiration from former patients and colleagues this week has been amazing. So great was the number of former patients calling the Holycroft Practice, even though it’s now eight years since he retired - that they have set-up a book of condolences there.
Our family home – New House Farm – has been a sanctuary of love and happiness for the last 35 years. Mum and Dad bought it when we moved to Yorkshire and it was essentially just a shell. As a result, it isn’t just full of bits of Dad’s handiwork, it pretty much is his handiwork. Over the last 4 decades Dad rebuilt every room, which being a 400 year-old building wasn’t always the easiest of tasks.
He built two barns at New House Farm from the foundations to the roof, which looking back must have been a significant challenge on top of working full time as a GP and having a young family. My memory as a child is of him coming home from work, having dinner with us and then donning his overalls - straight over his work clothes, cravat included - and head out to build a bit more barn. It was during this period that he perfected his trademark look of ‘Cravat and Boiler suit’.
For small jobs, I think it is fair to say - and he’d be happy to admit this - I think it’s fair to say that his enthusiasm for starting new projects sometimes exceeded his enthusiasm for completing them...
He knew how to plan the bigger jobs however. There is a story of one of our neighbours coming round one day to investigate as they felt the whole farm shaking, to find Dad with a massive hammer drill drilling a hole in a wall. On enquiring whether Bryony was in, he replied “oh no, you have to time these jobs carefully...”
Summertime was time for haymaking, and many here will have fond memories of helping with all aspects of that.
We had Jersey cows for a number of years, and the first of these arrived as a calf in a rather inauspicious manner – in the boot of an Austin Metro, as a surprise Christmas present for Mum.
Dad didn’t really do gardening in the typical sense of the word. I would describe his approach to horticulture and ‘extreme pruning’. Many bushes and trees that were deemed to have overgrown received quite literally the sharp end of his saw. On one notable occasion a silver-birch tree had grown excessively tall and received what most people would describe as a scalping. One of our young neighbours at the time drove past it with her Mum and, looking aghast, said: “Mummy, do you think Gerald did that while Bryony was out?”
Weeding similarly was dealt with by his characteristic “passionate, no-nonsense, if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly” approach – that is weeding with a flame-thrower. I can vividly remember as a 6 or 7 year old standing watching in awe as he took down those weeds with this massive flame-spitting beast. I actually found it in the garage the otherday - and I think, I think next week I might do a bit of weeding...
Looking through our old family photos this week, it was striking just how many of them were of us as a family in the great outdoors. The Yorkshire Dales, the Lake District and the Scottish Highlands were particular favourites. Dad loved hill walking and we climbed a multitude of Munroe’s – on one occasion even lugging a portable heart-scanning machine to the top to measure our heart function.
Through his work as Venture Scout leader in Oakworth for a few years, he introduced many young people to outdoor activities such as rock climbing and ghyll scrambling. As Medical Officer for the Fellsman Hike he helped many more enjoy the hills in safety.
Dad shared his passion for Scotland with Mum, and they have spent many happy holidays on Iona and the West Coast. It was his love of Scotland that led him to undertake perhaps his most challenging education experience - he decided to have a go at learning an instrument he loved - the bagpipes.
He was a huge fan of all things to do with the railways – a passion he shared with his Father and brother Robert. As well as being a lifetime member of the Keighley and Worth Valley Railway, he was a medical officer for them and latterly had started training as a crossing keeper. In fact on the day he died he had video-called my wife and our two children from the railway. I was at work, but he had been in great spirits, describing the sunny day as ‘glorious’ and showing the little ones the trains and the levers for the signals – and they in turn had shown him their toy dinosaurs and monster trucks. We take great solace that in his final hours he was doing what he loved, and he got to share it with his family.
A couple of days ago, my 3 year old ask me “Daddy – does heaven have a roof?” – it was raining, and he was worried that Grandpa might be getting wet.
I’m not sure that my explanation that in heaven we don’t really need a roof was sufficient for him. As a parent of a toddler you become acutely aware that there are lots of things you don’t know. It reminded me of a line from the Bible “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” I think – I think that if that means Dad now knows everything, he is going to be truly happy…
I started with a thank-you – a thank-you to all here today. And I want to finish with a thank-you: to Dad
Thank you, Dad, for all the ways you have helped, healed and inspired people in your many and varied paths in life.
Thank you for the amazing love you shared with Mum, Tristan, myself and all of our family and friends.
And thank you for setting such a shining example of how to be a magnificent human being. A true Gentleman who was much loved and whose legacy lives on. Thank you, Dad.