My first memory of Dad is being balanced on his shoulders as he carried me up to bed. I surveyed a lot of my childhood from his shoulders, probably because as the youngest I couldn’t walk as far or as fast, and he never minded carrying me, even when I was far too big. Dad taught us how to swim, took us ice skating, bought us doughnuts from the bakers saying “Don’t tell your mother”. He gave us patches in the garden where I grew radishes  and cress and took us on muddy walks to Oxshott woods and Box Hill. He cooked breakfast every morning , and on Sundays made swiss muesli the night before so he could have a lay in. His treacle tart was amazing, though strangely I seem to be the only one in the family who can remember it. He took us on day trips to the coast where he always swam in the sea with us, even in the rain and he was always in the church pantomime as one of the villains; the Giant in Jack and the beanstalk, Abanazar in Aladdin. I remember crying and asking why everyone was booing Daddy? He loved classic music and singing, maps and walking, planning journeys and holidays, and his garden. Patient, loving and kind, sometimes eccentric but his strong presence was always there. He will remain with us always, in the way he has shaped us all.