An Eulogy at my father's funeral

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players
They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.

Dad liked to recite this soliloquy, which he had committed to memory at school and then, typically, kept with him for more than eighty years like a well worn pocket knife. I think he believed it, and that's probably why it stuck with him. 

He was an exceptionally reliable man - diligent and thorough in every endeavour. He invested his time and money wisely, and he has provided very handsomely for his heirs, something for which, I think I can speak on behalf of all, we are most grateful.

Our father planned meticulously, taking care of mum for many years by treating the kitchen as a laboratory in the paint factory and preparing food in accordance with carefully compiled formulas.

He was a stoic, never complaining at his lot even when our older sister and his beloved daughter Alison passed away so unexpectedly and tragically at a young age. He was deeply wounded, but it took a keen eye to see it.

He was an exceptional man in that he existed in a cerebral sphere that is outside the ordinary. It is of course an exaggeration to say that he considered people to be dynamic expressions of electrochemical phenomena, but his extreme rationality and philosophical materialism certainly led him in that direction.

Dad was a creative man, forever making bookcases, models, tables, a guitar case, and anything for which a need was expressed, also for neighbours and community functions when he was given the chance. Carole found a painstakingly engineered foam padded box with bespoke hinges and aluminium fastening mechanism designed to accommodate a "photographic timer" according to the label.
Apart from his handicraft and homemade country wines , he also had something of a thespian spirit, and never drew back from an opportunity to tread the boards. Although I didn't follow his acting career personally, the photographs suggest that comedy was his preferred genre. He certainly had the ability to raise a laugh, and he was entertaining the paramedics, nurses and doctors even in the last month of his life.

He was a mainstay and point of reference, and perhaps not just for his immediate family, to whom he was a true patriarch although in the vesture of a modern and enlightened man.

He was not, however, enlightened by the Words of the Holy Bible, a Book that he made a point of avoiding despite having three copies on the shelf by his chair. He did however once suffer me to read these few verses from Ecclesiastes without reporting any particular harmful effects afterwards:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Dad's beloved verses from As You Like It reach a grim conclusion: "the Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion;"

but Dad cheated Shakespeare's finale because he retained his wits until the very end. As for the oblivion, we shall have to wait and see.