Eulogy to Eric
The first time I met Eric was in 1987. Standing nervously on the doorstep outside his house in Clayton, Staffordshire, I was the gangly student who dared to date his daughter and was waiting to greet her parents for the first time. When the front door began to open, my immediate thought on seeing the giant of a man before me was, 'Which limb will he tear off first?' A thought that was confirmed when Gillian introduced us and I could barely squeak 'Hello' through the pain of his manly handshake. I'll always remember his first words to me on that nerve-racking morning. He said, 'I hear you're from Yorkshire?' I nodded. 'Good,' he said, 'because I've got extra beers in that need using up.' That pretty much set the tone of our relationship for many years to come.
Eric was a big man with an equally big heart and he welcomed me into his family unreservedly, as did his wife, Brenda. What amazed me about Eric was how well sorted his life was. He had a loving family, lots of friends, a beautiful house, and somehow he managed to balance being top sales person for British Gas with clocking off at four every day and having long lunches. The laws of physics relating to time and effort seemed to bend around Eric in such a way that he accomplished more than most, in less time, with what appeared to be half the effort. I never did find out how he did it, as I was too busy rushing around in London making a living the stressful way.
A proud man, Eric was a traditionalist who always paid his way in life. Be that insisting on buying the first round in a pub, or paying for his daughter's wedding even though we didn't expect him to. He always supported people and charities who needed help but never demanded it, and if he personally couldn't resolve the problem, he always knew a man who could as his networking and entrepreneurial skills were on a par with Richard Branson, only without the publicity.
They say that no man is without his vices, and Eric had two of note, although neither was taken to excess. The first of those was horse racing. At 50p each way Eric was never going to spend the family fortune but he did approach it in a studious manner and avidly followed the form of his favourite horses. It was Eric who taught me that a reverse forecast wasn't a look back at the previous day's weather, and that a super yankee wasn't a man flying through the air with his underpants on show.
I was introduced to the second of Eric's vices when I was told it was traditional in the Bowler family for the boys to go out for beers on Christmas Eve. Bearing in mind that Eric was of a size and stature for whom a pint glass resembled a thimble in his hand, I soon discovered that it was also traditional for Geoff and myself to match his beers pint for pint regardless of body weight. Bravely, I tried to keep up - after all I am from Yorkshire - but the refreshments kept coming and I was forced to try alternatives. That's when I came face to face with Eric's generous nature; usually evidenced by the words, 'I'll get you a pint as no son-in-law of mine drinks in halves,' or 'Here's the tonic water you asked for. I got the barman to add a little gin to give it flavour.' When I told my friends about my Christmas Eve ritualistic endurance test, they laughed and didn't believe me. Until Eric visited my home town of Hitchin once and I invited him along to one of my own boys' nights out. Martin, a good friend of mine, rang me late the next morning and summed up the previous evening when he said, 'Steve, you were right. Never in my whole life have I been drunk under the table by a gregarious OAP wearing a beige cardigan!'
It was on those boys nights out that I really got to know and love my father-in-law. He was a great raconteur who regaled us with stories from his National Service days during which he was a keen boxer and regularly won competitions. But he had a brain to go with his brawn and rose to the rank of Sergeant before he left the army to join the Nelson Research Laboratories as a technician working on the telescopes at Jodrell Bank. His next job was with British Gas, with whom he was to spend the rest of his working life, and he held a variety of posts during that time. He even came to the attention of the chairman on occasion as a man who got things done with little fuss and who would give an honest opinion when asked. Eric was one of those rare people who was truly appreciative and content with his work-life balance. So much so, that he refused promotion on several occasions because it would have impinged on his time with his wife and two children.
Eric retired in 1991, spending his new found freedom at home in the garden or on holidays in the sun. He also visited his children and grandchildren, spoiling them rotten as is the wont of grandparents the world over. Eric loved joining the rest of the family for summer holidays and Christmas get togethers and always had strong opinions on important things like: the price of a cup of tea in Starbucks, which members of the Royal family he'd happily crown, and where the manager of his home team, Stoke City, had got it oh so very wrong. An avid football fan, Eric wore out many an armchair in his pursuit of the sport. You'd think that might have been a problem for his wife Brenda, but no, like most successful marriages, it was the woman of the household who really had the remote control.
Which brings me to an aspect of Eric's life that has become a rarity in these modern times. That is, long serving commitment to the one you love. When Eric said his marriage vows before God back in 1955, he promised to love Brenda, comfort her, honour and protect her, forsaking all others, and to be faithful to her as long as they both should live. For 54 years Eric kept his promises and he and Brenda led a happy and fulfilled married life that I truly believe is an inspiration to us all. My heart goes out to Brenda at the loss of her husband, and to her children, Gillian and Geoff, at the loss of their father but I urge them not to think of the sad times they've experienced recently, but to remember the happy times he gave to them, and others, throughout his life.
And I know Eric would have hated for me to go out on a sad note, so I'll relate to you this one last story which I hope will make you remember him with a smile. Many years ago, when my children were barely toddlers and Eric was more mobile, we took both sides of the family on holiday to Greece. We stayed in a beautiful hotel and as is typical of package holidays the tourist company offered local tours and excursions. We all signed up to an island Sunshine Cruise that promised blue skies and crystal clear seas with the odd beverage thrown in for free.
When the day of the cruise arrived, we boarded the large passenger boat in gusting winds with grey clouds gathering overhead. After twenty miles of turbulent waters, our boat began to look like a refugee ship. The below decks area was awash with groaning tourists and sickly children. The only people topside that weren't green and hanging over the railings were Eric and myself. It was Eric that spotted the deserted bar area and suggested that it would be rude not to partake of the facilities while we watched the rain and lightning show put on by nature for our benefit. It took two hours to return to port in seas that made the deck heave as much as the passengers. Eric and I braved the tempest and rescued many cans of beer from rolling off our table before we disembarked to find terra firma was almost as unstable as the boat. On the short bus journey back to our hotel we tried to cheer up our family and fellow tourists with bursts of Cliff Richard and Tom Jones but everyone seemed strangely immune to our jollity. Most passengers claimed a refund on the trip stating that it should never have gone ahead in the first place. Only two people took up the offer of a replacement trip a couple of days later; giving Eric and me a chance to reprise our performance to a whole new audience.
And finally, I've absolutely no doubt that my father-in-law is up there watching us right now, so I have one last thing to say to you, Eric.
'It's your round.'
(Eulogy given by Steve Barley at the remembrance service for his father-in-law, Eric Bowler, who passed away on February 17th 2009, aged 79. Memories of Eric will live on for many years to come)