When I was asked if I would say a few words to bid farewell to Dad I was happy to agree because 71 years ago, three days after Mum’s 18th birthday on the 12th October 1927, it was her father, my namesake, George Hall, who brought the two together when Dad was invited to live with George’s family, his wife Florence Ada and their daughter Elizabeth (Peggy), in Camberwell.
That blessed introduction led to their wedding in August 1930 and to 68 years of happy marriage.
The 6 children who were the fruits of this union had and continue to have good reason to say thank God for our good fortune.
The family was never conventionally wealthy but we were brought up surrounded by the riches of the honest, selfless love that Mum and Dad had for each other and for each of us children.
Dad was a man who enjoyed sport; in his youth he was granted a cricket trial for Surrey, but household chores caused him to miss the opportunity – a fact over which he never expressed any regrets.
Before and after the war (WWII), together with his brother Len, he played cricket for Castle Sports, whilst his sister Lil would keep score. As in so many things, Dad was a good all rounder, being a stylish left hand bat and a nagging right hand spin bowler. It was a very proud day for him when Ron joined the team.
Such occasions were an outing for the whole family and we older children (Pat, George and Ken), together with our cousins, would often take these opportunities to engage in a little light scrumping, often led by Pat – it was only long after that we told Dad of such pranks – he never did approve.
As small children we would sit on his lap, knees and feet to listen to him tell or read us bedtime stories – our love of the written word certainly had its foundations in those well remembered interludes.
Dad always had time for us. He taught us to play billiards, table tennis, cricket, chess and much else, and whilst such activities were always competitive they were never allowed to become too serious – however, at times we children would not be serious enough – the shadow of a coat hanger, wielded by Ron, masquerading as antlers springs to mind.
At mealtimes, because there were so many around the dining table, we children were expected to eat in silence, this often led to fits of giggles which could not remain suppressed for long and to the weeding out of our numbers as, one by one, we were dismissed to our bedrooms – the exodus would often cause logistical problems brought on by shortage of rooms.
When Ros, went overland to India Dad followed her route with a natural concern but keenly, and proud that he had instilled such independence in her.
The manner of our upbringing ensured that each of us was blessed with a superabundance of independence; none more so than Vic whose 12 years as a Liberal Southwark Councillor was the source of much pride but also lively discussion with Dad, a long time Labour Party member. Independent we may be, however, we have never forgotten to whom we owe it and have remained a close and loving family.
In recent years, plagued by an arthritic ankle the result of an early football injury, Dad had not moved far from No. 1 (Farmstead), however, a family get together could always arouse the willing spirit to push the increasingly unwilling flesh to attend. In September (1998), in celebration of the Parent’s 68th Wedding Anniversary, Vic, very ably assisted by his son Tony, organised an evening at Catford Greyhounds and sponsored a race in their names to commemorate the occasion. Many of Vic’s and Ken’s tips appeared to have less speed than Dad.
For Mum, “In sickness and in health” was not an empty phrase, she remained his constant companion and friend throughout their life together; the perfect wife. During recent years Pat has often been on hand to ease the burden.
Dad, 5 generations of the Jones family are represented here today; Mum, Elsie, Minnie, your children and their spouses, grandchildren and their spouses, great grandchildren and the latest addition your great, great grandchild to salute you and to thank you. We are very proud to have known you.
Now out of sight but never out of mind, and always in our hearts.
[Eulogy delivered at Ted’s funeral service, Lewisham Crematorium, 6th December 1998]
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