Thank you to all of you who have come to pay your respects today to Dad, to David. We loved him with all of our hearts but could not conceive that so many would be here today. The world without him is a diminished one. Since his peaceful passing almost three weeks ago, so many voices from his past have emerged to say what a gentleman he was, how kind he was, and what a good man he was. This has sustained us.

Dad remained young his entire life. He was feisty as a youth, later a rebel without a cause whose appearance sometimes resembled James Dean, later the lead singer of his own band. From that era a great author wrote, “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

Dad was exciting, charismatic and passionate; he did nothing by half measures and did so much for others without need for publicising his kindness. Some of you here today will recall his kindness or remember how you found your life enriched for knowing him. He gave the greatest gift, if sometimes the smallest; love. He left the greatest legacy; love. In his last years, reduced to his essence, he was love. Love and warmth were the foundation of who he was.

My brother Jason and I remember Dad always being there for us. We have countless memories of Dad doing his best to support us. He did not feel sacrifice and never sought attention for the things that he did. He worked hard. Very hard - six days a week for most of his life; always at work early, always taking an hour for lunch, often back at work of an evening to finish working on cars. He never failed us as a father though. Dad made time whenever possible and took us up to the Car Sales with him if he had work to finish. We learned much about cars, engineering, life and commitment. Looking back, he must have been exhausted.

Over the years he had a few serious blows to his head and the effect of these, combined with exhaustion, began to take its toll on his health from the age of 49. After this first episode, Dad began to manifest signs of Parkinsons, but this would not be confirmed until four years later. This was a body blow to all of us, especially Dad, as he loved to be active. However, he was without self pity and selfless as ever when, that September in 1994, the wheel fell off my car and he fixed it. Not significant until you consider I lived in London, and the wheel had pulled the drive shaft out of the engine, because of a failed steering joint. As soon as it happened I phoned home and, within the space of a day, Dad was up in London with me, equipped with a bag of Marks and Spencer food which Mum had sent him up with. Unable to complete the job on the first day, he sat with me and we ate our special meal, then walked about Clapham that evening; he wasn't sure how he’d fix the car but he said he would. Dad loved looking at the Victorian tiles and windows in many of the doorways. He loved the whole adventure, and went to bed with a big smile on his face. The next day, I took myself to work, arriving back that evening to find a note which read, ‘Car fixed, love Dad x’. When I phoned him he told me how he had found a Fiat specialist in the area and asked if he could borrow their ramp and tools. That was Dad: friendly, charming, genuine, down to earth. I was incredibly proud of this boy from Bitterne who came and conquered a corner of London, despite his ensuing condition.

One of his ongoing worries was that he could not protect Mum, whom he loved dearly to his last. The family business, whilst successful, became a burden to sustain; he and his brother Derek never employed anyone else and were selling and servicing all the cars sold. When a buyer approached them in 1998, it was clearly time to seize the moment. Dad was getting stuck under cars and sometimes falling, never safe in a workshop. So, he officially retired that year.

For two years, Mum and Dad enjoyed his retirement. He had time to buy and sell antiques, potter outside, do d.i.y. at home and relax. Although his condition worsened slightly, it was offset by the prescription of an ‘agonist’ tablet that helped his body absorb his Parkinson's medication. Every Parkinson's sufferer is different, and doctors have to experiment. This experiment went very wrong and the agonists upset Dad’s brain chemistry; he was left manic and confused at the age of 58 and his condition subsequently worsened.

However, Dad’s retirement resumed later that year and he was incredibly positive throughout. He retained his sense of humour, his capacity to love others and his interest in the world. Gradually, he would freeze more, fall more and find people’s reactions challenging. We would joke about him acting like the character Andy (of Lou and Andy) from 'Little Britain' because, when his Parkinsons tablet was ‘kicking in’, he would suddenly get up out of his wheelchair in public places, having previously been motionless. Again, the faces of others were a picture, although the serious side of this reaction often showed itself during times when he and Mum were naively challenged over their legitimate use of disabled parking.

In 2005, Dad was thrilled to become a grandfather. When George David Misselbrook was born, he couldn't wait to see him. When I first offered him to Dad to hold, he held back and said, ‘I'm frightened I’ll drop him.’ I said he’d be fine and handed George over, knowing Dad would rise above his condition for this moment. Every time he saw his grandson, Dad would become animated, try to play with him and cuddle him. A tear of pride was ever present in his eyes for the first few years of his life; in fact Dad would never forget who George was - or any of us - despite his later diagnosis of Lewy Body Dementia.

Until the end of 2012, Dad lived at home with Mum. His condition had worsened, yet she diligently cared for him until January 2013 when Dad was admitted to hospital with pneumonia. Resources on the ward were scarce, staff in short supply; it was a ward that had shortly before been mothballed and was in no fit state to meet Dad’s needs. Suffice to say, his health deteriorated and he was eventually assessed as needing twenty four hour nursing care.

For the best part of the following two years Dad resided at Hamble Heights Nursing Home, a luxurious home which was newly built. Although he was admitted to hospital on many subsequent occasions, he was treated with respect and dignity at Hamble Heights and developed his own social life with the staff. We are very grateful that Dad spent his final years in great comfort, and extremely thankful to the staff past and present who cared for him so well. Some have come to pay their respects today and we know they thought a lot of him, and of Mum, so thank you very much.

No tribute to David would be complete without a tribute to Mum, Margaret, Maggie. She asked that she would not be mentioned, but we know that Dad would never want it that way. He loved her deeply from the moment he first saw her and did all he could to provide for, and to protect her for as long as he could; it was a great worry of his that Parkinsons began to rob him of his ability to do so and he took comfort in having sons who could fill the gap - me the fixer, Jason the kind and generous soul like his Dad who, like him, would do anything for anybody.

Mum sustained Dad throughout their married life. Very few in this church today will know the struggle that Mum has faced with his health over the years - the last fifteen especially. She loved Dad back, a thousand times over, stoically fighting for him, caring for him, lifting him, defending him, feeding him. ‘For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health’, Mum deserves recognition today for her selfless loyalty, utter devotion and lioness strength in upholding these marriage vows and stands as an example to us all about how to be a partner.

Mum, Jason and I could never repay David’s generosity and kindness. For these last three weeks, it has felt as if the best part of us has died. We always knew this would happen but we were never prepared; Dad was the ‘comeback kid’ who faced death on far too many occasions It felt as if he would live on this world forever, but he did not.

It is customary for a poem or two to be read on these sad occasions but let it be remembered today that Dad's life was poetic. To the end, he remained the decent person he always had been - a man of principle and character, a good and selfless person who always tried to do what was right. We are proud, extremely proud, to have known him and to call ourselves his family. Beautiful David, lovely Dad, the quintessence of love, unconditional charity and kindness.

May he rest in peace.