A gentle man

George Mervyn Barrett Love – January 1939 – June 2024

Over the last number of weeks, there has been a theme as people have remembered you. The theme is that you were an all round good egg: wonderful, a gentleman, kind, lovely. Friends and family have remembered your great sense of humour, your quiet assurance of faith, your faith-filled heart. They have remembered times that you have encouraged them and made music with them. 

And it’s all true!

You were wonderful. You were a wonderful Dad. Always ready with wise words when they were needed and challenging words at times too. You were always there, ready to help in times of crisis, dragging Mum along to solve car problems on more than one occasion. 

You were kind. You were a kind Dad. Walking along the street with your hand on my shoulder, giving me that certain feeling that you were protecting me.

You were wonderfully creative. Taking photographs and developing them in the dark room in the house. Building me a desk, decorating every room and even creating a weather station in the garden. You made decorative concrete bricks, grew all manner of fruit and vegetables and made potent dandelion wine. You were always ready to try out some new project or gadget. 

You had a great sense of humour which was evident so much in your writing. Practicing your hilarious skits for church events was the best fun. The naughty angel and the pink snow come to mind. The letters you wrote to me when I was away at college are still hilarious to read, although not totally PC. You cleverly mixed up the real with the imaginary in the stories of Macrame the faithful retainer on the Shenfield homestead, making me feel connected to home in the days before facetime and even emails.

I got to make music with you too. All those early Sunday mornings when you faithfully packed up your drumkit from the house, brought it to church, set it up again, played for the service and then packed it down again. Week after week. Without any grumbling or complaining. Another trait of yours that we all wish we could emulate.

In the hospital during the last few days, we got to share moments with you that I will hold dearly in my heart forever. Your bids for freedom, your cheeky humour, your enjoyment of hospital food. I will hold on tightly to the memory of you introducing me to your ward neighbour as ‘your daughter’ alongside the memory that you thought Frances and I were actors from your stagehand days at the Bristol Old Vic.

Dad, I will miss all your good advice, your generous heart, your presence as solid as a rock in all of life’s experiences and especially in the difficult ones. I will miss hearing you say ‘hello my dear’ at the other end of the phone, your daily descriptions of the weather at Randalls Drive and the visitors to your bird table. I will miss your fascination with ancient Egypt, your delight in all things Disney and your spontaneous laughter at The Muppets. I will miss your smile, your kind eyes, your reassuring words, and the fact that you loved me so well.