What I had planned to say at the funeral -
I would like to take a few moments of your time to say some words about my grandfather, Keith MacArthur.
These will not be words painting an entire verbal picture of his life, but merely a few small moments, my recollection of my best moments with him.
These memories centre around the times my grandfather, father and myself spent at the pub. The Quinns Post Hotel was a mere five minute walk from 639 Fergusson Drive, but the gulf between Saturday afternoons watching kids videos to being invited drinking with my elders was immense. The first time I was asked to go across the road, I felt that I had finally graduated to adulthood.
I believe I watched a lot of rugby the first few Saturdays, but as I grew more comfortable into my role of drinking and listening buddy, I ditched the rugby and listened to the stories.
Thankfully for all of us Keith was too young to serve in the war, but he entertained us with stories of civilian life in the Hutt and Wellington. The fights between GIs and Kiwis, the US MPs throwing everyone in paddy wagons, or the negros walking in the gutters. After the war his hunting - shooting deer, wild pigs and 'tame sheep' - his friends, and occasionally his work.
I feel that is a thing we will all miss - his stories and his perspective on the world. He was 100% certain of his views, until something came along to completely change them. I always felt his stories should be recorded, and I believe this happened a bit towards the end, on video, but only with some of the many many stories he had.
As these things go, routines change and people move, so these Saturday afternoons lasted perhaps eighteen months. But I will always look back on them with fondness and love.
I could give a hundred other examples of these quiet moments with my grandfather, of bonding, of companionship, of love, but everyone here has their own similar moments and memories. I will leave you to think of your own best moments with Keith.
Thank you.
After I let my mother read it, she said it was too formal, to say it as if it was just a general conversation, so after getting up the guts to actually step up to the plate, I went with -
I would like to take a few moments of your time to say some words about my grandfather, Keith MacArthur.
Now, I had written up a few paragraphs last night of what I might say today, but my mother read them and said they were too formal and stilted. But the fact is that I like saying formal and stilted stuff, that's my style, because it is the best way I can get through this without bursting into tears, but we will see how we go.
My best memories of my Grandad are when he, me and my dad went to the pub. Yes, surprisingly alcohol is involved. Quinns Post Hotel was a mere five minute walk from 639 Fergusson Drive, where my Grandma and Grandad lived for so many years, but there was a gulf of difference between Saturday afternoons at the grandparents watching kids cartoons, Mickey Mouse and all, and being invited to go drinking with my elders. It felt like I had graduated to adulthood. Yes, drinking. Not that I hadn't been drinking before, three years or so in fact, but the fact that it was with my family.
Where was I - my notes are scattered everywhere. I went to the pub to watch the rugby. But after the first few weeks, as I grew into my role as drinking and listening buddy, the rugby went and was replaced with the stories.
Stories - my grandfather had a million of them. Thankfully, Grandad was too young to actually serve in the war, to have war stories of his own, but he told us of growing up, of civilian life during the war in the Hutt and Wellington. How old was he then, he would have been a teenager? Of seeing the GIs and Kiwis fighting, of US military police beating everyone up and throwing them in the back of a paddywagon, of the black soldiers walking in the gutters.
After the war, of his hunting, of his friends - not hunting his friends, as I made it sound, but hunting and his friends. And occasionally his work, though this was much less so. As has been mentioned already, he was very much an outdoors person.
I feel that is a thing that we will all miss - his stories and his perspective on the world. He was always 100% certain of his views, until something came along to completely change them. I always felt his stories should be recorded, every couple of years the idea would crop up to do that, and I believe this happened a bit towards the end, but it would not even be one percent of one percent of what he had to say.
When I was over last, I took a few videos with my camera myself, but Grandad was always saying 'what are you bloody taking those for', and he usually stayed quiet when I was videoing him. Maybe he should have had a camera on him all the time for all the stories - something like Big Brother. I'm currently in Australia, by the way.
Back to the topic. As these things go, routines change, people move - Grandma and Grandad moved up here, I moved, well, I have moved all sorts of places - so these Saturday afternoons at the pub lasted perhaps eighteen months. But I will always look back on them with fondness and love.
I could give a hundred other examples of these quiet moments with Grandad, of companionship, of bonding, of love, but everyone here has their own special memories with him. I would just like to leave you to think of your favourite thoughts of my grandad.
Thank you.
I only choked up twice, I was happy with that. And the reaction to the revised, spoken one was good, everyone said I did a good job. There was apparently a lot of laughter at some of the things I said, not that I could really hear it, trying to stay together to give the speech.
Will write more about the last three days tomorrow, just wanted to get the above down on 'paper' as it were asap.
I would like to take a few moments of your time to say some words about my grandfather, Keith MacArthur.
These will not be words painting an entire verbal picture of his life, but merely a few small moments, my recollection of my best moments with him.
These memories centre around the times my grandfather, father and myself spent at the pub. The Quinns Post Hotel was a mere five minute walk from 639 Fergusson Drive, but the gulf between Saturday afternoons watching kids videos to being invited drinking with my elders was immense. The first time I was asked to go across the road, I felt that I had finally graduated to adulthood.
I believe I watched a lot of rugby the first few Saturdays, but as I grew more comfortable into my role of drinking and listening buddy, I ditched the rugby and listened to the stories.
Thankfully for all of us Keith was too young to serve in the war, but he entertained us with stories of civilian life in the Hutt and Wellington. The fights between GIs and Kiwis, the US MPs throwing everyone in paddy wagons, or the negros walking in the gutters. After the war his hunting - shooting deer, wild pigs and 'tame sheep' - his friends, and occasionally his work.
I feel that is a thing we will all miss - his stories and his perspective on the world. He was 100% certain of his views, until something came along to completely change them. I always felt his stories should be recorded, and I believe this happened a bit towards the end, on video, but only with some of the many many stories he had.
As these things go, routines change and people move, so these Saturday afternoons lasted perhaps eighteen months. But I will always look back on them with fondness and love.
I could give a hundred other examples of these quiet moments with my grandfather, of bonding, of companionship, of love, but everyone here has their own similar moments and memories. I will leave you to think of your own best moments with Keith.
Thank you.
After I let my mother read it, she said it was too formal, to say it as if it was just a general conversation, so after getting up the guts to actually step up to the plate, I went with -
I would like to take a few moments of your time to say some words about my grandfather, Keith MacArthur.
Now, I had written up a few paragraphs last night of what I might say today, but my mother read them and said they were too formal and stilted. But the fact is that I like saying formal and stilted stuff, that's my style, because it is the best way I can get through this without bursting into tears, but we will see how we go.
My best memories of my Grandad are when he, me and my dad went to the pub. Yes, surprisingly alcohol is involved. Quinns Post Hotel was a mere five minute walk from 639 Fergusson Drive, where my Grandma and Grandad lived for so many years, but there was a gulf of difference between Saturday afternoons at the grandparents watching kids cartoons, Mickey Mouse and all, and being invited to go drinking with my elders. It felt like I had graduated to adulthood. Yes, drinking. Not that I hadn't been drinking before, three years or so in fact, but the fact that it was with my family.
Where was I - my notes are scattered everywhere. I went to the pub to watch the rugby. But after the first few weeks, as I grew into my role as drinking and listening buddy, the rugby went and was replaced with the stories.
Stories - my grandfather had a million of them. Thankfully, Grandad was too young to actually serve in the war, to have war stories of his own, but he told us of growing up, of civilian life during the war in the Hutt and Wellington. How old was he then, he would have been a teenager? Of seeing the GIs and Kiwis fighting, of US military police beating everyone up and throwing them in the back of a paddywagon, of the black soldiers walking in the gutters.
After the war, of his hunting, of his friends - not hunting his friends, as I made it sound, but hunting and his friends. And occasionally his work, though this was much less so. As has been mentioned already, he was very much an outdoors person.
I feel that is a thing that we will all miss - his stories and his perspective on the world. He was always 100% certain of his views, until something came along to completely change them. I always felt his stories should be recorded, every couple of years the idea would crop up to do that, and I believe this happened a bit towards the end, but it would not even be one percent of one percent of what he had to say.
When I was over last, I took a few videos with my camera myself, but Grandad was always saying 'what are you bloody taking those for', and he usually stayed quiet when I was videoing him. Maybe he should have had a camera on him all the time for all the stories - something like Big Brother. I'm currently in Australia, by the way.
Back to the topic. As these things go, routines change, people move - Grandma and Grandad moved up here, I moved, well, I have moved all sorts of places - so these Saturday afternoons at the pub lasted perhaps eighteen months. But I will always look back on them with fondness and love.
I could give a hundred other examples of these quiet moments with Grandad, of companionship, of bonding, of love, but everyone here has their own special memories with him. I would just like to leave you to think of your favourite thoughts of my grandad.
Thank you.
I only choked up twice, I was happy with that. And the reaction to the revised, spoken one was good, everyone said I did a good job. There was apparently a lot of laughter at some of the things I said, not that I could really hear it, trying to stay together to give the speech.
Will write more about the last three days tomorrow, just wanted to get the above down on 'paper' as it were asap.
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