My eulogy for Paul
It is so hard to sum up a person like
Paul in a short space of time: warm, eloquent, funny, kind, wise, philosophical
and feral are just some of the words people have used to describe him. He was
such a unique human being with so many interests and talents and friends. A man
of contradictions. An outsider who nevertheless was integral to the lives of so
many people. Chaotic in his lifestyle but steadfast and loyal to the people he
loved. A real individual who had an amazing ability be true to himself at the
same time as being able to fit in with anyone, anywhere on any occasion. He was
at ease with people from all walks of life, possibly because, somehow, in a
tragically shortened life, he had managed to walk so many paths.
I was very close to
Paul for the last 8 months of his life and I knew him very well. We talked a
lot! In our conversations, sometimes he talked about feeling that he hadn't
achieved what he might have done and he regretted that he didn't have more to
show for his time on earth but, although I was sad that he hadn't made the most
of his enormous talents and intellect, I would never completely agree with him.
He was a man who hadn't pursued the conventional trappings of success. He had
no wife, no kids, no mansion, no wealth, no critical acclaim. And yet, as I
often said to him, in so many ways he was incredibly successful at living.
Because Paul was a
person who knew how to live in the present. Forward planning was anathema to
him. He lived moment to moment and day to day, hand to mouth. When I asked him
what he planned to live off in his old age he said that he just imagined
working until the day he died. Tragically he was right. Perhaps he knew at some
level that saving up for a retirement that he would never have was a waste of
his time. And his time was precious. Because he had so much that he wanted to
do. I can't imagine that Paul was ever bored. He was always building, making,
playing, reading, walking, thinking. A man who was insatiably curious about
everyone and everything. A jovial and affable socialite at times but also at
heart an introvert and a very deep thinker or as an old friend recently said,
"he could appear daft but was as deep as the sea."
Though he had his ups
and downs, Paul was a person who knew how to appreciate the little things: the
stars, a sunset, clouds, children, animals, penknives, machines, books, food,
music, art, good friends. Just the other day we were walking my dog and I was
jabbering on and he squeezed my hand and said, 'stop. Feel the sun.' And he stood
in the middle of the path in Endcliffe Park, opened up his arms and lifted his
head to feel the spring sunshine on his face. That was Paul to me. No care for who was watching, only
a desire to fully embrace that moment.
We could all learn from his example. And we all have learned so many
things from him and been so enriched by his presence in our lives.
For me Paul was a total
soulmate. He found it hard to imagine sometimes how we could plan a future
together because his lifestyle was so unusual but we loved each other very
deeply and lived, as he did, moment to moment, building a future step by step
and day by day, both of us amazed that it kept working so well and sad that it
had taken us so long to get together. In the early weeks of our relationship he
said he wasn't sure he could be a safe pair of hands, that he could be good
enough for me and yet, I have never felt more safe than I did with him or more
completely loved and I feel so privileged to have had the chance to love him.
He gave me everything I needed, because, as so many people have said, he was
the loveliest man I have ever known. He made me laugh and he held me when I
cried, listened when I needed to talk and entertained me with his stories and
we had so many wonderful adventures together in a very short space of time. He
was a great dancer and on top of all that he loved to play Scrabble. Where else
can a woman find a giant bear of a man who can thread a needle at the first
attempt or who will build her a bonfire on the moors at midnight having carried
the logs and an axe up the hill in the dark, or who when she says that she's
going to make a collage, announces with glee that he will bring his collagaing
kit? He didn't come in the neat and tidy package that you envisage when you're
waiting for Prince Charming but in so many ways he was the man of my dreams. He
was quite simply the bees knees to
me and I am utterly heartbroken that my time with him was so short. He
said he couldn't imagine a future without me and I find it so hard now to contemplate
mine without him.
But Paul wasn't just my
Blacksmith Paul. In fact, while he belonged to no-one, he was so many things to
so many people. I'm only just getting to know his family now, but Paul was a
fantastic son, brother, uncle and nephew, who adored his family and who was
clearly adored by them. He took care of his mum and entertained his nieces and
nephews who all saw him as a role model and a mentor. I can only imagine what
fabulous fun he was as an uncle and how lucky they were to know him and to
learn so many practical and life skills from him. He was also a great father
figure to Lyn's children for many years and his influence lives on in them and
in their children.
And Paul was also a
friend, a great friend to a lot of people. A friend who might forget sometimes
to be in touch but who was there when people needed him. He could offer a
shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear but was also just great company and so
many friends will have stories to tell about their escapades together: camping
trips, climbing and potholing expeditions, nights at gigs and clubs, festivals,
bonfires, raft races, rocket races, jamming sessions and midnight adventures on
the moors. People remember him as a man who recited poetry to the buffalo, who
went on midnight raids on derelict buildings in costume and who would go on
overnight business trips packing only a book. He was a talker and a listener, a
wit, a wordsmith, a clown,
generally a great conversationalist and a wonderful person to be around. A man who truly lived life to the full.
And people didn't just
turn to Paul with their emotional needs, he was a practical support to enormous
numbers of people many of whom will be wondering who to call now when something
needs building or fixing or moving.
Even people who weren't
close to Paul knew he was special. He had a smile and a laugh with everyone he
met. The kind of person who made eye contact and small talk with every
shopkeeper, in fact, not just
small talk but intelligent, informed talk. The kind of person who would stop
without thinking to check if strangers needed help. A truly beautiful soul who
has taught us all so much and who leaves a big hole in our lives.
Paul still had so many
things that he wanted to do. Things he wanted to make, places he wanted to go,
lives he wanted to lead. The life where he sailed single-handedly round the
world, the one where we formed a band and the life where we retired together to
own a bookshop by the sea. It is devastating that he won't get to do these
things now. I console myself slightly with the knowledge that he died happy and
in love. We can only be grateful that, as a great reader with a vivid
imagination, we can be sure that he had lived these lives in his head and that,
as a man who was loved by so many, he will be carried in our hearts for the
rest of our days and be with us in spirit as we honour him by continuing to
live out our own dreams, taking time to cherish the precious moments of our own
lives.
I last saw Paul sending
paper lanterns into the sky to Hephaestus the blacksmith god with my children
and our final conversation the day before he died was about clouds. I feel that
he will forever be with us when we look upwards from our grief.
Paul loved reading my
poems and his mum has asked me to read one that I wrote on a recent break in
Knaresborough with Paul when we visited the Coldstones Cut.
The stones are cold,
sober and grey,
sand in the wind,
whipping around a spiral
sculpture, cut from the
cliff.
a giant conch swirling
up the hillside,
ice cream on a cone
But made of stone.
I am not alone.
You are my buffer
against the breeze
forging a path through
the maze,
smiles frozen, eyes
ablaze.
I
put my hand in your glove,
remember honeymoon days
of youthful love
as we race time around
the bend.
You and I are steadfast
friends.
On the banks of the
Nidd, in Pateley Bridge
artists trade silver
and glass for cold hard cash.
We tread the well-worn
river's path,
laugh our way through
the bleakness.
You smell of metal and
sweat and sweetness.
We marvel at doors we
won't walk through
and you glimmer like a
hint of February spring
bringing sunshine to
everything,
daffodils in the snow.
And down we go,
slipping through the snicket
arched with leaves. We
are thick as thieves
stealing a moment as
precious as titantium,
as
a light fans into a flame.
Through love, we live
again.
