PRESENT DAY SNIPPET: REID LYNDSAY-MAXWELL'S MEMORIAL SERVICE
PRESENT DAY SNIPPET: REID LYNDSAY-MAXWELL'S MEMORIAL SERVICE
In memory of our wonderful father – with words by celebrant Zetta Bear
Jaelithe, Dad’s sisters (the aunties), and I were so thankful for the turnout we had and so many beloved faces from many stages of Father’s life. Thank you to all who attended.
For those who were unable to attend (and are interested), here’s the transcript of the memorial service.
Here’s the memorial service written by celebrant, Zetta Bear, with additional words from my Aunts (Dad’s sisters), Great Uncle Ted (Dad’s mother’s brother), my sister’s mother (Jean Tempest), my mother (Lisa Hewitt as she was then), Jae, and me.
All of the framing narrative words were beautifully constructed by Zetta except my asides and words marked as by others. Zetta listened and Jae, Jean, and I reminisced about Dad’s life and got a sense of who he was and what he meant to us. We were so thankful she led the service so well.
The amazing vegan catering was made by Claire at The Kindness Hub in the old Coop building in Todmorden.
Welcome
Melanie, “Ring The Living Bell”
Hello and a warm welcome to you all. Thank you for coming to commemorate the life of Reid Lyndsay-Maxwell, who you’ve lost unexpectedly, and at only seventy years old.
This isn’t an easy day. You’ve lost someone you cherish; you’ve lost him far too soon, and too suddenly, and I know many people here are still reeling from the shock of what’s happened. Your grief is important. But we’re also here to talk about the good times, the times that warm your hearts, and make you smile.
Reid Lyndsay-Maxwell was a rare and lovely man, and his list of nicknames tells us a lot about him – he was The Prof (because he was clever and knowledgeable), Moses (because of his Biblical-level beard), The Old Goat, Rincewind (after the inept wizard), The Bean Herd or Neil (due to his famous lentil stew), The Wobbly Man and Grandad Wobbly (as he got more wobbly with time), and more recently, as Pulsifer (for his ability to break anything just by looking at it and for his antipathy to modern tech).
Today, we’ll call him Lyndsay, which is the name he went by most often.
Lyndsay was a kind, loyal, loving man. Above all, he was a wonderful father whose children always knew they were loved without doubt – he was devoted to them and committed to their care. He was also an adoring grandfather, a beloved brother, uncle, nephew, father-in-law, and a dear friend to far too many people to mention by name.
All of you loved him for his wit, his intelligence, his easy-going charm, and yes, for his incredible stubbornness, because he was stubborn! It’s a characteristic that stood him in good stead – he spent much of his life fighting on behalf of others. He had excellent values, and he was determined and unflagging in his efforts to make sure people had access to the things they needed and were entitled to. He was never a bystander when it came to inequality; in fact, he was much better at fighting for other people than for himself.
He was a complex man – he could talk to anyone and get on with everyone, and yet he was private, quite self-contained, and he kept much to himself. He was very funny, but he also took life seriously and did what was right rather than what was easy. He was a wordsmith – a talent he passed on to his daughters – and yet his infamous wedding speeches were, to put it mildly, rather brief: ‘Pies are up,’ ‘Here’s to Jaelithe and Robert’ and ‘If you want a successful relationship, think “what would Dad do?” and then do the exact opposite’!
He loved words though and was an avid reader, and if he happened to pick up one of your books and start reading it, it would likely leave with him and you’d be lucky to see it again any time soon! He loved imaginative, wry, clever writers, and I’d like to begin with a quote from one of his many favourites, Terry Pratchett:
“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine they made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.”
Today we’ll talk about the core of Lyndsay’s existence, but in the context of all those ripples. He was a heavy stone cast into a deep pond, and the ripples will continue to expand for a long time – all of you here are part of that. As long as you live, and remember him, and in the case of his daughters, continue to be the women he helped you to become and to affect the world in your own unique ways, Reid Lyndsay-Maxwell, Rincewind, Pulsifer, The Prof, will be here in the world with you.
Tribute to Lyndsay
So, let’s talk about Lyndsay. His family kindly shared their memories of him with me, and we’re going to hear directly from some of the people closest to him, so we’ll talk about him in the words of the people who know and love him best.
It all began on the 24th of July 1953, when Lyndsay was born in Manchester. It wasn’t a straightforward start. His mother, Ethel Morgan, died when he was only three years old, and he and his sisters Sheena, Jane, and Jeanie were taken in and raised by their Grandmother Morgan. Lyndsay didn’t reminisce a great deal about his early years, but his sisters were there with him, and they have their own memories to share, along with some memories from his uncle Ted.
His sisters’ words
Sheena Lindsay Maxwell Kent, eldest sister
We are Reid’s sisters. I’m Sheena. These are Jane and Jeanie. You may find it strange that we refer to our brother as ‘Reid’ but that’s the name we have known him by all his life. However, the “Linsday” in us will live on because our middle names are all “Lindsay.”
My wonderful eccentric, witty, funny brother, I have so many wonderful memories to treasure forever. Who remembers the advert that’s tagline said: “Do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rolo.” Well, my brother did. In 2010 on my 60th birthday, Reid gave me a last Rolo.
Side note: the gift is a large gold-plated Rolo with an inscription.
It was inscribed: “Sheena, 1953 – 2010.” When he realised that the inscription should have said 1950 (the year I was born) and not 1953 (the year he was born), his response was, “Oh well I didn’t know you in 1950 and that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.”
I will miss our weekly FaceTime chats even though I spent the first few minutes talking to his forehead while he organised the phone in the right position. I’m missing them so much already.
I loved him coming to visit and I think he did too. The first thing he did on arrival was to grab the BOSH cookery books and give me the menus for the duration of his visit. He obviously didn’t trust my vegan cooking without a recipe to follow.
One day he wanted to have a good look ‘round our town of Maldon, so Nick pushed him around in the wheelchair for five miles while we went to the Military museum, the Promenade, up and down a really steep hill to the town centre, and the shops. Fortunately for them both, the local hostelry was downhill.
One time he phoned and said he would like to stay over Easter, coming Good Friday and leaving Bank Holiday Monday. He didn’t specify which bank holiday Monday and ended up returning home on the last one in May.
I could mention so many other special times we had together but I would need to write the book we always said we would do together, so I think Jae, Lainey, and myself might get around to it on his behalf.
So many brilliant, special memories of a very exceptional person who I was so proud to call my little brother.
Love you, Reid
Jane Lindsay Jackson, second eldest
Reid grew up in a household surrounded by women: us three sisters and Granny. I am not sure much changed later as he shared his life with two daughters, Jaelithe and Elaine, and later a beautiful granddaughter, Caroline.
I have been looking at photographs over the last few weeks and the one thing which struck me on all of them was how smart Reid always looked. I know he prided himself on his appearance, and this I am sure stems from those early days. The photographs included us all on the beach on holiday, posing for more formal pictures, and a very proud Boy Scout in his uniform saluting outside Granny’s front door.
I was so pleased that you were able to come down to Windsor for my 60th birthday celebrations, along with Jaelithe and Rob. It was lovely to spend some precious time with all my family on that occasion. I am only sorry time did not allow us to explore Windsor more.
After I moved to Littleborough, you were not very far away, so coming to see you was so enjoyable. We could usually guarantee a laugh and have lots of memories to share. We also set the world to rights and although we may not have had the same views on some things, we didn’t fall out about it and respected each other's views. Whenever I was driving through Todmorden, I always said, “Hello, Reid” as I went past, perhaps not calling in, as often it was a little bit early for you. I think the habit will stay with me for quite some time.
So, Reid, as Granny used to say to us every, “Night, night. God Bless. See you in the Morning.” I know we won't see you in the morning, but you will remain in our hearts forever and we will remember you with laughter and tears in the years to come.
Jeanie Lindsay King, baby sister
Reid was my big brother, as children I was his little shadow. We went everywhere together and had many adventures. We enjoyed playing board games: Risk, Monopoly, Scoop, Chess, and Draughts. He was fiercely competitive and almost always won.
Saturday afternoons we had the ritual of watching the wrestling on the newly acquired two-channel black and white TV. Mick McManus was probably our favourite wrestler. This routine came to an abrupt end when Reid got a little over-enthusiastic and tried one of the wrestling throws on me and nearly knocked me out. Granny thought it was better and safer to ban wrestling for a while.
Reid had a wicked sense of humour and was known for writing letters that could bring a smile to your face and lift your spirits. One such letter he sent as a round-robin during lockdown. I’m sure it brought a smile to those who received it. I will read you an extract from it:
“In view of the omni-shambles our illustrious Government is presiding over, I have decided that the only way to sort all this out is to make me The Great Dictator. I possess all the necessary skills and can call upon experienced personnel to carry out my wishes.
I shall appoint Jeanie as Chancellor of the Exchequer. She has the expertise having sorted out serious overspending by Paul. I thought about Sheena as she has the experience of dealing with large deficits but as this is only in relation to her credit cards, I decided Jeanie’s experience of constraining overspending would be more appropriate.
Sheena will therefore become Minister for Transport. She has travelled extensively and knows how to pack for travel throughout the country.
Jane shall become Minister for Health as she is experienced in sorting out recalcitrant Doctors and Nurses. A Matron in charge of health provision would soon resolve the problems we have and make people terrified of going to A&E unless it is a genuine emergency and not simply because they can’t get an appointment at the Doctors’.
Elaine shall be in charge of the Foreign Office as she has lived in foreign countries and with her policies would soon have America begging to become a colony again.
Jaelithe shall become Schools Minister (Education is its proper title). She is fully aware of the needs of tiny terrors and is au fait with student debt, having to deal with it since she left University.
Rob will become Minister for the Environment with a special role in preserving all Elizabethan architecture Jaelithe tells him is worth preserving.
Michael will become communications Minister in charge of the newly Renationalised Royal Mail.”
Thank you, Reid, for your letters that always made us laugh during lockdown.
God Bless, Reid. Thank you for all the memories that I hold so dear and I will miss our long discussions putting the world to rights.
Uncle Ted, Dad’s mother’s (Ethel) brother
I did not see you often, Reid, but we talked on the phone and often put the world to rights – but no one listened to our moans. I’m sorry I will not be there to listen to your sister’s memories but I am sure they will be good and not mention trips to the pub that Granny did not know about when underage.
I enjoyed all our long phone calls when we discussed the books we read, our views did not oft converge but we both enjoyed our chats. Good night, God bless, dear nephew, your time on earth has passed. Love, Uncle Ted.
Lyndsay left home when he was still a lad, joining the army at sixteen as a boy soldier. He was, understandably, appointed to the Intelligence Corps, but was given a medical discharge early on after suffering from a serious illness. After that, he somehow ended up in Brighton, married, although no one knows quite how. When the marriage ended he returned to Manchester where he led an interesting dual life as a Legal Assistant by day, and a writer and journalist on the side, as well as roadie-ing for some of the most famous bands of the time. He met Morrisey back then, and hated him, describing him as a ‘miserable bastard,’ a statement which now looks prophetic!
Again, somehow, Lyndsay found his way to Oldham, and there he met Jean. They had an absolute ball together; their relationship was such good fun - Lyndsay worked and played hard in these years. They had Jae together, and Lyndsay embarked on possibly his most consistent and accomplished role in life – that of Father. He was wonderful at it, and Jae and later Elaine have happy memories of him singing to them, and taking them on walks where he fair charged along with them hanging onto him and flying out like kites behind his great strides. He never raised his voice or shouted, he was kind and gentle and he took his responsibilities seriously, as we’ll hear. But first, I’d like to hand over to Jean to talk about the man she knew and loved:
Jean Tempest, Jaelithe’s mother
I met Lyndsay when I was 17 in a pub in Oldham called The Sergeant At Arms. An easy-going pub who had a Mynah Bird to whom the landlord bore a striking resemblance…
We got chatting in the pool room, mainly because he liked the look of my friend Di. I took a shine immediately to the long-haired hippy with his pink cravat, suit jacket, and waist-length hair but it took some time before I was invited to his home to sample his famous lentil stew.
His pub friends called him the Prof because he gave off a definitely aristocratic air, was unquestionably very clever, erudite, and had an answer for everything. It was later in our relationship that I understood how intelligent Lyndsay was; how well-read and knowledgeable, mainly because he was an autodidact who brought a powerful intellect and matching moral conviction to social welfare.
One of his overriding passions was to help the vulnerable in society which manifested itself most prominently in his work for the then Council for Racial Equality, defending mainly members of the large Asian community in Oldham and Rochdale and winning cases to prevent the deportation of individuals who had every right to remain in the UK. I could go on but suffice it to say he carried these principles into many other areas helping many people overcome injustices in the welfare system. I was always very proud of his ability to find loopholes in the system and exploit them for the good of people who needed representation and at the highest level.
Side note from Elaine: Jae and I found evidence on his computer that unbeknownst to us, Dad continued this work throughtout his years. He continued to help dozens if not hundreds of people even as recently as last year.
Now back to the lentil stew, which was very nice but I was already a vegetarian and over the ensuing months I introduced him to other veggie dishes in my tiny bedsit. As he had wanted to become vegetarian for some time, it was an easy transition to make, except I had to be mindful of his terrible allergic reaction to all things containing milk. He was never easy. That was his most charming trait.
Eventually, he sold his house and we gravitated to a council house on the notorious estate “Sholver'' where we shared the place with one of Lyndsay’s friends, Martin Haywood.
Later, we managed to move a few streets over to a better house and began trying for a baby. Our beautiful daughter Jae was born in December 1982. She was immediately the apple of her Dad’s eye, only rivalled a few years later by her sister Elaine, but that’s someone else’s story to tell, as by then we were no longer a couple.
Lyndsay raised our daughter when we split up – and did a great job, too. She is a testament to that. Overall though we remained friends despite the inevitable fall-out of a broken relationship. We were forgiving of each other and our friendship over the 45 years I knew him is one that I cherished.
Over 20 years ago, when I was already living in Todmorden, Lyndsay expressed a need to move out of Oldham. My next-door neighbour had a room to rent and I suggested he might want to check it out. He did and the outcome was amazing – my neighbour Liz and Lyndsay hit it off and were, as Lyndsay told me later, a perfect match in many ways but particularly in intellectual capacity and relaxed temperaments. So much so that he even put aside his lifelong fear of cats! No cats were not an option for Liz. They were very happy and over the years we shared many significant events: my wedding to Martin (who is my husband of the past 20 years), Jae’s 21st birthday party (which was a murder mystery where Lyndsay played the venerable professor I always knew he should’ve been), and many other celebrations.
Sunday dinners were a regular event particularly after Liz passed away. Martin and Lyndsay were christened Waldorf and Statler; for those who don’t know these were the two grumpy old men sitting in the theatre box on The Muppet Show. Martin and Lyndsay were hilarious without intending to be; grumbling and sparring whilst the rest of us couldn’t help laughing at them the whole time. It was very gratifying that the two significant men in my life became firm friends; Martin would like to add that Lyndsay was both affable and generous. Like most men, Martin is understating his respect for his neighbour and friend. After all, he’d known him for nearly as long as I had.
Lyndsay was liked by many people, young and old. He always had time for others. He was generous and giving – particularly of his political opinions, which only became more entrenched over the years. His firm beliefs in justice and fairness remained strong as did his wry sense of humour.
After what amounts to a lifetime, the loss of my friend, who knew me better than most, leaves me both saddened and able to say without hesitation my life would have been poorer without him.
As you’ve heard, Lyndsay was a hands-on father and raised Jae himself. He was initially working while Jae spent time with a childminder, but when he discovered the childminder thought fish qualified as a vegetable and was feeding it to his vegetarian daughter, he immediately gave up work and looked after her full time – you rarely got half measures from Lyndsay on anything! It’s worth saying again that he was a simply wonderful father. His commitment was total and unwavering, and his daughters appreciate him deeply. Jae is going to speak about him:
Jaelithe’s words, my sister
The loss of my father has left a gaping hole in my life that will never be filled. I have no words to convey the depth of my grief. Instead, I will allow W H Auden to say it for me. This poem was originally written as satire about the death of British Imperialism – a series of political events that Dad would no doubt have approved of – but it nevertheless describes the loss of a loved one beautifully and poignantly:
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Wystan Hugh Auden
Let’s take a break from talking now, and take a little time to absorb all that’s been said so far, while we listen to the song chosen for this moment:
Fleetwood Mac, “Dreams”
Cats have been mentioned, and we should probably say more about them. Lyndsay wasn’t keen on them, but against his better judgement, he got a couple of cats because Jae wanted one and he’d promised her one, and he never broke his promises. Two would have been plenty, but when he met Lisa, she had a house full, and so Lyndsay and Jae ended up living with a houseful of them. He must have liked it, since he kept cats from then on, and Elaine has inherited his lovely black cat, Kit Kat now.
Elaine’s side note: Dad and Liz had a cat flap and they’d let any cat move in or have a feast and Kit Kat chose to move into “The Grove.” Someone on the street found a collar that read “Kit Kat” and Dad rang the number to tell the owner he had his cat but they said their cat had been found but Dad had already been calling this black cat “Kit Kat” so the name stuck. They were companionable friends for years. Kit Kat used to bring my vegan father lots of “treats” he hunted from the hills from birds to voles. Dad didn’t appreciate the gifts but Kit Kat clearly thought he’d be an inept hunter on his wobbly legs.
Lyndsay and Lisa’s daughter, Elaine, was born prematurely, and when they brought her home from the hospital, the cats welcomed her, especially Bobby, a little cat with disabilities that Lyndsay particularly adored. He and Lisa created a warm family home where there was always an open door and enough lentil stew for anyone who turned up, and Lisa has sent a few words of her own for today which I’ll read on her behalf:
My mother, Elizabeth “Lisa” Frieman Blakely’s (formerly Hewitt) words
Lyndsay and I met in 1985 when I was 21.
At our first meeting, I was dating his friend Woody, who had four children: a son and identical triplet daughters. One day I was at his house when visitors arrived. They were Lyndsay, Jaelithe, and Julie Lomas (as she was then). Jaelithe wanted to play with the triplets and the rest of us sat and talked. It turned out that Julie and I had gone to school together many years earlier and we soon became best friends.
Some time later, Julie and I ended our respective relationships and decided to “swap.” She began dating Woody and I began seeing Lyndsay! As Julie would say, we shared everything back then!
The first time I went to Lyndsay’s house, I had offered to lay a new bedroom carpet he had bought. In exchange, Lyndsay cooked me a wonderful vegan meal. I offered to do the washing up. He said he would wash and I could dry. I was very surprised by his washing-up skills! He thoroughly washed everything and even rinsed them before they made it to the dish rack. That was a huge plus for my obsessive-compulsive nature as I was an immaculate housekeeper at the time. We talked the night away and I was smitten.
I considered myself a hippy back then and Lyndsay was an old soul with a gentle nature and wicked sense of humour.
Jaelithe was always well looked after and she was the apple of her daddy’s eye! I still remember him running up and down stairs as she yelled for him to pass the toilet paper (even though it was right next to her) or pass her a toy as she sat on her bedroom floor. I remember telling him she was spoiled and he told me something he repeated over and over, “you can’t spoil perfection.”
We had so much fun listening to music and going to see Victor Brox at the Black Horse, but within a short amount of time, I found I was pregnant! This was a huge shock as I had been told a few years earlier, after a couple of surgeries for pre-cancer, that I would be unable to have children.
Lyndsay attended every doctor’s appointment, even commenting on my diet on many occasions! All I wanted to eat was Coco Pops and jars of pickled anything. I remember the doctor telling him that as long as I didn’t get heartburn it was fine!
In June 1987, Elaine was born at around 28 weeks gestation, weighing 2 lbs 5 oz, and as she was premature, we spent long hours at Oldham Royal Hospital’s Special Care Baby Unit. We moved into a rental house on Lee Street but broke up soon after.
I moved with Elaine to Hornby Street a few streets away and we became good friends. I went back to work and Lyndsay dropped Elaine off at school and picked her up for me and he cooked for us most nights. He was a wonderful and loving dad and I’m thankful that he was the father to our daughter.
I remember the four of us laughing and skipping down the road on multiple occasions. He was never ashamed to be himself and I really loved that about him. We managed to co-parent as great friends, which was beneficial to both Elaine and Jaelithe.
In 1997, when Elaine was 10, he permitted me to bring her to the US. Elaine moved back to Europe around 10 years ago, living in Germany and in recent years, in England and was able to be close to her father for which I was grateful.
I saw him for the last time at Elaine and Michael’s wedding. It was as though we had never been apart. We laughed, we talked, and we cried. I told him he was a great father and that I still did and would always love him. I am so thankful now that he knew that.
I will really miss him.
Lyndsay and Lisa parted company when Elaine was young, but it was, as usual for him, on good terms. He continued to develop his own open, loving version of a family, and Jae and Elaine spent a lot of time together with their dad – days out, time in each other’s houses, and time with Jean and her husband Martin and his daughter Abi too. The ‘family’ was a big loose arrangement, based on goodwill, and community, with the needs of the children at the heart of it.
Lyndsay’s generosity as a father, and his ability to put his children’s needs first, is strongly evident in his willingness to accept Lisa and Elaine’s move to the United States, a separation which can only have been painful for him, but which, he knew, would work for his youngest daughter. His abiding dedication to Elaine, regardless of the distance between them, was clear. He wrote to her every week, and they remained very close. Here’s what she has to say:
Elaine’s words
When it comes to writing, I’ve never been short of words. I have been unable to write since my father died. My grief has been insurmountable.
I can’t begin to describe how much my father meant to me. All words will inevitably fall flat. Zetta, Jean, and my mother, Lisa, have already captured him beautifully, so what can I add?
Whilst I have always chased the concept of “more” my father understood what it was to have “enough.” He was rich in time and love. He knew the things that mattered. He showed his daughters' unwavering support and care. He had a strong sense of character and justice. He was funny, witty, intelligent, and kind. He was a wonderful father, and we were lucky. We thought he’d defy his ill health and keep plugging on. Unfortunately, we feel we lost him all too soon.
I’ll forever cherish the memories of pretending to fall asleep so he’d carry me upstairs to bed as a child, the way he’d stroke my forehead and land a kiss with his scratchy moustache. The way he sang lullabies to us. The way we’d skip down the road hand in hand whilst Jae pretended not to know us. Dancing in the living room to vinyl records. Creating art together – something he loved. Sitting companionably as we all read. Watching Audrey Hepburn films. Eating the famous lentil stew where I’d easily gobble down five bowls, and he’d remind me that even from being a baby, I had a voracious appetite – and my parents could never feed me fast enough.
Elaine’s side note: I’ve been reminded of all the times we went to the library together, played badminton, how he’d put blobs of tomato paste on our fingers, and Hula Hoops like the father in Amelie did with raspberries. I think I shared some of these memories in another post.
Despite his wheelchair in later life, we had adventures. He and my Grammy, my mother’s mother, were able to visit me at least twice (maybe more) when I lived in Germany where we ventured to Neuschwanstein Castle and took a carriage ride to the top, but we missed the carriages down the steep hill so I struggled on the descent, keeping hold of the wheelchair handles so he wouldn’t roll off a cliff – and once we even drove to Austria and Switzerland via the Alps.
When I asked to move in with him mid-divorce, he didn’t hesitate to take me back at the age of twenty-nine, and he embraced the new person in my life, Michael, with open arms. He saw that Michael brought me joy, and I’m so thankful that Michael loved my father, too (and Kit Kat).
My heart will always hold the memory of my father, a missing piece. And whilst we all share memories of his life, we can ensure he never truly dies.
Lyndsay always maintained that he, Jae and Elaine were perfect. Wherever they lived and whatever the circumstances, he adored his girls, backed them up and stayed close to them, and he was delighted to become Granddad to Caroline, who was, of course, perfect too.
In 2004, Lyndsay, as we heard from Jean, made his way to Todmorden, and embarked on a very happy phase of his life, living with Liz. These were years of domestic contentment, of cooking good food and spending lazy Sunday mornings reading the paper. He made friends with his neighbours, who included Jean, Martin and Jae, and he loved their little community. It was a time of peace and plenty for Lyndsay – his needs were simple anyway, and he had all he needed and more.
Lyndsay lost Liz on New Year’s Day 2012 and missed her terribly. In fact, he stopped celebrating the new year entirely until, this year, his family insisted that they get together, and they had an amazing night, playing games, and just being with each other – a wonderful memory to look back on now.
Lyndsay lived with a rare hereditary disease (hereditary/familial spastic paraparesis) which has affected his health over the years. He was stoical despite living with chronic pain, but his health has declined, most noticeably over the last five years. As he was increasingly affected, his family and friends were with him every step of the way. They visited regularly and spent time with him, and his life was still filled with people, even after he lost Liz, including his neighbours, Gini, Jonathan, Amanda, Simon, Michaela, Jamie, and Keri. Grief and illness could not diminish him, Lyndsay remained very much himself, passionate in his opinions, and with his values and his innate spark intact.
He did tend to have annual death-defying trips to the hospital, but he always rallied. So, when he fell ill with flu and pneumonia and was admitted to hospital recently, no one was too alarmed. After all, he’d recovered so often, and he seemed to be recovering this time, too, until he developed sepsis. Time and illness caught up with Lyndsay at last, and he could not recover. His family was with him constantly, but he waited for them to leave before letting go of his life, peacefully and gently, making his own choices to the very last.
Lyndsay has left in his wake a family of fine people with strong bonds between them. All his life was filled with people, a loose, loving collaboration of ex-lovers and ex-partners, children and new partners, neighbours, and friends, all integrated into an extended family of mutual care and respect that worked essentially because of the tone set by him – a spirit of openness, inclusivity and acceptance. His legacy is this – a concept of family, a set of values, a commitment to making a difference that has changed the world for the better, once and for all. These are Lyndsay’s ripples.
Close
We’re nearing the end of this memorial service, but the celebration of Lyndsay’s life will go on, not only today but also in the months and years to come. You can start today – everyone here is welcome to join his family at the cricket club, after this service, to share your own memories of him, to spend time relishing Lyndsay just as he relished life. You can also make a donation to the RNLI as you leave, in his memory – it’s a family tradition to support this particular charity, and Lyndsay did.
If anyone would like to stay behind to light a candle for him at the end, you’re welcome to do so. Candles have long been used to represent life, and to focus our thoughts, and also to strengthen our prayers. Lyndsay was not a religious man, but there are other ways to understand how someone makes a lasting impact on us and stays around. Aaron Freeman, a physicist, has written about it, and I’d like to paraphrase his thoughts. Love will keep Lyndsay with you, but so will science.
While a minister would talk about God and faith, physicists talk about the conservation of energy, and about the first law of thermodynamics; no energy is created in the universe, and none is destroyed. All Lyndsay’s energy, every vibration, every wave of every particle, remains in this world. And all the photons that ever bounced off his face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by his smile, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off, their ways forever changed by him. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not one bit of Lyndsay is gone; he’s still part of the universe, he’s just less orderly. And Amen to that!
So I hope you go out of here with spirits raised, encouraged in the old, true sense of the word – made strong, and heartened. Lyndsay loved you, and you know what he’d want for you and all of it is good.
X Ray Spex, Identity
The Bangles, Walk Like an Egyptian
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