The last farewell

Today we said goodbye to Anthony Doel, aka three toed Tony from Tilmanstone. It was an altogether odd day.

Tony had that nickname after an accident down the mines in his young manhood. It was foe first of two accidents whose compensation payments ended up meaning he did not have to work. Or work too hard.

That in my lifetime, there were mines, many mines in Kent is amazing, if you look around now, there is little evidence of mining left above ground. Snowdown colliery is still there, falling to bits, and there is the stump of the East Kent line that last for so long because of coal traffic. Those and a few scattered mine buildings are all that are left. And a memorial just outside Deal of a crouching miner, remembering an industry that is now just memories.

There are still the mining villages, the institutes, although people now work elsewhere of course, and the power station at Richborough was knocked down 5 years back, powered by Kent coal, and for two decades been deprived of its fuel.

Tony worked at Tilmanstone, after a spell on coastal freighters and before that he was a borstal boy. Yes, Tony lead a full and interesting life. Whichever port I would go to in my surveying days, or the marshalling harbour we use for our windfarms, Tony had been, and told me stories of drunken trips out along misty canals and the trouble he had getting back on board before it sailed in the morning.

I have known him for nearly ten years, and will always remember hs as sitting in his armchair, in the conservatory, enveloped in a cloud of blue filterless cigarette smoke, always welcoming of visitors and news of what we had been doing. Not that he understood our, or my hobbies: churches, orchids, trains or underground bunkers. All things of the past he would say being dismissive whilst watching the History channel, failing to see the irony.

He fell on his feet when he was introduced to Jen after his first wife, and Jools' Mother, passed away. They had 20 years, nearly 21, together. Jen is the glue that holds the house in Whitfield together, her joy of life, just enthusiasm for everything. It will be hard for Jen, but she will be fine.

Tony was a hard man I would not like to cross, I did once, and saw his angry side. But then again, he wore his heart on his sleeve, bawling his eyes out at our wedding or his brother's funeral. He could well up with little reason to. Bets were taken on how long it would be before the tears appeared at our wedding, it was him walking Jools down the aisle.

The crematorium was full, people from all periods of his life, cousins, nieces and nephews. There were tears, there were laughs. Laughs when Meg said her eulogy. She held it together well, we were all in tears. We sang Jerusalem, listened to Nessun Dorma, said a prayer, then we walked out to Walk of Life. We did not see his coffin disappear, that would be done when we were outside.

Life goes on. So, it would go on in the pub.