Having Stephen Ward as a father was above all great fun - every day was a new adventure!! He had a varied life, with so many hobbies he was like a complete “Boy’s Own” manual – fishing, cricket, football, woodwork, stamp collecting, athletics, reading and a true life time learner, but ask any of his family and they will say it was his ability to hold a room of people enthralled with his stories that we enjoyed so much. I would like to tell you a few of our family stories – much more briefly then he would – and show how he shaped all of us. He saw the strengths in all people and taught us not to see disability as a bad thing. As a policeman he was once lost in a thick smog, he could not find his way back to the station. Suddenly an old man walked up to him and said, “Don’t worry son, I can help you”. The old man took Dad by the arm and led him all the way across town. As children we would wait for the punchline – the man could find his way, because he was blind, and the fog made no difference! He was a family man, not someone who would disappear off to the pub, he did not drink excessively and preferred to stay at home playing Rummy, Knock out Whist, board games. Charades and quizzes with us all. My daughter recently started university and phoned up one night rather the worse for wear, saying “What is that card game Grandad taught us where you deal out cards and take things”. Not very eloquently put, but we knew straight away she wanted to teach her friends whist. Along with the bright red hair though, he inherited a temper from his mother. Anyone who tried to put a tent up in a blowing gale with him, will agree with that! Speaking of camping, so much of an outdoors man was he, that when most people got a demob suit from the army, Dad asked for a tent. We were the only family camping in a full camouflage army tent with a pole in the middle! He was a hard worker, moving up the ranks to Senior Management, but never letting work take time away from home (or sport). He instilled a strong work ethic in his children and a respect for education. He accepted people of all religions and races. As a child in the 1970’s I did not realise (until I was about 10) that Auntie Val and Uncle Vinnie could not really be my relatives as they were Jamaican and black. They were part of our family and Vinnie also just happened to be a great cricket player! Dad worked to include the people of India, Pakistan and the countries of the Caribbean into the cricket community and grew the local league. He was an animal lover and all his pets, from the rather non-PC named Poley (the huge dog chasing cat he got from Polish friends), through Skippy, Tish, Dusty, Bess, Judy, Bailey, Tang and finally Missy were cherished. Each one he would give personalities and even different voices. He taught us all to love animals. As Hazel has told you, he grew up in Saddleworth on top of the Pennines. His mother was a country girl and, during war rationing, would make inventive use of more unusual meat offcuts. She would send him down to the village butchers for a sheep’s head to make brawn and stews. Unfortunately, aged only about 5, Dad would have to walk back home, past fields of sheep – he felt so guilty about walking past what could be the relatives to the one in the bag. He still told that story with a shudder 80 years later. As a man with 4 daughters, we never heard that we could not do something because we were girls. This would not have entered his head. His own mother also made sure that her children were treated equally – the boys learnt to cook, sew and clean without prejudice. Consequently, we all joined in his hobbies, girls who could throw and catch a ball better than most boys, a crack team of trout ticklers, Tommy catchers, fell walkers and who polished their school shoes to an army level of shine! (“You should be able to see your face in it”– for Clarks sandals!) He not only played sports but involved himself at a high level in the organizations – whether as a referee, umpire, Chairman of the Lancashire Interleague or founder of successful fishing clubs. He would always take us along – to all day hot cricket matches or the freezing cold football matches of winter. As a daughter though it was not often easy to go and watch. Now, if you go and watch a football match, you are generally supporting one side or the other. Not if your dad is the referee!! Sunday football matches involve very rough players watched by hung-over pub supporters. Every one with a unique, and rude, and unrepeatable name to call your Dad! He didn’t let it phase him and would often join in the banter – I remember once someone shouting, “Oy Ref, are you blind gingernut?” Without stopping his run along the pitch, he came back with “I might be ginger but at least I am not ugly” (there were a few more swear words than that). It was all taken in good humour though and all the players would thank him and shake his hand at the end of the match. He loved the countryside and taught us to love it too. Seeing the beauty of the moors that many would find bleak. He taught us the plants, animals and birds. In fact, he loved nature so much that he named two of his daughters after plants. Luckily for me my middle sister was name Gillian Lesley after a family friend, otherwise it would have gone Hazel, Heather and I would have had some other plant beginning with H like Hydrangea or Horseradish! He was an avid reader, every time we spoke he would start with “I have read an article” then either tell you some interesting fact, or more often than not, some deep philosophical thought he wanted to discuss. Whether he was reading Shadow the Sheepdog to us at bedtime, or Aamon Wrigley’s Lancashire dialect poems, he taught us all to love reading and learning. He had a silly sense of humour, often phoning us up to tell the children jokes and riddles. As a child, we would all sit round and listen to Billy Connolly albums. He was the type of dad who, if you saw a boy you fancied in the street, would quite literally skip past them singing arms in the air, and then turn to ask in a loud voice why you were embarrassed. Brought up to be polite, he was a gentleman. I remember going with my dad to drop Lesley off for a date. Unbeknown to her, he drove a little way up the road and parked to watch to make sure that the man walked on the outside of the pavement like a polite boy should. Luckily the lad did do that, or I would not have put it past him getting out of the car and saying something. He was at heart a big kid, getting so excited on Christmas morning, that he would be up before all the children shouting “He’s Been, He’s Been” - even when we were in our 20’s, had hangovers and knew all about Father Christmas. He could never wait for us to open our presents often giving us hints like “I am not going to tell you what it is, but it is smelly, and you can spray it”. We would drive him mad by pretending we didn’t know it was perfume and guess things like “Mr Sheen?”. He would also always have to keep one of his presents back until right at the end to be the last person opening one. He was not perfect however, he had one major failing – he could NOT sing. Thrown out of the school choir for sounding like a frog, playing “Name that Tune” could go on for hours – and usually ended up being a him singing a very out of tune version of “Yellow Submarine”. I, too, could go on for hours – I must have inherited it – but I would like to finish by saying that above all having Stephen Ward as a father was great fun and every day was a new adventure!