Memories of my father - my tribute from the funeral, by Andrew Mounsey


Many people have spoken about their memories of Howard and the one phrase which keeps coming up time and again is ‘sense of humour’. Now I have to say, he was rubbish at telling jokes. But he certainly did have a great sense of humour – you need one to support Sheffield United for more than 80 years – and he often had a twinkle in his eye. I want to talk about the things he loved but first, in honour of this


sense of humour of my dad’s, I thought it might raise a smile to share some memories of some of his little foibles and some the things he didn’t like. Believe me, there were quite a few! In fact, I could say that not liking things was one of the things he liked the most! So, where to start? Robbie Williams, in Howard’s opinion, could


not sing a note. Michael McIntyre was not remotely funny. Bruce Forsyth was singularly without talent - and annoying to boot. In fact, in this modern age of instant messaging, shortly after Howard had died, his seven grandchildren (who at the time were in England, Wales, France, Germany and Australia) comforted each other in a shared WhatsApp group message with the words, ‘Grandpa will be up there now, kicking the … **** … out of Bruce Forsyth!’ His sense of humour continues in another generation! He wasn’t a fan of Andy Murray (not approving of his demeanour


on court) nor of many Sheffield United players over the years, top of the list being Nick Montgomery and Stephen Quinn who, as a matter of incontrovertible fact in Howard’s opinion were quite incapable of kicking a ball. ‘Incorrect’ pronunciation was another of his bugbears. Garage


was to be pronounced in the French style and not as ‘garridge’ – this was, to Howard, a truth beyond contestation. The fact that we would all say manage, village, package, etc, cut no ice. Garage it had to be. There were a couple of his other dislikes which I really only


found out about when working alongside of him in editing copy for the magazine. Semi-colons. He did not like semi-colons at all and with a


dismissive sweep of the editorial biro would change every one to a comma or a full-stop. But that biro went into positive meltdown when anyone committed the cardinal sin of starting a sentence with ‘And’ or ‘But’! In his office there was a copy of a reference work by the title of ‘Fowler’s Modern English Usage’, according to which, ‘The notion that it is grammatically incorrect to begin a sentence with a preposition is entirely without foundation.’ Full-stop. Capital letter ‘And that’s all there is to it.’ Now this book was written in 1952 – but Howard held no truck with such new-fangled nonsense! As far as he was concerned, his English teacher at Lady Manners had taught him the proper rules of grammar– and what was good enough for the much revered Lottie Hemmings, was good enough for everyone! Not even Jane’s carefully crafted articles were an exception, despite her repeated protestations. Perhaps, though, his greatest dislike of all was – salad (or more


precisely, a salad garnish)! ‘Please make sure that nothing green or leafy has come anywhere near my plate’ was invariably his instruction to whoever was taking his order at his favourite local restaurant. The one time they failed to heed these instructions he sent his plate back


to be decontaminated and returned to him bereft of any offending vegetation. There were times, especially when he had made some kind of silly


mistake, that he didn’t see the funny side. One such occasion which has passed into family folklore happened shortly after the business had been founded and was still based at the family home in Berkshire. The three teenaged children were sitting in our living room and we could hear some short-tempered mutterings and clatters and bangs emanating from the office, behind the garage on the other side of the house. Something was clearly not going well! Before long, we heard the door from the office being opened and closed with rather more force that was strictly necessary, and through came Howard looking distinctly peeved. ‘Has any one of you moved my spectacles?’ he asked in an accusatory tone. One of us (I think it was Helen) plucked up the courage to ask ‘Which ones can’t you find?’ to which he replied, ‘Don’t be so stupid! I’ve only got one pair!’ When she pointed out that they were, in fact, perched on top of his forehead, he simply reached up, placed them back on his nose and with a ‘hmmm!’ turned round and headed back into his office.


But let me now talk about some of the things he loved. He loved wine – and he had very clear views on which were his


favourites. Many of you may know that, earlier this year, my family and I created a new vineyard at our home in West Wales. After fully a year’s hard graft, preparing the land, we planted three and a half thousand vines, specially selected to make the finest sparkling wine. It will be a while before we come into production, but I bought Howard a present of a bottle produced by the same winemaker we will be using and made from the same types of grape, in the hope of impressing him with the quality of wine we might be able to achieve. He duly tried a glass, and then pronounced his verdict. ‘There’s only one sparkling wine in the world for me – and that’s Champagne.’ … Thanks Dad! But you know he told me many times how proud he was of what


we’d done and how he couldn’t wait to see it. I so wanted him to have the chance, but it wasn’t to be. A planned visit earlier in the year had to be postponed because of a bout of ill-health, and later, when he was well enough to travel, other plans intervened. When, after he had died, Jane was discussing with me what


would be done with his ashes, she told me of her plan to sprinkle some of them in places which had meant a lot to them both … Madeira, France, The Lakes, the Peak District. ‘And,’ she said, ‘your vineyard.’ Wow – that got to me – because, you see, in a way, he will be there, after all. * He loved his family, of course. He loved sport. He loved walking,


he loved music, he loved reading. He took great pleasure in planning and taking holidays. He took great pleasure in getting dressed up to go out for a nice meal. He loved theatre, be it opera, ballet, musicals or plays. And one of his lifelong loves was the language of


Shakespeare. And so it is fitting to finish these remarks with some words from


one of his favourite plays, a line from Hamlet, and say: ‘Goodnight sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.’


FEED COMPOUNDER JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2018 PAGE 31


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