My father.Text for Parish Magazine.

Devastated is the only way to describe how we feel about the untimely and tragic death of our father, David Knight.
I do not want to detail here the combination of factors which led to him deciding to have his life support withdrawn, but to those
who
have said or thought that it was a shame he felt unable to keep fighting I would say that there was no braver or nobler man...or
anyone less selfish than our dear, dear Father.
What a gaping hole he leaves! We know how dear he is to so many of you in this parish and beyond. The children of clergy learn early
in life that others will feel they have almost as strong a claim on the time and energies of a clergyman (and his wife). Sometimes
this sharing is hard to do and resented, but sometimes it brings great comfort and that fund of love and support availed to both Dad
and Mum has, we know, brought them much joy. So thank you.
Hilary, Jeremy, Philippa, Adrian, Fiona and I ( and our children) feel blessed to have had such a remarkable man as a father. He was
not the easiest of parents in the early years...imagine the strain of raising all those children( Mum loved babies!) on a salary so
small that you could barely spot it on the pay slip; but he had mellowed amazingly and had, in many ways, come out of Mum's shadow
in
the past eleven months. We all felt excited about how much there was still to be enjoyed with him...places to be explored,books to
be
read, food and wine to be savoured, memories to be made...All cruelly denied us now.
Dad was a man of great humanity and intellect. He read 'The New Scientist' every week and selected the more interesting articles to
share with his eldest grandson, Henry, whom he ardently hoped would follow him to his old college, Clare, Cambridge. He was a very
active alumnus and his time there and his stint in the RAF were probably amongst the happiest times of his life. He also had a great
sense of humour and adored The Goons and Hancock. His rich appreciation of life from food to philately made him very good company. I
sometimes think that a biography 'Too Much on my Plate...a life told through food'...would have worked rather well! From the
rationing
of the Post-war era and the frugal fare of an impoverished Vicar with six kids, to those endless cups of tea ( which he loathed!)
and
cake from parishoners and the indulgent treats he allowed himself latterly without Mum to police his intake...there would be a lot
of
insightful material to hang on these menus.
Our one consolation is that he is now re-united with Mum. He could hear her quite distinctly in those last days.
In sure and certain hope. God be with you all.
Anthea ( firstborn).
P.S.He would probably have taken a red pen to much of this, questioning the grammar and hating my use of ellipsis. Sorry, Dad!)

My father

Just over a month ago, the BG and I took my father on a jaunt to his beloved Cambridge. Now he lies in intensive care, struck down by encephalitis. I won't , at this stage, detail the catalogue of mis-diagnoses and appalling assumptions about age and dementia experienced in the first few days in hospital ( dumped in an orthopaedic ward). Suffice it to say, that for the last two weeks, we have seriously doubted that he would survive. The seizures provoked by the virus have been long-lasting and savage. He spent many days in an induced coma. Repeated attempts to wake him to assess his neurological state were abandoned in despair. It seemed that the machines were keeping the shell of this highly intelligent man 'alive'.
But today marked a turning point...sustainable , we pray...Even though he has had three minor fits in the last 24 hrs, he seems to be back. He can't speak...constrained by the tracheostomy...and we cannot always lip read everything he furiously mouths to us when we sit with him, holding his hand...but he is clearly there and clearly aware that we are there, too. We are not yet sure what functionality, physical and mental, will have been permanently burnt out by the virus, but he's battling on. 'A bit scary', he 'said', to me, this morning. Extraordinary.