Eulogy, written and read by Neil Watkins:
Christopher Kenneth Watkins was born on the 27th of April 1957. His
mother Anne and his father Ken at the time lived with his mums parents.
They later moved to Old Marston in Oxford. 1 year after dad his sister
Lianne was born and 5 years later another sister Nicky. Their father ken
brought them up in a very old school manner and for the most part they
were fairly terrified of him. This brought them close together and created
the foundation for the kind of relationship that would last a lifetime and
always be supportive to the very end. Being brought up in the 60s where
money was tight the 3 of them learned to make their own fun largely just
playing in nature. I think this created a certain softness in my dad being the
eldest son with 2 younger sisters to protect. He always seemed to be very
gentle and kind around women and have a great understanding of the
female mind.
He was very intelligent and would likely have done well in school. But at
the time that exams came up he had been working with his father felt
roofing and tripped, covering himself in hot tar. He was admitted to
hospital and never ended up sitting his exams.
He was always very creative and at that point in his life was focussed on
drawing and painting. But he had a dream to become a chef. Unfortunately
that never came to pass as he missed his exams and he went with the flow
and followed in his fathers footsteps to become a felt roofer. He did this
for a while in his teenage years. But then he was offered a job elsewhere
learning carpentry so he took it up. It was at this time that he met my mum
Shirley as he was lodging in Risborough where she lived. His mode of
transport then was a motor bike, which I’m given to believe spent most of
its time on its side. He pursued carpentry for a few years. But then decided
to go back to felt roofing and started his own business. The business was
doing well and so he and my mum bought a house in park street in Thame.
During which time Steve was born and then 2 years later I followed. 2
years after that Luke was born. They were doing so well that they sold the
house and bought another one in Churchill crescent in Thame. Back in the
80’s before health and safety you could wear whatever you wanted to
work. So my dad as a joke started wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat
to work. Quite literally the most dangerous footwear you could find to
climb ladders all day. But he persevered with that for many years and
became known as the cowboy builder. He thought that was hilarious.
My dad in his early days was hardcore. He told me about this one story
where he was driving home from work on the M40 in a van. In those days
windscreens didn’t have plastic in the glass to reduce shatter. It was mid
winter and snowing outside. Another car pinged a stone up into the
window. It chipped it. 2 minutes later the entire windscreen disintegrated
in his face. He was driving along at 70 with snow blasting in his face. But
instead of pulling over like a normal person, he just pushed through drove
home. He reckoned he wasn’t far from frostbite in his hands. Another time
someone got a flat tire on their car but they didn’t have a jack. So he picked
one end up and held it while they changed the tyre. In his later years he
told me that him and Pete Rathbone back then used to drop acid and then
reroof buildings 3 floors up tripping their nuts off….. Wearing those same
cowboy boots. That to me is unfathomably militant. Once he mashed his
finger with a hammer. Left it a few days and he thought it felt like pressure
was building up inside it. So he made my mum get one of those manual
drills and drill through the nail to release the pressure. She attested to that
fact that he was right and it did squirt enough to hit the ceiling. He still
didnt go to the hospital though, that was a good enough fix for him.
On his days off he used to play subbuteo with us. But the thing with my
dad that I have now inherited is that he was never gonna give anyone a
chance to win. He would just beat everyone and feel good about it no
matter what their handicap. At the time I remember thinking that it felt
unfair. But it’s took me many years to realise that in fact it bred a drive to
win and to succeed due to not really enjoying the feeling of being beaten
all time.
A few years later his father joined him as a partner in the business and they
took on a huge contract, outlaid everything they had on materials and
then were never payed by the customer as the company had folded. This
happened during the recession in the late 80’s and it crippled dads
company causing him to lose the house.
So then we moved to Didcot and my Dad found work in Germany for a
major roofing company. He would be away for 3 months at a time and
only be back for a few weeks in between. So we didn’t see much of him but
he loved the adventure of being in a different country and was earning
good money. When he was back he used to hog our Sega mega drive
rinsing the motorbike game super hang on for days on end. He’d nailed
every little intricacy of the game engine and used to sit there trying to
teach us how it worked. We’d be listening but really thinking….. can’t I just
have go?
We eventually moved back to Thame and a few years later dad began to
develop problems with his back. He became unable to continue physical
work and so he and my mum started work together for a company called
Kleeneze. Kleeneze was like the 90’s version of Amazon before the
internet had properly taken off. They worked very hard and for long hours
for many years and did OK. But as the internet began to take off it made
companies like that obsolete.
Then in 1995 we moved here to this house. My parents both absolutely
loved this house. They felt like they finally lived somewhere that felt like
home. My dad tried several jobs after moving here and every time his back
would go out and cause him to be stuck laying down for weeks. This
eventually caused him to give up trying and he registered as disabled. At
this point it seemed that my dad had had so many knocks in his life that it
had taken the wind out of his sails. He lacked direction in his life and spent
a good few years loosing time to computer games. He had been a stoner
since the age of 12 and he decided that there was nothing he knew more
about than weed. The system had failed him and so he said fuck the
system. He started knocking out and began making many friends. He loved
it.
He loved meeting new people, he loved being the centre of attention, he
and my mum both loved playing agony aunt to the hundreds of people that
came through this door. He was once again full of life. He had found a
new purpose. To just have a good old time and make sure everyone else
was doing the same.
At around this time my dad became the main character in my favourite
memory of my 37 years.
I used to share a bedroom with Steve. Our heads near each other and with
my bed situated that if I opened my eyes from the position I slept I could
see the door and also my brother. One night my dad went over to the royal
oak across the road. Got absolutely smashed. Came home and went to bed.
3Am BANG, the light comes on. My eyes open to see dad standing naked
in the doorway. I’m confused but intrigued. He staggers towards me. Turns
to face my brother and starts to unload urine onto him. I’m doing nothing to
stop this. I already cant see for the tears in my eyes and I’m struggling to
breathe. You know if you start pouring water on the grass. At first its
quiet, but the more you pour, the more collects in the space and it gets
louder and more splashy. My dads peeing into the space between Steve’s
legs and its collecting and its splashing and I’m fucking delighted. My bros
eyes open. He rubs them. He rubs them again. Then with a wobble in his
voice and a frown on his face he says “Dad…your…………..Pissing on
me?”.
Dad stops, his eyes open. He looks down at Steve and reviews the
situation. Then says “Am I? Sorry boy” Closes his eyes and carries on with
the same flow rate. Now Steve’s on the move, his arms are flapping about
and he’s making a lot of noise. My dad, making sounds of contentment
pushes every last squirt out and with my bro still trying to figure out what
to do, calmly shakes himself dry and wonders back to bed happy with his
work.
I did not sleep again that night, I have never been so happy.
The memories of my teenage life were coming home from school to a
house full of my mates there to see my parents. This house became an
open house and a social hub for everyone I knew. Dad had an absolute
acceptance of us 3 boys too, to just grow up and go in whatever direction
we chose. He let us have mad parties and just joined in with it. The thing
with this kind of parenting approach is that it builds trust and you end up
being able to have a more honest relationship as there is nothing to hide.
In any day there was often a chess game in play here or a poker table with
6 people round it. My dad was a master of both and old or young he loved
nothing more than to give people a beating at either.
Dad didn’t judge people, he accepted people with all their flaws. He would
try to guide them, but he wouldn’t be pushy. From the time we were young
children there was often someone staying in our house cos they had
nowhere to go. He never turned down a person in need and he would often
be screwing himself over to do so. You would struggle to find someone
who has a bad word to say about dad.
I think we can all agree on a time in our lives where we consider the depth
of a point but the words don’t release fast enough as we procrastinate the
perfection of articulation and say nothing instead. Ideas kept in that are
fully considered internally but timing doesn’t allow their release. This is
how my dad lived. What he released was merely a fraction of the great
depth that was considered beneath. The cogs were turning beyond what the
average mind could imagine and yet he often remained silent.
Dad had a lot of time on his hands and loved to write. He was an
exceptional poet and had a great sense of humour that flourished through
his work. He began performing at open mike nights and ended up loving
the one at the half moon in oxford where he made great friends with like
minded people. He always encouraged us 3 to go along and wouldn’t be
shy on buying the beer. Many incredible memories were made there and
he always spoke fondly of those years. From all of the years of him trying
to get material ready we are left with a wealth of his works. Some of which
we have laminated and put up around here for you all to enjoy during the
wake.
15 years ago we lost our mum and dad lost his wife. We never really knew
how much it affected him because he really didn’t talk much about it. But
now we have found the countless poems and pieces of writing dedicated to
my mum we have realised that he just chose to cope with it like an old
school man and not place the burden of his pain on anyone else. This was
his way. He was the suffer in silence type.
Again he seemed to be quite lost for a while although he still continued his
friendships he didn’t seem so keen to go out. But then he began babysitting
for his friend Lorna’s granddaughter Scarlett. Again this seemed to give him
yet another sense of purpose. Somebody needed him and this caused him
to rise to the occasion. He built such a bond with Scarlett that he became
quite invested in her wellbeing and driven to want to bring joy into her
life. Dad had never really found young children easy and for the first time
I think he had found that place inside that allows one to evict their own
sense of self judgement and meet the child on their own wavelength. He
became so invested in the idea of bringing joy to Scarlett that he began to
write a series of children’s story books where the main character was
Scarlett. This process in itself gave him a whole heap of new found
motivation to complete the works he’d undertaken. He did complete two
books. Scarlett’s unicorn, and Scarlett and the witch of wookie hole. These
are both available on amazon for purchase. Then when he went onto the 3rd
book, Scarlett and the tree of life he began to realise that the subject was so
expansive that it warranted a trilogy in itself. This work was not quite
complete in his passing but it is somewhat close and Steve has been passed
the notes necessary to finish all of the works off for him.
Scarlet and my daughter Imogen became good friends and so my dad
began taking them both out together. He took them to the cinema, to the
arcades, farms and regularly just to the park. I saw a new side to my dad
then that I hadn’t seen before. A man who now seemed to be savouring the
moment. He became softer and more open about his feelings than he ever
had before. It did occur to me that maybe he was facing the reality of his
mortality and it seems my intuition somewhat served me well. This gave
me an opportunity to commit more to our relationship and I’m glad that I
did.
We went to poker nights in Oxford with his friends. We went out for meals
with my family, Something he had never really been keen to do before.
But most of all many times we talked until the early hours of the morning
and I got to know him in a way I never had before, with his guard down
and his heart open. We talked about our pasts and we speculated about the
future of the universe. We just bonded as a father and son should.
My dad never made much money in his life. What he did make above what
he needed. He gave away. Unfortunately the world we live in is suffering
from a form of insanity that causes them to view money as the definition
of success. But what truly is the value of money against the currency of
kindness?
My dad led by example that we must be courageous enough to follow our
own morals and let those be our truth instead of acting like children who
bow when they are told what to do by an authority that doesn’t recognise
love.
Dad falling ill did seem to happen fairly suddenly. He was diagnosed with
cancer and at his first chemo appointment things escalated and he never
returned home. Even faced with the situation he was, in the early weeks
when I visited him although he was clearly struggling, he pulled himself
out of bed and leaning on his walking stick reeled off joke after joke just to
bring a smile to my face. Then in following weeks he went to Sobell house
hospice and was allowed unlimited visiting time. Me and my son Andy
went in and spent the evening with him watching the euro final. He was a
bit disappointed but not surprised. He thought he could have done a better
job managing the team. As time went on and it became clear dad was
reaching the end of the road. Me and Moon were with him most days and
were happy to show him our support, it was an honour to serve him in his
hour of need. We decided that we should play his own music all the time
so he could go out hearing something he loved. But this went on for about
3 days and he was still with us. He had heard everything from ACDC to
Cindy Lauper. On his final day me and my bro had to leave and so his 2
sisters Nicky and Lianne took our place. They put a film on and he went
out to a song by lady gaga. We thought it was hilarious at first. But then
we listened to it and found it very fitting. It felt as though he chose this
song.
In the same way he chose that the time felt right to leave this life as
an accomplished writer would. By returning the end of his story to the
place where it all began, with his sisters by his side.
We are all happy for him. We are all happy that he’s at peace. We are
happy his last few weeks were full of laughter where possible. But most of
all we are happy to have known the legend that was Chris Watkins and we
are thankful for a lifetime of memories to cherish.
We left a notebook for dad in the hospice. The last thing that he ever wrote
was this:
Thinking back, I’ve had my successes and my failures too,
Both have taught me lessons and should not be ignored,
Truth be told, gambles come out even at best,
We make our choices and we abide by them.
Eulogy, written and read by Neil Watkins:
Christopher Kenneth Watkins was born on the 27th of April 1957. His
mother Anne and his father Ken at the time lived with his mums parents.
They later moved to Old Marston in Oxford. 1 year after dad his sister
Lianne was born and 5 years later another sister Nicky. Their father ken
brought them up in a very old school manner and for the most part they
were fairly terrified of him. This brought them close together and created
the foundation for the kind of relationship that would last a lifetime and
always be supportive to the very end. Being brought up in the 60s where
money was tight the 3 of them learned to make their own fun largely just
playing in nature. I think this created a certain softness in my dad being the
eldest son with 2 younger sisters to protect. He always seemed to be very
gentle and kind around women and have a great understanding of the
female mind.
He was very intelligent and would likely have done well in school. But at
the time that exams came up he had been working with his father felt
roofing and tripped, covering himself in hot tar. He was admitted to
hospital and never ended up sitting his exams.
He was always very creative and at that point in his life was focussed on
drawing and painting. But he had a dream to become a chef. Unfortunately
that never came to pass as he missed his exams and he went with the flow
and followed in his fathers footsteps to become a felt roofer. He did this
for a while in his teenage years. But then he was offered a job elsewhere
learning carpentry so he took it up. It was at this time that he met my mum
Shirley as he was lodging in Risborough where she lived. His mode of
transport then was a motor bike, which I’m given to believe spent most of
its time on its side. He pursued carpentry for a few years. But then decided
to go back to felt roofing and started his own business. The business was
doing well and so he and my mum bought a house in park street in Thame.
During which time Steve was born and then 2 years later I followed. 2
years after that Luke was born. They were doing so well that they sold the
house and bought another one in Churchill crescent in Thame. Back in the
80’s before health and safety you could wear whatever you wanted to
work. So my dad as a joke started wearing cowboy boots and a cowboy hat
to work. Quite literally the most dangerous footwear you could find to
climb ladders all day. But he persevered with that for many years and
became known as the cowboy builder. He thought that was hilarious.
My dad in his early days was hardcore. He told me about this one story
where he was driving home from work on the M40 in a van. In those days
windscreens didn’t have plastic in the glass to reduce shatter. It was mid
winter and snowing outside. Another car pinged a stone up into the
window. It chipped it. 2 minutes later the entire windscreen disintegrated
in his face. He was driving along at 70 with snow blasting in his face. But
instead of pulling over like a normal person, he just pushed through drove
home. He reckoned he wasn’t far from frostbite in his hands. Another time
someone got a flat tire on their car but they didn’t have a jack. So he picked
one end up and held it while they changed the tyre. In his later years he
told me that him and Pete Rathbone back then used to drop acid and then
reroof buildings 3 floors up tripping their nuts off….. Wearing those same
cowboy boots. That to me is unfathomably militant. Once he mashed his
finger with a hammer. Left it a few days and he thought it felt like pressure
was building up inside it. So he made my mum get one of those manual
drills and drill through the nail to release the pressure. She attested to that
fact that he was right and it did squirt enough to hit the ceiling. He still
didnt go to the hospital though, that was a good enough fix for him.
On his days off he used to play subbuteo with us. But the thing with my
dad that I have now inherited is that he was never gonna give anyone a
chance to win. He would just beat everyone and feel good about it no
matter what their handicap. At the time I remember thinking that it felt
unfair. But it’s took me many years to realise that in fact it bred a drive to
win and to succeed due to not really enjoying the feeling of being beaten
all time.
A few years later his father joined him as a partner in the business and they
took on a huge contract, outlaid everything they had on materials and
then were never payed by the customer as the company had folded. This
happened during the recession in the late 80’s and it crippled dads
company causing him to lose the house.
So then we moved to Didcot and my Dad found work in Germany for a
major roofing company. He would be away for 3 months at a time and
only be back for a few weeks in between. So we didn’t see much of him but
he loved the adventure of being in a different country and was earning
good money. When he was back he used to hog our Sega mega drive
rinsing the motorbike game super hang on for days on end. He’d nailed
every little intricacy of the game engine and used to sit there trying to
teach us how it worked. We’d be listening but really thinking….. can’t I just
have go?
We eventually moved back to Thame and a few years later dad began to
develop problems with his back. He became unable to continue physical
work and so he and my mum started work together for a company called
Kleeneze. Kleeneze was like the 90’s version of Amazon before the
internet had properly taken off. They worked very hard and for long hours
for many years and did OK. But as the internet began to take off it made
companies like that obsolete.
Then in 1995 we moved here to this house. My parents both absolutely
loved this house. They felt like they finally lived somewhere that felt like
home. My dad tried several jobs after moving here and every time his back
would go out and cause him to be stuck laying down for weeks. This
eventually caused him to give up trying and he registered as disabled. At
this point it seemed that my dad had had so many knocks in his life that it
had taken the wind out of his sails. He lacked direction in his life and spent
a good few years loosing time to computer games. He had been a stoner
since the age of 12 and he decided that there was nothing he knew more
about than weed. The system had failed him and so he said fuck the
system. He started knocking out and began making many friends. He loved
it.
He loved meeting new people, he loved being the centre of attention, he
and my mum both loved playing agony aunt to the hundreds of people that
came through this door. He was once again full of life. He had found a
new purpose. To just have a good old time and make sure everyone else
was doing the same.
At around this time my dad became the main character in my favourite
memory of my 37 years.
I used to share a bedroom with Steve. Our heads near each other and with
my bed situated that if I opened my eyes from the position I slept I could
see the door and also my brother. One night my dad went over to the royal
oak across the road. Got absolutely smashed. Came home and went to bed.
3Am BANG, the light comes on. My eyes open to see dad standing naked
in the doorway. I’m confused but intrigued. He staggers towards me. Turns
to face my brother and starts to unload urine onto him. I’m doing nothing to
stop this. I already cant see for the tears in my eyes and I’m struggling to
breathe. You know if you start pouring water on the grass. At first its
quiet, but the more you pour, the more collects in the space and it gets
louder and more splashy. My dads peeing into the space between Steve’s
legs and its collecting and its splashing and I’m fucking delighted. My bros
eyes open. He rubs them. He rubs them again. Then with a wobble in his
voice and a frown on his face he says “Dad…your…………..Pissing on
me?”.
Dad stops, his eyes open. He looks down at Steve and reviews the
situation. Then says “Am I? Sorry boy” Closes his eyes and carries on with
the same flow rate. Now Steve’s on the move, his arms are flapping about
and he’s making a lot of noise. My dad, making sounds of contentment
pushes every last squirt out and with my bro still trying to figure out what
to do, calmly shakes himself dry and wonders back to bed happy with his
work.
I did not sleep again that night, I have never been so happy.
The memories of my teenage life were coming home from school to a
house full of my mates there to see my parents. This house became an
open house and a social hub for everyone I knew. Dad had an absolute
acceptance of us 3 boys too, to just grow up and go in whatever direction
we chose. He let us have mad parties and just joined in with it. The thing
with this kind of parenting approach is that it builds trust and you end up
being able to have a more honest relationship as there is nothing to hide.
In any day there was often a chess game in play here or a poker table with
6 people round it. My dad was a master of both and old or young he loved
nothing more than to give people a beating at either.
Dad didn’t judge people, he accepted people with all their flaws. He would
try to guide them, but he wouldn’t be pushy. From the time we were young
children there was often someone staying in our house cos they had
nowhere to go. He never turned down a person in need and he would often
be screwing himself over to do so. You would struggle to find someone
who has a bad word to say about dad.
I think we can all agree on a time in our lives where we consider the depth
of a point but the words don’t release fast enough as we procrastinate the
perfection of articulation and say nothing instead. Ideas kept in that are
fully considered internally but timing doesn’t allow their release. This is
how my dad lived. What he released was merely a fraction of the great
depth that was considered beneath. The cogs were turning beyond what the
average mind could imagine and yet he often remained silent.
Dad had a lot of time on his hands and loved to write. He was an
exceptional poet and had a great sense of humour that flourished through
his work. He began performing at open mike nights and ended up loving
the one at the half moon in oxford where he made great friends with like
minded people. He always encouraged us 3 to go along and wouldn’t be
shy on buying the beer. Many incredible memories were made there and
he always spoke fondly of those years. From all of the years of him trying
to get material ready we are left with a wealth of his works. Some of which
we have laminated and put up around here for you all to enjoy during the
wake.
15 years ago we lost our mum and dad lost his wife. We never really knew
how much it affected him because he really didn’t talk much about it. But
now we have found the countless poems and pieces of writing dedicated to
my mum we have realised that he just chose to cope with it like an old
school man and not place the burden of his pain on anyone else. This was
his way. He was the suffer in silence type.
Again he seemed to be quite lost for a while although he still continued his
friendships he didn’t seem so keen to go out. But then he began babysitting
for his friend Lorna’s granddaughter Scarlett. Again this seemed to give him
yet another sense of purpose. Somebody needed him and this caused him
to rise to the occasion. He built such a bond with Scarlett that he became
quite invested in her wellbeing and driven to want to bring joy into her
life. Dad had never really found young children easy and for the first time
I think he had found that place inside that allows one to evict their own
sense of self judgement and meet the child on their own wavelength. He
became so invested in the idea of bringing joy to Scarlett that he began to
write a series of children’s story books where the main character was
Scarlett. This process in itself gave him a whole heap of new found
motivation to complete the works he’d undertaken. He did complete two
books. Scarlett’s unicorn, and Scarlett and the witch of wookie hole. These
are both available on amazon for purchase. Then when he went onto the 3rd
book, Scarlett and the tree of life he began to realise that the subject was so
expansive that it warranted a trilogy in itself. This work was not quite
complete in his passing but it is somewhat close and Steve has been passed
the notes necessary to finish all of the works off for him.
Scarlet and my daughter Imogen became good friends and so my dad
began taking them both out together. He took them to the cinema, to the
arcades, farms and regularly just to the park. I saw a new side to my dad
then that I hadn’t seen before. A man who now seemed to be savouring the
moment. He became softer and more open about his feelings than he ever
had before. It did occur to me that maybe he was facing the reality of his
mortality and it seems my intuition somewhat served me well. This gave
me an opportunity to commit more to our relationship and I’m glad that I
did.
We went to poker nights in Oxford with his friends. We went out for meals
with my family, Something he had never really been keen to do before.
But most of all many times we talked until the early hours of the morning
and I got to know him in a way I never had before, with his guard down
and his heart open. We talked about our pasts and we speculated about the
future of the universe. We just bonded as a father and son should.
My dad never made much money in his life. What he did make above what
he needed. He gave away. Unfortunately the world we live in is suffering
from a form of insanity that causes them to view money as the definition
of success. But what truly is the value of money against the currency of
kindness?
My dad led by example that we must be courageous enough to follow our
own morals and let those be our truth instead of acting like children who
bow when they are told what to do by an authority that doesn’t recognise
love.
Dad falling ill did seem to happen fairly suddenly. He was diagnosed with
cancer and at his first chemo appointment things escalated and he never
returned home. Even faced with the situation he was, in the early weeks
when I visited him although he was clearly struggling, he pulled himself
out of bed and leaning on his walking stick reeled off joke after joke just to
bring a smile to my face. Then in following weeks he went to Sobell house
hospice and was allowed unlimited visiting time. Me and my son Andy
went in and spent the evening with him watching the euro final. He was a
bit disappointed but not surprised. He thought he could have done a better
job managing the team. As time went on and it became clear dad was
reaching the end of the road. Me and Moon were with him most days and
were happy to show him our support, it was an honour to serve him in his
hour of need. We decided that we should play his own music all the time
so he could go out hearing something he loved. But this went on for about
3 days and he was still with us. He had heard everything from ACDC to
Cindy Lauper. On his final day me and my bro had to leave and so his 2
sisters Nicky and Lianne took our place. They put a film on and he went
out to a song by lady gaga. We thought it was hilarious at first. But then
we listened to it and found it very fitting. It felt as though he chose this
song.
In the same way he chose that the time felt right to leave this life as
an accomplished writer would. By returning the end of his story to the
place where it all began, with his sisters by his side.
We are all happy for him. We are all happy that he’s at peace. We are
happy his last few weeks were full of laughter where possible. But most of
all we are happy to have known the legend that was Chris Watkins and we
are thankful for a lifetime of memories to cherish.
We left a notebook for dad in the hospice. The last thing that he ever wrote
was this:
Thinking back, I’ve had my successes and my failures too,
Both have taught me lessons and should not be ignored,
Truth be told, gambles come out even at best,
We make our choices and we abide by them.
