Philip Tattersall | March 2023
When Dr Philip Tattersall’s family approached me to discuss leading his celebration of life ceremony, it didn’t take long to realise the incredible life I would be honouring. A GP in Durham for many decades, Dr T (as he was known to many of his adoring patients) was universally admired by all who knew him.
I had the chance to get to know his wonderful family over video calls in the lead up to the ceremony and then, on the day itself, they invited me to a holiday home they were renting in the local area to discuss final details before the afternoon. There is something magnetic and warm about the Tattersalls - I ended up staying for a pizza and salad lunch as they regaled me with tales of their dad (or Grandpa) round a huge kitchen table. I’ll never forget the way that they made me feel part of the family for such an important day.
The ceremony itself went perfectly and every seat was taken. We were shown photos of Philip through the decades, and heard about his character, achievements and the many loves of his life (Scrabble, old clocks and marmalade…to name but a few) from his sons and an old colleague, Dr Robert Catty. Dr Catty enthralled us all with tales of general practice through their many, many years working together - tales of times before scheduled appointments when patients would simply try their luck (at any hour!) knocking on a doctor’s door.
Philip loved poetry and literature, and I was delighted to read two pieces that his daughter Jane had found - Happy the Man by John Dryden and a moving quote from Albert Einstein. Another incredibly special addition to the service - read by Philip’s granddaughters Emma and Sarah - was a duo of poems from a collection of cuttings found in an old cardboard box by Emma, penned many decades before by Philip’s Aunt Emily. I’ll leave you with the poems; they help to reflect - in part - the dry wit, warmth and creativity of the family.
Home-Made
The winter day is cold and grey
It’s snowing, sleeting, raining;
Winds keen and raw delay the thaw.
But we are not complaining.
For a perfume rare pervades the air;
It cheers and speeds our toiling;
And gloom and doubt are wafted out
The Marmalade is boiling.
We may not go where lemons grow.
Where oranges hang gleaming;
But we can scan a bubbling pan
Where shredded peel is steaming.
Its mingled scent, most richly blent,
Gives more than fleeting pleasure.
For when we’ve made our Marmalade
We’ve won a twelve-month’s treasure.
And could we ask a sweeter task
Than orange preservation?
Translucent gold in jars we hold.
For future delectation.
Our morning mood may be subdued
By lack of eggs and bacon
But Marmalade brings present aid
To keep our hearts unshaken.
Railway Fare
(A traveller’s heartfelt tribute to a new departure)
A train that runs from Crewe to Perth
Was long notorious for its dearth
Of food while under way.
No biscuit, sandwich, roll, or bun;
And as for tea or coffee none
Beguiled the hungry day.
But when we journeyed north again
Last week, by once foodless train,
Lo! Through the corridor
A steward wheeled a little trolley
That swiftly banished melancholy
A pot of tea it bore!
The teacups clinked with cheerful clatter,
And there were rolls upon platter;
The tea was freshly brewed;
It was an appetising meal
That made each tired traveller feel
Lost energy renewed.
Thrice welcome, timely innovation
That saves a cheerless situation,
And may it prove long-lasting!
We hope the day of dearth is past,
For though we like to travel fast
Why should we travel fasting?