The next stage was to empty and clean my Dad's council house. He'd been there for 40 years, the last 20 on his own, mostly. The council would be cock-a-hoop at the prospect of housing a family there now. As the other siblings had all gone back to work in their various countries, Adrian and I now organised the funeral.
This was when the bickering started over Dad's final wishes. Christopher and Andrea had it in their heads that Dad should be cremated and his ashes scattered over the lake next to his village in what was now the Czech Republic.
'But Dad always said: 'wrap me in a plastic bag and bury me under a tree,' I argued. I didn't like the idea of his ashes being so far away and somewhere I'd never been and would probably never go.
My Dad's mate Tony joined in:
'No. Cremation is loads better. If you get buried, people never come to look after your grave and it gets all overgrown and horrible.'
I nearly gave in, despite knowing what Dad wanted. But I'd asked the lawyer to dig out his will and after taking days, they rang to say they'd finally got it out of archives and the first line read: 'I want to be buried...'
That sorted it. Adrian and I then arranged a humanist service and burial. I had to battle a bit about that as well.
'Shouldn't he have a Christian burial just in case?' Christopher said.
'But it's so false,' I countered. 'He didn't believe in any of that.'
I got my way and for the music we chose his favourite, Johnny Cash, singing 'Walk the Line,' the German version of Marlene Dietrich's 'Falling in Love Again,' (Ich Bin Von Kopf Bis Fuß Auf Liebe Eingestellt') and Elvis' 'Wooden Heart.' Not because Dad had especially liked the last two - he liked American country and Cajun music, but we wanted a German feel to it.
The humanist Minister spoke for three quarters of an hour exclusively about Dad, about how his mother used to make them such a big Sunday lunch that he had to lie down afterwards, how she had ten children to feed and took in laundry from the hotels, how his father took holiday-makers for boat trips, and my father served as ball-boy when the rich people played tennis nearby. We were taken back to the Sudetenland of the 1930s.
She could have also mentioned other facts about my Dad:
Despite having no school qualifications, he could play music by ear, including the accordion, the harmonica and a kiddies' xylophone (he probably could have played other instruments but we didn't own any); he could ride a horse without a saddle (one time when he had to find his Regiment after being on leave in the war, he found a horse and rode it for a few days until he found his fellow Germans on the Russian front); when he was 50 he could still do a hand-spring (I memorised the moment - I was ten at the time in the back garden); he was brilliant at ping-pong and could beat my ex-boyfriend hands down - he also wasn't scared to stand at the edge of a punt in his 60s and work the pole so that we glided down the River Cam - my boyfriend was too scared in case he fell in; he could cook lovely vegetarian pasta (especially for me) and was known for his baking - especially his peaches and cream 'Kuchen;' he was like a mother to my husband, fussing and making him packed sandwiches with Hovis bread and salamis whenever Adrian was in Wales on business - Adrian always stayed with him because, unlike Adrian's mother, my Dad would cook a substantial meal each day, always with two desserts (say, trifle and apfel strudel). The list goes on.
Anyway, back to the funeral and he was put in some kind of bio-degradable white wicker casket, which looked absolutely charming, but I didn't envy anyone trying to lift it (it looked so flimsy I was worried he might fall out of it any second).
My friend Ceri came up as the casket was being taken to the grave:
'I know I shouldn't say it, but that was really some funeral. It was so different. None of all that God stuff and hymns and things, but all about who your Dad was as a person.'
Then it was off to a pub nearby. Unconventionally, and because the buffet option sounded rubbish and I didn't know how many to order for, we'd opted for a '2 for 1' pub. Andrea, Christopher and I were going thirds on the cost.
Adrian then went around the tables, handing out the 2 for 1 menu, which included such delights as chicken curry with rice, beef lasagne, various burgers; everything served with a choice of chips, salad or jacket potato. We also took an order for a round of drinks for everyone.
'And what about if we want something that isn't on the 2 for 1 menu?'
It was the Stammtisch bloke I'd met in the hospital.
'Then I won't take your order,' Adrian replied, smiling.
To see the end result of all the work on the casa, take a look at the house now:
http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p86636
And also another of our completed projects:
http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p475271