John Barker

“Gone from our sight, but never from our hearts.”

John passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by his loving family on 29th December, aged 94 years.

The beloved Husband of the late May. Much loved Dad to Chris, Clare, Gerard, Nick, Helen & Celia. Also a cherished Grandad & Great Grandad.

A Requiem Mass was held at St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception R.C. church in Crewe on Wednesday 12th January at 12.30pm, followed by committal at Crewe Crematorium.

Family have requested no flowers.  Kind donations are going to the British Heart Foundation.

For further information and to offer your condolences, please telephone our Funeral Home on 01270 584447.

*************************************************************************************************************************

Neither dad or mum would be too pleased if I rabbited on too long as they
were not great fans of long-winded speeches. But when you have lived such a
long and fruitful life as they have, they will have to bear with me.
Dad was born in 1927 in Derby. He moved around the country due to his dad’s
job within the royal ordnance factories. Wherever he went he always seemed
to end up working on a farm and thus began his love affair with the land and
nature. He went into Mount Saint Bernard Abbey in 1949 where he spent a lot
of his time working on the Dairy farm. He left in 1955 and married mum in
1956 at Saint Dominics in Stone. He had finally struck gold with mum or little
May as he called her.
They moved to Crewe in 1959 and Dad started work with the Milk Marketing
Board which necessitated going around, you’ve guessed it, lots of farms which
made up a large part of his life as he came to know half the farmers in
Cheshire. Life with dad and mum now began at 40 Carlisle Street along with
our treasured memories of them. That’s when the magic started as the six of
us appeared on the scene over the next fourteen years.
It’s impossible to talk about dad without including mum at every step of the
way as she was his rock which gave him room to express himself fully in his
own inimitable style. How would you describe dad when we were kids – well I
can only liken it to living at times with a mixture of Eric Morecambe and David
Attenborough or maybe that should be more like David Bellamy with a dash of
Spike Milligan in there at times for good measure.
Dad had a great love of nature, particularly birds, the feathered kind as we
heard him repeat more times than I care to remember! He was a member of
the South East Cheshire Ornithological Society, as treasurer for many years. I
don’t know how he got that job, as he would freely admit he had no idea about
how finances worked. Well mum dealt with all that side of things as she did
with all aspects of running the house. To have a David Attenborough you have
to have brilliant writers, producers and directors and that was mum all rolled
into one. She wrote the script each day along with her special stories, phrases
and impersonations which generated both fun and laughter. She produced
wonderful meals which kept us so well fed and directed us all including dad,

through her deep understanding of the troubles and cares of others with her
comforting words and constant prayers to guide us.
And that enabled dad to do his thing and work his own special kind of magic.
Anyone who has had the privilege to go on a long wonderful country walk with
dad will know what I’m talking about. Stop, listen, finger in the air – call of the
curlew or the mewing of a buzzard, the brief flash of a dipper or king fisher, the
sound of a yellow hammer or grasshopper warbler- all things you could expect
and much more. A five hour walk to cover maybe just a mile, sometimes linked
to a little sleep by a river under a tree with dragon flies and butterflies all
around. Dad had an incredible knack of living in the moment and could almost
suspend time when you were in his company. Ordinary things became magical
and his knowledge and understanding of the nature around him was deep and
informative and often well before it was broadcast on TV. But there was
always that mischievous Eric Morecambe side to him, as he would suddenly
disappear when we were charging around in the woods as young kids. As the
panic set in with the realisation he had gone and we were totally lost, we
would hear a distant whistle which would send us charging around like
headless chickens trying to locate him until he was finally spotted half way up a
tree.
These walks were tied in with our sixty year relationship with trips to a farm in
Wales which became our second home and where ourselves, girlfriends,
boyfriends, wives, husbands and grandchildren would all make regular
appearances. Lots of night walks, trips to the beach, games of cards and of
course The Flotation Olympics in the river. Each of us had a container of some
sort and raced them a mile down the river, most of us at some point ending up
in the water, including dad. To indicate the popularity of the event, the
maximum competitive field one year was 18 contestants, ranging from dad
down to the youngest grandchild at the time. The most excitable of all was
probably dad who could be seen leaping along the river bank, waving his stick
in the air and trampling the youngsters, whilst shouting encouragement at his
plastic bottle as though his life depended on it. After the event we would head
back to the farm where mum would rustle up enough food to feed the five
thousand. That was one of mum’s many small miracles, all produced in a tiny
kitchen which beggared belief unless you were there to witness it.
His allotment was another great way for dad to stay connected with the land
and he took great pride and pleasure in producing fresh food and would spend

many happy hours working his little patch of ground. Mum would also get a bit
of peace and quiet before turning dad’s produce into the usual feast.
Then we had the Eric Morecambe side of things and his unique sense of
humour. I don’t think mum would take too kindly to be likened to Ernie Wise,
so forget the Ernie bit, but the Wise bit is certainly true of mum. Dad could
create hours of laughter with his repertoire of songs either real or made up. He
loved to read three men in a boat to us as kids, loved a good comedy on tv,
particularly Morecambe and Wise, as did mum. He would often make himself
laugh so much tears would pour down his face which just became totally
infectious and created uproar at times as eventually no one could even
remember why they were laughing. He could be embarrassing to be with. Poor
Gerard and Anne took dad on a bus in London down the strand where he
insisted on introducing himself to everyone on the top deck and then dancing
along the aisle singing “we’re going down the Strand, have a banana” to all the
passengers. While poor mum would be saying “John John, sit down you silly
old fool”. It was all part of the child like quality he was able to retain and you
could never be sure of what he was going to do next.
Another magical memory was bonfire night with the Raiswells. We would
collect large amounts of firewood over the previous week. A Huge bonfire that
would get so hot it would crack the pantry window and the bricks on the house
would start to bake. I defy any other person to create such a pyrotechnic in
such a confined space without setting fire to the whole street. Dad smelling of
smoke producing baked potatoes out of the fire while Mum would make
treacle toffee that was guaranteed to remove most of your fillings or just
completely clamp your jaws together. Dad and mum once again
complementing each other as always to create so many special memories.
Dad loved a routine: He kept a record of the weather for sixty years. The
thermometer has probably been on the blink for a long time and slowly
showing a colder temperature than it actually is and it could by now be as
much as 6 degrees out by now, but what the heck, it’s all recorded for
posterity.
He also kept a diary each year and anyone wanting to know what happened
when, just leave it to dad. A few minutes of rooting through his back copies
and he’d settle any argument concerning who, when and where. He recorded
all the bird life that came into the garden each day in his little red book. He
loved to do a crossword, particularly with mum and they both loved a

competitive game of cribbage before cocoa and bed. Those two really knew
how to live it up!
Permeating through all this was dad and mum’s faith. As kids we would sit in
our usual pew. Dad at one end and mum at the other with all six of us jammed
in between. As we each in turn moved on in life, the gap finally closed and it
was just the two of them together again. Both mum and dad read at mass and
were eucharistic ministers and were huge stalwarts of the catholic community
in Crewe for sixty years, making friendships and connections with so many
families, many of which are represented here today. That great partnership
they had just like Morecambe and Wise continued on as they grew older. It
was still Eric and Ernie when anyone turned up at the house. Plenty of tea,
chat, laughter and always treated by both of them in such a special way. One
complementing the other at all times. Mum would sometimes say to us as we
grew older. I wish we could have given you a bit more in the way of material
things, but they gave us so much more than that. They both gave us tons of
their time, huge amounts of sound advice and most importantly all their love
which they quite happily shared in equal measures amongst all our wonderful
wives, husbands, partners, grandchildren and great grandchildren which is all
part of their wonderful legacy. Once mum passed away on the 9 th May 2020
the partnership had finally run its course at 40 Carlisle Street.
From that day on Dad remained hugely stoic and never lost his sense of
humour. He embraced new technology with his mobile phone, which he now
had to answer himself, instead of mum. He threw himself into on line church
services where he attended mass each day and even found an abbey in Ireland
to follow the monk’s daily services. He tried to keep the show running without
his little May, his rock. He knew though it wasn’t the same without the blessed
mother as he called her and as she will be forever known.
And now the two of them are back together again as they should be. The
partnership is back in full swing. Mum will still be calling him a silly old fool and
he will still be wanting his cup of tea and his reclining chair before they settle
down to watch countdown. Then just as they are getting comfy, the door bell
will ring and dad will say “get that May” and whoever that lucky person is at
the door they will be ushered into the front room, like a long lost brother or
sister, to a chorus from dad and mum of: “Bring me sunshine, bring me
laughter bring me love”. And that is what we will forever be able to hold in our hearts.

The sunshine they brought into our lives along with their joyful laughter
and most of all their boundless love for us all.
God bless you dad and mum, mum and dad, May and John, John and May.
Rest in Peace together as one.