Raul Fernandes, husband to Christine, father to Darren and Jamie, son of the late AP and Maria Fernandes, brother to Thomas, Silu, Steve (deceased) and Leslie (deceased) passed away peacefully on November 19, 2019 after a prolonged illness.

A Requiem Mass for Raul will be held at St Thomas of Canterbury R C Church, 16 East Thurrock Road, Grays, Essex RM17 6SR on Friday 6th December 2019 ar 9:45 am. Followed by a Crematorium at 11:20 at South Essex Crematorium, Ockendon Rd, Upminster RM14 2UY. A wake for Raul will be held at midday at Langdon Hills Golf Country Club, Lower Dunton Rd. Horndon-on-the-Hill, Stanford-Le-Hope, RM14 3TY.

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'Tagged' Raul Fernandes Photos from our DRGS Archive

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Eulogy by Darren Fernandes

On behalf of myself, James, Christine, Kiran and the two grandchildren Senna and Roman, thank you for gathering here today to honour and remember my father Raul Theotonio Fernandes.

It strikes me that to capture just how much Dad meant to me in words is futile. But, nevertheless. I shall try.

Raul, along with his brothers Thomas, Sylvester, Steven (RIP) and Lesley (RIP) lost their mother Marie Archangela at a relatively young age and I’ve no doubt that this event forced them to mature quickly and appreciate the fragility of life. Their father Papa, as he was affectionately known, was also thrown into oblivion and yet he supported each of his 5 young men in their time of need.

Raul left Nairobi shortly afterwards for the U.K. and continued to work as an Insurance broker in the Square Mile, residing close-by in North London. This was a career that spanned more than 45 years. Indeed, his work-ethic went unspoken yet this set a tremendous example for James and I and for that we thank you. That said, as was standard for brokers in the city during the ’80’s and ’90’s, the odd liquid lunch was a necessity (I am told) to build client relationships and Dad was more than happy to enjoy these, when opportunity arose. Indeed, some of his work friends are in attendance today. Welcome to you.

One of his greatest qualities was an ability to make people around him feel welcome - he put them at ease. So much so that when Christine and Raul embarked on their first flat together, back in the ‘70s, evenings after work and weekends were a very sociable affair; they would invite over their close friends for a get together and he would, in addition to offering the usual food and drink, offer them the chance to have a shower too: “mi casa es tu casa!” as the saying goes.

Christine recalls that he would often serenade her with Elvis songs during those lazy afternoons when they had all the time in the world; before myself and James were on the scene.

General DIY was not his passion, nor his strong suit. The nickname Mr. T though (the T standing for temporary job) became a badge of honour; from a partially fixed door handle to a make-shift draft excluder; he had everything covered, temporarily.

Dad had a very dry sense of humour which bordered on sarcastic at times, but always was delivered with a cheeky smile and a suitable retort was welcomed. Together with his great friend Sid, no end of pranks were played, often to a backdrop of shaking heads of Christine and Sid’s dear wife Rina (RIP). ‘You can’t always take life too seriously’, Dad would say.

More recently, after showing him the Geometry section of a book I was working on I asked him his opinion. ‘It’s all Greek to me’ he playfully remarked.

A particular memory I have of my time with Dad, centers around Friday night TV. Back when there were just 4 channels and no pause, you needed to be on point, ready for the evening’s entertainment, suitably pre-selected by Dad with a collection of red rings in the TV listing of the Daily Mirror.

Our favourite sitcom was set in a bar in Boston; where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came.

There were so many memorable characters and with a cold beer and a handful of juegos, we sat back and for half an hour shared laughs and smiles. Cheers to those days.

Hockey was Dad’s sport of choice; During his younger days in Nairobi, shin pads were frowned upon and the playing surface, known as Redgra was designed to separate the men from the boys. He was an extremely good player.

After moving from London to Essex in the mid-80’s, Dad joined Thurrock Hockey club and swiftly became captain of one of the men’s teams. Whilst the standard was still high (results on the pitch are testament to this), his 5th team, Thurrock V’s gained a reputation within the clubhouse for enjoying their post-match pursuits just as much as their on-field display. Whilst the drinks flowed, each week, Sean, the team’s left back, would offer his latest wares insisting that ‘If you want the best, but you don’t ask questions then brother, I’m your man!’ What’s an expiry date between friends?

Dad took great pleasure in his dear Grandchildren, Senna and Roman. Despite the progression of his condition, he delighted in being able to feed Senna as a toddler albeit with an unsteady hand. There was a quiet patience from Senna and they shared a knowing smile; it may take a little longer but he was going to enjoy his yoghurt and perhaps a treat if his parents were out of sight.

Equally, by the time his younger brother Roman arrived, Dad’s condition was far down the line. Dad sat with a wheelie table by his side, the various inhalers and medications resting there alongside his beaker of orange and a tea towel, just in case. Dad’s condition, MSA, caused him to cough frequently and invariably, little Roman was on hand to jump in, quite literally, with a fistful of tissues which lovingly made a bee line for Grandad’s mouth. Roman often followed up this touching deed with a beaming yet cheeky smile, casually helping himself to some of Grandad’s Pom Bear crisps. Raul responded with a grin; quid pro quo.

As a boy, a bit of ruff and tumble for a son and is father is often a coming of age pursuit and I recall the two of us wrestling around one time, resulting in one of my shoulders becoming dislocated. A visit to A and E was called for with Mum and Dad and whilst the doctor set about manipulating my arm, he casually asked me, ‘So, do you and dad play around like this often?’ ‘Yes, it happens all the time’ I said. These days, further investigation may have been warranted but back then common sense prevailed. However, mum assures me that Dad’s face was a picture at the time!

On a separate occasion, James broke his arm in three places whilst jumping off a shed roof as a dare from a good friend. Dad was at work at the time though and thus could not be implicated in any way.

Dad was diagnosed with MSA in 2012 yet in hindsight there were signs before this. It is an extremely debilitating and as yet terminal condition and whilst this was explained at the outset, it is not something that he nor we his loved ones, were truly prepared to acknowledge.

Hospital appointments in London were often followed by a tour as we drove by and he reminisced about happier times.

One special place we visited regularly was Thorndon Park. He sat with me on a bench, in the middle of the park eating a tuna sandwich and just enjoying the stillness. No words were needed. Here, he was able to detach from the reality of his physical constraints and for this time be absorbed by the beauty of his surroundings and reflect on things.

I recall one day he woke up in the afternoon from his bed at home and thought we were on holiday in Italy. ‘If only, Dad.’ I said. Vivid dreams seemed to carry over into consciousness and it was important to take a moment to acknowledge this but also take comfort in the niceness of it all.

The progressive nature of MSA means that the patient finds it increasingly difficult to perform the day-to-day tasks that we take for granted. We were very grateful to have some wonderful carers at different times during the last few years and the last few months. He was always so thoughtful to all those who cared for him - apologising for his state and insisting they have a drink or something to eat when he had his soup.

In the last 12 months or so, his riser recliner chair was where he enjoyed early afternoons, listening to the radio and placing his feet on the foot massager. He would inevitably doze off from time to time but whenever I looked at him, I saw a man with the child in his eyes. It choked me that we were slowly losing him but it wasn’t in his nature to dwell on such things.

He cared so much for those who he knew would be left behind. ‘Are you and Jamie ok for money?’ Yes dad, we are fine. ‘Will you look after mum when I’m gone?” Yes of course dad.

Dad was as determined as they come; he refused to give up and maintained an active and inquisitive mind for as long as he possibly could: Routine became extremely important to him and simple exercises, board games and quizzes featured too when he had the energy. I am reliably informed that he wasn’t averse to bending the rules for Dominoes in his favour.

On rare occasions he would discuss his condition with me but as I wheeled him one evening from the Lounge, through the kitchen, on the way to his bedroom he simply said, ‘What has become of me?’ Trying to respond positively and at the same time stay strong for him was extremely difficult. The best I could muster was a ‘Don’t be silly Dad, you are doing so well’ and a hug, before we continued through and commenced his regular night time routine.

When Mum and Dad sat in the front room early evenings, TV viewing regularly consisted of Emergency 999, Ambulance Rescue and last, but not least, GP’s Behind Closed Doors. Whilst I suggested a more light-hearted selection, he explained that he was waiting to see if any patient featured had MSA in the hope they may be cured.

Some things I’ve learned from my father were directly said by him and others simply by how he carried himself:

Take pleasure in the little things.

Life is too short to carry grudges.

Live a happy and productive life and in doing so, enrich the

lives of those around you.

I ask you all now to hold the hands of your loved ones, a little tighter.

Dad, In the resolute urgency of now, I stand just metres from your body but you seem so far way.

No doubt you made your mark on this world and I know that all your loved ones are ready and waiting to take care of you,

for eternity.

This is simply a transition.

You can never, ever leave without leaving a piece of youth.

Thank you and God bless Dad, stay close forever.