Many of you know my husband as Marshy, he is, actually, called Andrew. To his Dad he was always ‘Sunshine.’ At first glance an odd choice of nickname for a muscular Woking roofer with a W-ockney accent. It says more about Pops than it does Marshy.

My wonderful Father-in-Law, who lost his battle with a short brutal illness after a long brutal year, was that kind of Dad. One that genuinely saw his children to be the light at the centre of his universe. It was a privilege to witness a gentle man have such delight in his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Paternal in the very best sense of the word. The kind of man whose birthday cards were always in the post with a bank note as crisp and sharp as his neatly lined vegetable plot.

As I write this on the anniversary of the first lockdown, I can’t help but be ferociously rageful that we were robbed of his last year. That family time has been reduced to a safe distance of driveway exchanges, exclusive bubbles and essential shopping.

To be able to witness the Father & Son relationship of Pops and Sunshine was my honour. To have raised a son to be as wonderful as my husband takes a very special kind of Dad. Gentleness, respect and love freely given and received. Both wear their hearts on sleeves, their souls sentimental, their kindness unending.

I will be forever grateful for the quiet acts of generosity, the tea towels and the tomatoes. I will be forever grateful that his Sunshine is now mine.

Emma x