As given by Peter Bray, son-in-law, at Henry’s funeral at the Church of St. Martin, Withcall, on 19 September 2023.
It is my honour and privilege on this sad day to say a few words about an incredible man. However, before I make a start I would like to say thanks, on behalf of my mother-in-law, Pat, and all the family for the lovely cards and messages that people have sent. They have meant so much to us all at this difficult time. The turn-out today is just overwhelming and again thank you all so much.
Stanley Henry Smith was born on 31 December 1932 in a Staffordshire village, the son of Alfred and Gladys Smith. He had two siblings: Dick, his older brother, and Alan, his younger brother.
The family moved to Stonnall, another village in Staffordshire, taking on a small farm and perhaps the family’s first venture into the world of agriculture. It was there that Henry and his brothers spent their early years.
On 23 March 1946, the family climbed on the train at Shenstone Station with all their possessions and set off on what was to become their journey of a lifetime. Henry, then aged 14, arrived with his parents and brothers at a railway station called Withcall. It must have been some spectacle off-loading all the family’s possessions on to the Withcall station platform. They walked down the station hill to their new home at Withcall House just a few hundred yards from where we all are now.
So the Smiths had arrived and A.W. Smith and Sons (farmers) was established. And the farm grew but not without hard work and graft, as they took on more land in Lincolnshire and Ireland.
In May 1954, Alan sadly died in Ireland, in a tragic accident on a tractor. I know he was missed by all the family and it was a terrible loss to Henry. He spoke only recently about how he missed his brother.
In November 1954, Henry was given the job of going into the photographer’s shop in Louth for film for his camera. Well, at least that’s the excuse he used; my understanding is he revisited the shop a number of occasions due to the young girl who worked there, a girl called Patricia Wain.
Henry, plucking up courage and having bought far too many films, asked Patricia for a night out to the local cinema. She agreed and, ever the gentleman, Henry walked her home only to be met by George, Patricia’s father, on the doorstep. The Henry Smith charm was clearly needed – and fast. But he was at his charming best and played a blinder. So he was not only allowed in but sat down with George talking all night. Henry and Pat’s relationship blossomed, and they married on 27 July 1957.
A honeymoon in Scotland, towing the caravan, was enjoyed by both. The drive up was not without incident and it took hours before they both realised that the smell wasn’t anything in the fields but the kippers some kind soul had put on the engine. It was a short honeymoon as it was nearing harvest and no doubt Henry had to make his way back to Withcall, off with the suit and on with the overalls. It’s fair to say Henry was more at home in his boiler suit and wellies.
Not only did the farm grow from strength to strength but so did the family: Diane was born in 1958 followed by Andrew and Karen. The family continued living at Withcall House until 1966. when they moved into their current home, Station House now known as High Wold. The family were joined by the birth of Nik and Martyn and the Smith family was complete.
Henry loved his family dearly and, as a devoted father, he was always there with advice, support and a shoulder to cry on when needed. He was their rock. The girls and lads got married and the family welcomed myself, Charles, Dawn Sarah and Nichola into the Smith fold.
Henry has been blessed with ten grandchildren – Nathan, Charlotte and Jordan, Livvy, William and Hannah, Jess, Connie, Annie and Henry. And seven great grandchildren – Patrick, Harry, Dougie, Niall, Bear, Logan and Ruby.
Henry loved and was proud of you all and they in return idolised him. He is and always will be their hero in so many ways. He will be missed by one and all alike.
The family have so many great memories of dad from holidays in Cornwall and France and more recently in Yorkshire with Nik, Sarah, Jess and Connie. I recall one holiday in France many years ago when the lads were young. We all stayed in a gîte and Henry and I were despatched to get some milk. Neither of us spoke a word of French and went to meet the farmer who owned the gîte. We spoke to the French farmer with the help of his son and the international farming language came through when the farmer asked dad how many hectares he farmed and how many cows he had. With no further ado we were in the farmhouse drinking far too much home-brewed cider. We later tried to explain to mother-in-law and Diane that we had been kidnapped and plied with drink by a French farmer and it was not totally our fault that we kept giggling, couldn’t walk straight and had forgotten the milk. But as luck would have it we did have a spare bottle of cider.
I think without doubt, besides walking Diane and Karen down the aisle in this church on their wedding days, the proudest moments in Henry’s life was when, in December 1997, he received the MBE for services to the community, agriculture and conservation. An honour richly deserved. Mum, Diane and Karen were with him at Buckingham Palace when the late Queen presented him with his medal. The look on his face when her majesty spoke to him was fantastic!
Father in law will be remembered by many for so many things: for his contribution to agriculture, to wildlife, to the countryside and to the local community but perhaps most of all for being such a gentleman. In the many cards (well over 100) that the family have received there have been wonderful comments such as ‘Henry had a joy for life’, he was ‘a tremendous farmer ahead of his time with conservation and doing the right thing’, ‘he had a sparkle in his eye and a cracking sense of humour’ and so on.
I was at this stage going to tell you one of his favourite Jethro jokes but have thought better of it.
He could and would speak to anybody and everybody in exactly the same way. He was a fantastic communicator; he would listen, consider and then give his view and we would often listen and think: ‘Blow me, I wish I’d thought of that.’ He knew things about pretty much everything past, present and future. I – and I’m sure we all – loved talking and listening to him.
Pat and Henry were invited and attended a garden party at Buckingham Palace and Henry got chatting to Prince Philip. They spoke for quite a while and what a conversation that would have been. I have no doubt they both enjoyed it and Prince Philip would have been the wiser for it.
That is just one of the many attributes Henry had: it mattered not from what walk of life you came he would treat everyone the same, with respect and love. He was most certainly a ‘people person’.
The grandchildren and great grandchildren all remember the rides they had in his red truck through the fields of stubble and down the old railway line. As they reached the driving age of six he would let them drive a bit. His red truck would be the highlight of the day in harvest for all the lads working in the fields; it meant Henry was coming with the flasks of tea and cake. Generally, Kev would be first into the cake box.
Henry had a sign in his office which read: ‘Rules are for the guidance of wise men and the obedience of fools.’ Health and safety were, perhaps, not on top of his list of priorities. That’s maybe why he had a missing finger which was trapped while he, aged just seven, was bagging oats. And I remember when he got Nathan, then aged nine or ten, to sit on the Manito whist Henry stood in the bucket. Nathan was told: ‘When I move my right arm pull the right leaver and when I move my left arm the left leaver.’ So one was to lift the bucket up, the other to bring it down. At the time they were over the pit and a light bulb had blown some 20 ft above them. They did it but Nathan was told by his grandad that under no circumstances should he tell his Nanny. Nathan didn’t say anything to his Nanny for at least half an hour. Thankfully they both survived her wrath.
That’s also probably why he had a cut-off seat belt catch to put in the holder to stop the truck making that bleeping noise and that meant he didn’t need to wear his seatbelt.
Martyn, I’m saying nothing other than: ‘Like father like son!’
Henry was a passionate person and when he had an idea in his head would go to great lengths to find more out about it. For instance, he researched in depth the loss of two pilots after a plane crashed in the field near the old railway line which as young men he and Arnold Brumpton spoke about. Henry, with no further ado, got his computer out, contacted several associations and discovered the detail of the Mosquito plane crash, on 18 September 1944 and the tragic loss of two Polish airmen. He didn’t stop there, however. He built a monument in memory of the airmen and arranged an annual church service in their memory.
I know the Polish association have been in regular contact with Henry and he attended a number of their meetings being presented with a citation for his work. The association has been in contact and wrote: ‘We were honoured to meet Henry and his lovely family at the memorial unveiling and on occasions afterwards. Our thoughts are with his family and friends at this time.’
Henry had a full life not just with family and friends but also with his love of nature, of the countryside and of people. He was warden at this church for more than 60 years and a member of so many organisations such as the U3A, the Ants and Nats, the Farwelters, the Vintage Tractor Club and the Allis-Chalmers Club.
Henry never got old. He didn’t have the time for that. He was too busy researching or building things for school like the recent Viking boat for Connie’s project or carving a cross for his great grandchildren’s christenings or having chats with his good friend Jeff and nephew John about farming in the past, the present and in the future.
He loved his farm museum and enjoyed so much showing people around. I would often walk with him when he showed individuals or groups around his farm and the obvious pleasure he got out of it was plain to see.
He had a love of all animals large and small. He put up many owl boxes and built an aviary where he kept injured owls. It was, however, unwise to look into his freezer as it was usually full of frozen day-old chicks.
He planted hundreds of trees and miles of hedgerows.
Henry with all his love of the farm spent hours and hours in his drier. All the family remember during harvest, at all hours throughout the night, when the drier alarm would go off, Henry in his pyjamas would go down stairs with the occasional “bugger” as he set off to see what was needed. It was his one and only swear word and was seldom used.
It would be wrong of me not to mention his love of the choir and the true friendship of the group. He loved it and he would be so pleased with you all being here today. I think he knew he was no Daniel O’Donnell, but he really enjoyed it and it was work in progress.
Sadly, Henry’s health over these last couple of months deteriorated; his mobility was greatly reduced but his mind was still as sharp as a button. We all would like to thank the doctors and nurses in the high dependency unit at Grimsby Hospital for all the aftercare he received when he came home. He spent his last days close to the people he loved dearly and that was a blessing to him and us.
The way the family pulled together in such a difficult period in their lives is a tribute to the training in life’s values that Henry bestowed upon us all.
The word ‘legend’ is, in my view, used too freely nowadays. But Henry Smith MBE: you are, indeed, a Legend. We all have different beliefs and depths of belief. However, I have a strong feeling that Henry has now met up with his good friend Joe Wallace. Joe will have said: ‘Now mate, sit down here and let’s have a whisky. Now what’s been going on at the farm? Have you had a good harvest?’
Henry Smith – husband, father, father-in-law, grandad, great grandad and friend: rest in peace. You will be so sadly missed.
