Yesterday was a special celebration of a good mans life! John Coull’s funeral service was a great tribute to John.
Family and friends came from far and wide and there was a guard of honour when John arrived. It was unique as John had wanted a Guard of Honour for the hearse with the troops with ice axes. This was so powerful to be part of all those characters young and old paying their respects in an unique way to a giant in our Mountain Rescue Family.
The Church was packed and the Eulogies were great, well done all. John had asked for bright clothes , tartan and folk to be happy despite the sad loss. The minister was excellent and got the mood of the Service perfect . There was so much love and care in the church he. even said he wished he had a photo of us all dressed in bright colours and tartan. John’s brother ended the eulogies with some magic stories of his big brother and added to Alister Haveron and Bill Skelson it was a fitting epitaph for a life well lived.
It all went well there were tears and laughs and I left them all for the wake in Elgin just as the SAR helicopter flew over! What a magic ending.
This was a poignant farewell for all thanks to the John’s son and the family and friends for making it a wonderful and fitting tribute and send off!
Thanks to all who came from all over UK and to those who sent their love and thoughts from near and far thank you all.
making it a special day for the family – a special celebration of a good life!
Look after those you love and care for there is much love still in the World.
This poem sums John’s life up!
Sea Fever – John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.