A few people have asked for a copy of the tribute I wrote for Allister’s funeral, and I’ve decided to share it here in full. I know I’ll want to return to these words in time, and I hope they bring comfort or connection to others who knew and loved him too.
On the day, it was read with warmth, strength, and grace by our good friend Nat. I will always be grateful for that.
These are words I never imagined having to write. Allister has been taken from us far too soon – unexpectedly, suddenly, and in tragic circumstances. Yet here we are, gathered in this church to celebrate the most wonderful man. As someone who hated being the centre of attention, I can just imagine him shifting uncomfortably, quietly willing the formalities to be over. But taking this opportunity to honour Allister is something we cannot overlook.
So here goes…
I met Allister when I was 17 years old, on the day I moved to Boston, Lincolnshire, with my parents. Salvation Army moves were always on Thursdays, which meant band practice night. Naturally, the family went down to see what the church was like. It wasn’t quite love at first sight, but it didn’t take long for our friendship to grow into something truly special. We married in 2002; we were just kids, really. But our love was deep and enduring – we had a steadfast companionship that carried us through the years.
Both of us were introverts to the core. In each other, we found a safe space to be wholly ourselves. He was my person, and I was his. Together, we built a home that balanced adventure with comfort. It was a place where he could tinker with technology, lose himself in a good book, bake cakes, watch TV, and immerse himself in music. Though we loved the thrill of being away, we cherished being at home even more.
To most, Allister was quiet and understated. But beneath his reserved nature was a brilliant, inquisitive mind, one that saw patterns where others saw chaos, that unravelled problems with logic, and could explain these things in ways that helped other people understand them. And you know there was a spreadsheet for everything! He had a wry, understated humour, and if you were fortunate enough to see him truly silly, you knew you were someone he felt completely at ease with.
While he often described work as a ‘necessary evil’, and we all knew he lived for his time off, he approached it with diligence and integrity. He thrived in projects, whether leading from the front or quietly contributing as a team member, always giving it his all, especially when there was a complex problem to solve. From conversations with his colleagues, it’s clear there’s now a rather large Allister-shaped hole that won’t be easily filled. But true to form, it’s the quirks we remember most – rubbing shoulders with the Red Arrows, questioning politicians, lunchtime motorcycle rides with colleagues, and the all-important and fiercely debated mince pie and biscuit rankings.
Of course, the memories that shine brightest for me are those shaped by travel. This was our shared joy – we loved exploring new places, eating new foods, getting away. We were especially keen on road trips. Together, we covered thousands upon thousands of miles, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with friends. A spark ignited in us after an EagleRider motorcycle tour Allister’s dad encouraged us to book, and from there, we never looked back.
What started as a simple experiment – a two-week ride to Italy and back – turned into a defining way of life in many ways. We rode our bikes through Ireland, a lot of Europe including Germany and Austria, Spain and Portugal more than once, around and across Iceland, and even to the edge of the Sahara Desert in Morocco. We explored every corner of Great Britain, including a journey to visit its four compass points in memory of Allister’s dad, Graham. Then there was the big trip – ten weeks riding through North America, exploring the west coast of Canada and the US. We climbed mountains, traced the edges of glaciers, and ventured deep into the wilderness. We fell in love with massive trees, got caught in a sandstorm in Death Valley, ate an impossible amount of apple pie, and stopped at least three times to watch bears from the roadside. It was an adventure that shaped both of us, an experience we would hold onto forever.
We had big plans for more. Right now, we should have been riding through Romania and Poland, discovering new landscapes. We had also begun planning our next really big journey – sending the bikes to New Zealand for a bucket-list road trip on the other side of the world. There was even serious talk of an epic overlanding journey from Norway’s Nordkapp to South Cape in South Africa, although probably not on bikes for that one, as we saw some kind of rugged truck with rooftop tent in our future.
It’s heartbreaking to think that Allister will never get to make those journeys. But the adventures we did share over the last 25 years will never leave me.
You will all have your own memories of Allister; moments of laughter, quiet wisdom, unwavering support. Some of you travelled with us, some of you worked alongside him, some of you witnessed his playful streak. Others will remember him as a Scout Leader, as a Blood Biker, as the man behind the AV system. And others still will miss his somewhat legendary brownies, his knack for fixing computers and other things with cables, or the reassurance of his advice and guidance.
Saying he was well-loved doesn’t come close. Please, stay afterwards to eat cake and share your stories, as I would love to hear them. And there really did have to be cake.
As you entered, you likely noticed the Blood Bike outside. Today, I am supporting Severn Freewheelers in Allister’s name. He was a founding member of Lincolnshire Blood Bikes when it launched in 2012, and later joined Severn Freewheelers after we moved here. If one of the ways we can honour him is by helping to sustain this volunteer service, I know he would wholeheartedly approve.
The outpouring of love and support for me and Allister’s family has been overwhelming. I want to say thank you for the hundreds (literally hundreds) of messages I have received over the last month. Nothing anyone says can change what has happened or make it right. But there is comfort in your kindness, and I feel loved.
Allister was a man of quiet strength, deep kindness, and unwavering curiosity – a devoted husband, a loyal friend, and an adventurer at heart. As Spock once said (yes, I’m ending with a Star Trek quote, bear with me): “Loss of life is to be mourned, but only if the life was wasted.” Allister’s life was anything but wasted – his presence shaped the lives of so many, and though his journey has been cut far too short, the memories, laughter, and love he shared with us will remain. I pray that as our lives have no choice but to continue on without him physically by our side, we will cherish our memories and carry Allister’s spirit in all that we do.
Allister, my person, I love you.
