I attended the funeral of my nearest blood relative (barring of course, my daughter) in New Zealand today. Bob Archer was my dad’s cousin and as I found out today, like me, he emigrated from the UK to be with his sweetheart. He received military honours at the service, with members of Bob’s local Returned and Services’ Association centre in attendance.

Robert Spencer Devoil Archer was born in 1921 in Eastbourne, England. During World War II, whilst training to become an RAF navigator in South Africa, he met Frances. Later, whilst serving back in Britain, Bob must have been an outstanding navigator, because he was assigned to Lord Mountbatten’s personal aircraft. Mountbatten was a VIP – closely related to the royal family, a daring Royal Navy commander and personal favourite of Churchill.

After the war, Bob returned to South Africa, married Frances, made his name in business, and raised a family, all of whom emigrated en masse to New Zealand in the nineties. Interestingly, Bob, his son, myself and many other Archer boys, and increasingly girls, share an unusual middle name – Devoil. It was the maiden name of my great-grandmother and all of us are frustratingly unaware of any greater significance.

Sadly, we only met once, when Bob and Frances attended our wedding two years ago. As my wife and I walked down the aisle, Bob jokingly growled his first words to me, ‘Smile, Devoil!’. I feel disappointed that I didn’t see him again, but for most of that time I have been an expectant or novice dad I suppose. He took ill suddenly on Christmas Eve and died at home, as was his wish, last Tuesday.

I heard the news via email yesterday morning and having not met the rest of his family at all, arrived at the church this morning with a little trepidation. I needn’t have worried, Frances made sure I had a warm welcome and said how delighted Bob would have been that an Archer ‘from home’ was there.

The service was at the Church of the Holy Trinity, a lovely restored timber church relocated amidst stunning views on the outskirts of Silverdale, and somewhere I was told Bob would certainly have approved of. He had a moving send-off, and at the end of the service, when they called out his serial number and played the last post there couldn’t have been a dry eye in the house. Afterwards, a lone WW2 warplane flew overhead.

The family were all very kind to me, inviting me for afternoon tea to get to know them all. I’d have liked to have known Bob better, but it’s of much consolation to think he had such special people in his life and a great deal to be proud of.