Though I gave this speech at Mark’s funeral, I felt it might help others who could not be present, by posting it here on Mark’s memorial. A few lines have been updated to reflect the passing time, and some other points were omitted at the time through indecision, but I have reinstated them for this posting, as I feel that they ought to be here, for Mark… * * * Like everyone who visits this page, I still find it almost impossible to believe that we have had to say goodbye to Mark, a much-loved son, brother, nephew, cousin and best friend. He seemed to live a charmed life – and yet, we are honouring his passing… It seems only fitting to me that he would rather be remembered with warmth than with sadness, so I wish to pay tribute to him appropriately, with lightness, with great affection, without mockery. This was Mark, as I felt I knew him. * When I first met Mark, he was a shy, quietly-spoken nineteen-year-old with a few exotic cycles, lots of radio-controlled cars and a fixation about fast real cars. Pontiac Transam, AC Cobra, Ferrari, Porsche – he wanted them all – and like most adults who have a time-jaded view of life, I simply thought, “Ok – dream on, lad”…but then, I didn’t know Mark at all. I didn’t see how ‘driven’ he was – and driven he certainly was, from the tender age of just two months, by his Mum, Chrissie, in no less than a Maclaren. A Maclaren pushchair, I grant you, but a Maclaren, nevertheless, setting a precedent for a lifetime to come... The Porsche followed some time later - in radio-controlled scale model form - in between Mark’s favourite self-taught hobby of turning wrecked, rusty old bikes into ever-faster racers and mountain bikes, acquiring Roberts and Claude Butler cycles and many others that only elitists have ever heard of. From his first toddler’s trike to the latest racing bike, he’s had them all…but his dream cars were always screeching around in his head, tantalising but eluding his grasp, not yet affordable. I could almost see those dreams projecting from his sometimes far-away eyes, so I wasn’t surprised when he jumped at the job I offered him, with its promise of a quantum leap in salary. He could obviously hear the thunder of loud exhausts, somewhere… That was the beginning of a time when I saw some of Mark’s best characteristics shine through. As well as filling his car savings piggy-bank and allowing him to learn some elementary engineering and welding skills, the job also put our developing relationship to the test in many ways – though it didn’t take long for me to discover his sense of humour. One of our earlier jobs was to fix some heavy steel plates to a saturated, filthy concrete floor, working on our knees. I took a last, big swing with a fourteen-pound sledgehammer at a large bolt, missed it – and hit the plate very hard indeed. A jet of the most obnoxious-smelling black fluid shot up from the next hole, squirting Mark from kneecaps to nose – and I froze. Anyone else but Mark would have thumped me – but not he. Mark merely sat back, pulled that silly grin of his, and twiddled his fingers on his head in perfect imitation of Stan Laurel. I laughed so hard and for so long, it really hurt – but what a moment for a long-lasting memory. He got his revenge in different ways - that same sense of humour saw him through many other working episodes as we spent nearly two years spraying each other with everything from grinding dust to welding sparks and every shade of slopped paint and dirt in between. Luckily for me, his sense of humour was inextricably entwined with another of his qualities – his incredible ability to forgive transgressions – which was occasionally a necessity as we stumbled from one working day to the next. My sense of humour, however, was sorely tested when I discovered another of his…shall we say “endearing”…traits; his now legendary navigation skills… We’d had a bit of a long day up at Hinckley, once, and it was his turn to drive us home down the M1, to join the M25 and home via the A12; simple enough, I thought – and being absolutely exhausted, I dropped into a deep sleep. I woke up to see the signs for Heathrow & M4 drift past, about twenty miles in the wrong direction. I wasn’t too amused, but after we’d U-turned a few miles later, Mark forgave my insults and couldn’t stop chuckling. I had to laugh eventually, but I did wonder where we would have ended up that night… Humour, clemency – and also, generosity. I don’t mean the generosity that Mark showed by sharing his “toys” with so many – though that was always apparent – but the kind of generosity that goes with clemency when his toys came back…em…a little bent – as his close friend Wing will no doubt cringe from but testify to, having taken Mark’s Honda Prelude for an unintentional flying lesson, three feet up into the side of a house. It was a true accident, though it must have upset Mark in some way – but even though he had only just finished rebuilding the car following another prang some months before, Mark said to me the next day, “So what? It’s only a piece of tin!” What can I say, but “Wow!”, when faced with such a charitable attitude? Humbling, indeed. Not long after that came a change in Mark’s fortune – a big dent in his bank balance, in exchange for an ear-to-ear grin that would have knocked the Cheshire cat out of contention. He appeared on our doorstep, bouncing about like Tigger on his springy tail, pointing at the road beyond. He’d finally got his first dream car – a “Knightrider” style Pontiac Transam – and would I like a ride in it? “Er – no,” I said ever so politely, with visions of Dukes Of Hazzard-style antics flitting through my mind. Those were his “Yeeharrr!” driving days, after all – and I preferred my blood pressure down where it was safe, thank you! I was immensely happy for him, though, having given him that income opportunity to begin achieving some of his dreams, and in a way I envied him, as I hadn’t had such chances when I was his age. He was very happy, and that was all that mattered. Sadly, that job dissolved under imminent redundancy. I had to find another job to support our mortgage and the like, and Mark returned to Cycle King on a part-time basis. That Transam, though, had opened another door for him, taking him into Malcolm Springham’s life, at MAG American – also part-time – where he found he could fulfil greater dreams, playing with ever-bigger, louder and faster toys, learning much from Malcolm along the way about car rebuilding and painting, going places he hadn’t been before – and still, occasionally, getting hopelessly and utterly lost, even after recruiting Maddy as co-driver… The phone rang late one night – inevitably, Mark. “Helloo!” He breathed. “Can you give me directions from Gatwick to Harlow?” I had to scratch my head at that one – I knew where Gatwick was on the map, but not how to exit there. I just had to ask… “Why are you there? Car hunting, again?” “No - we left Lakeside to go home, and took the wrong slip-road…” Yes, I think they probably did… I can only hope, though, that someone had the foresight to place a Sat-Nav with Mark as we laid him to rest – as much as I’d dearly love to hear his voice again, getting an ethereal phone call asking for directions to the ‘Pearly Gates’ just because I’ve ‘been there’ once already might just throw me a few palpitations… For all that I tease about Mark’s dire directional abilities, however, I’d still rather have him back behind the wheel right now, driving me mad with unplanned orbits of London; what’s a few extra laps of the M25 between friends, eh? His map-reading abilities might not have improved by meeting Maddy, but their romance steadily did; isn’t that what “No Through Roads” are for? At last, Mark had found his soul-mate, and they settled to work together to achieve much that a single person cannot always do alone. A flat, another car, a house, more cars, motorcycles, yet more flashier cars – and finally came the day when we saw Mark happiest of all, his wedding to Maddy. There were even more good times just around the corner for them, leading eventually to the superb new house in Thetford, and the continually-changing fleet of vehicles. Mark was truly happy and ever more generous as he matured, even to the point of finding his way over to our house a few days after my birthday last year to hand me the keys to his fire-engine red Lotus Esprit Turbo, saying “Go play!” After I’d unstuck my tongue from the road, we had a tremendous half-hour or so in what was my dream car, and though I know a few others also benefited from his benevolence with that car (and others) I still regard it as a very special treat, perhaps his repayment by favour for helping him achieve his dreams. Maybe. A pity, though, that his gift-giving generosity didn’t extend to leaving the Lotus’ registration document in my birthday card, but what the heck – I was deliriously happy for thirty scorching minutes. He smiled, said he was glad to see me so cheerful, and gave me a big, long hug. That was all that counted, then. * So there you have Mark, as I saw him - humorous, forgiving, generous and affectionate, an all-round good guy, and a loyal friend to all who knew him. Light-heartedness aside, I know I’m going to miss Mark dreadfully, and this is undoubtedly my hardest “Goodbye” yet. I have had no children of my own, but over the years I have come to regard both Mark and Ricky very highly and very closely indeed. Had I been graced with sons, I would have wanted nothing more than for them to grow and mature like Mark and Ricky. I look upon them as the boys I would have always wanted; that’s why I feel so much pain, sorrow and devastation at losing one. To find and to lose so soon, so abruptly, so tragically, so unnecessarily – that is the hardest part…but as helpless and as distressed as I am, I can feel only part of the pain and anguish that his parents Chrissie and John, and brother Ricky are suffering. I can only hope that they will be in some way partially comforted by the fact that Mark achieved so much more in his short life than many would in a full term, and brought so much joy and happiness to them and to so many people, giving great affection and loyalty in return, unconditionally; he was, is, and always will be an eternal credit to his parents. Chrissie, John, Ricky – long may you be so very, very proud of him; I know I am… I know that Maddy, too, is suffering the pains of loss, but she should try to be cheered and comforted by the knowledge that she gave him true happiness for a while, even though their time together was all too brief. To all of you, his friends and relatives, we will all remember Mark forever for a great many personal reasons, and I know we will all miss his warmth and presence. May his spirit live on in all our hearts. Thank you all for your patience… From My Heart, From His Stepfather.