The eulogy to our dear friend Norman Lewis

There was a wonderful eulogy from Noel Rees to our good friend Norman Lewis at the funeral service held at Llanelli Crematorium yesterday.
Here is an edited version of Noel's speech -
Jill, Jeremy, Thelma, family and friends . . .
Today, I feel very privileged to be asked, but I feel somewhat inadequate, to pen this tribute to Norman, a man who spent his whole professional working life crafting his own individual and wonderful way with words.

Not, how did he die, but how did he live?
Not what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.

Not what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But had he befriended those really in need?
Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?

Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away?

Before every Phoenix Theatre curtain-up, Norman would ask me from his elder statesman’s traditional place in the dressing-room in that playfully quiet but inquisitive way of his, “Noel, and what’s the House like, tonight?”
Well this morning, friends, your attendance is a wonderful and respectful testimony to that “House Full” response which Norman always loved to hear.
To be asked to give an eulogy can be regarded as a double-edged sword.
In the first place, it is a joy and an honour to speak about Norman; but in the second place, I may find myself entering a minefield where so many people, involved in a myriad of different aspects of his life, all feel that they have their own personal and particular ownership of him.
So that is why I am paying my respects to Norman today not only as a wonderfully devoted and dearly-loved husband of Jill for almost 50 years, as an adoring, proud and wise father of Jeremy, as a dear and caring baby brother of Thelma, as a dutiful and thoughtful son, son-in-law, brother-in-law and uncle but also as a highly-respected and much-loved friend, colleague, neighbour, member of the community, and true gentleman to so many of us gathered here today.
When I think of Norman, his character, his qualities and his talents, he shines out like a true diamond. And, as a diamond has so many facets, so Norman, too, had so many facets to his 75 years.
As the saying goes, “Ask a busy person and you’ll get something done”.
Well that was certainly true of Norman — he was always generous of his time and of his talents and of his concern to all people at all times. Whenever, or wherever, help was needed, he would always be there to support, to advise and often to comfort. You see, he possessed that rare gift: Norman’s presence was able to raise the spirits of others, often when it was needed most. And as I said earlier, my thoughts and memories of him shine out like the clear and precious light of a diamond, as I am sure do so many of your thoughts and memories of him.
But a diamond has to remain intrinsically hard and clear-cut in order to retain that clarity and beauty.
And therein is the essential difference between a diamond and Norman.
Yes, the light shone brightly and generously throughout his life but not for Norman the piercing coldness of the diamond’s heart. His beauty of spirit lay in his tremendously warm love, generosity, support and concern for all those with whom he came into contact. He had such wonderful strength of character and whose compassion for all, gave him such a kind, soft, caring and warm heart.
For Norman loved life: Not only sport, especially rugby and boxing, but also world politics, current affairs, literature, music, opera, male voice choirs and especially the theatre — a passion for which, throughout his life, he was to show his consummate acting skills: be it through the nonsense of Ray Cooney, the philosophy of Thornton Wilder, the stagecraft of Terrence Rattigan, the poetic language of Dylan Thomas, or the fine drama of Robert Bolt.
Norman really was a man for all seasons.
He honed his acting skills with the New Players in Burry Port; the Festival Players and finally, for the longest period, with our Phoenix Theatre Group.
And last year he created a unique record with us when he completed 30 years’ dedicated service by acting in more than 60 productions.
And then there were his other community passions: his chief Editorship of the Talking Newspaper for the Blind; the Cefn Sidan Rotary Club; a founder-member of Burry Port Probus Club; his Presidency of Burry Port Rugby Club; his enjoyable recreational skills on the Golf Course; his legendary talents as a Quiz Master and question-setter; and his enthusiastic enjoyment of family travel.
And note how many of his interests were for the benefit of others.
Norman possessed that wonderful ability to make strangers feel immediately welcome and part of his own busy life: whether it was from his schooldays at Llanelli Boys’ Grammar School; from his rugby-playing youth ; from his work-place; or from his social life, Norman was always the genuine, welcoming, outgoing, gregarious, dependable and loyal gentleman whom we all loved, respected and whose life we celebrate today.
But despite his love of life and friends, there was nothing more important to Norman than his wife Jill, his son Jeremy, his family and, may I add, his beloved Burry Port.
Born in Colby Road, to a Welsh-speaking family, Norman was a true son of Burry Port; proud, caring and passionate about the community which he served so well and which he never left.
Having said that, I have to confess that I suspect that he may have been a secretly-adopted son of Swansea; for it was there that he spent so many happy professional years as a journalist and Deputy Sports’ Editor of The South Wales Evening Post.
Norman trained to be a journalist at the weekly Llanelli Star straight from school in the 1950s. Then, having completed his National Service in the Air Force, he returned to the Star in 1960.
Some years later, he moved on to join the editorial team at the daily South Wales Evening Post in Swansea, where his ability to craft his words to very tight daily deadlines became legendary.
Norman achieved his well-earned reputation as a highly-respected and talented journalist of integrity and understanding of the old school; he was widely-admired for nurturing and mentoring trainee journalists; his sports’ broadcasts in both languages for the BBC are well-remembered; and eventually Norman returned to the Llanelli Star and its sister paper The Carmarthen Journal as their General Manager.
You see, Norman, was not just a journalist; he was a thoroughbred newspaperman.
He loved newspapers. He was an avid reader of them and devoured enthusiastically their various styles, visual layouts and editorial viewpoints.
Never was a man more happy in his working life.
To Norman, work was no burden. As he often claimed, “The work’s its own reward.”
We all knew his zest for life, his sense of fun, his fairness and his good, principled, decent living.
Yet, Norman was, at heart, a very private person. And in his private life, Norman was the source of power for Jill, Jeremy and the family: from his love and wisdom, he kept them protected, warm and safe. They learnt so much from him; they admired him so much; and they loved him so much.
There are so many wonderful memories they have shared as a family together during the past few days and, although spoken through tears, I know they have been tears of joy. And Norman’s unconditional love and care for his wife, son and family have been wonderfully repaid by their total caring devotion to him in return, especially during these last difficult months.
In the play Shadowlands, Norman memorably played the role of the poet C.S.Lewis. Having lost his wife, C.S. Lewis affirmed what he believed love was really about.
Love, claimed C.S.Lewis, was putting your heart on the line, even if at the cost of deep, personal pain.
“Why love, if losing hurts so much?” Lewis asks.
And he then answers his own question: “The pain now is part of the happiness then. That’s the deal.”
So Jill, Jeremy, Thelma, family and friends, Jeremy has asked me to conclude with some lines from Shakespeare’s The Tempest:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve.
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

We come here today to say Goodbye. And as we say Goodbye to Norman, we remember what Goodbye really means: It means “God be with you”.
Norman Howell Lewis:
God be with you
Rest in Peace
and Rise in Glory