Having successfully completing multiple careers in the army, merchant navy, police force, fire department and boat captain, with a few side lines driving funeral cars and acting as security and a private investigator, Paul has now left for his next adventure.

Not content to sit still, unless he was actually just sitting still with his beloved Sandy-dog on his lap, Paul has built his last motorcycle, painted his last portrait, carved his last loon and wooden spoon, and proved his last loaf of bread, relieving Hasmah from clean up duty at last.

He may have strummed his banjo and rearranged his garden for the last time, but will never cease to make us laugh as his tall tales will be re-told for years to come.

Thankfully some of his stories have stayed with those who were lucky enough to have heard them from the horse's mouth and they are shared here for all to enjoy along with fond memories of good times past.

We hope that this celebration of Paul's life will bring joy to your heart and make you smile as it seemed to be Paul's core mission in life and will continue to be evermore.

Giddy up and Go!!!

It was Christmas 1968 or 69, I was on leave, the girl I was dating at the time had given me a bottle of rum for Christmas. Me and Paul got bored sitting around waiting for dinner and decided to go for a walk. So, dressed in combat jackets and jeans we were walking round the town, swigging the bottle of rum and talking.

All of a sudden this car screeches to a halt, out gets a vicar and invites us to a party at the vicarage (down St Ebbes).

We clicked later that he thought we were a couple of winos!!

Anyway, went to the party, had a great time playing draughts with a couple of Jamaican hookers. Eventually left to go home. Met by Dot (not happy).

"Suppose you want your dinner now?"

"No thanks mum, we've eaten".

Not a happy Dot!!!

By the way, Paul was a driver in Berlin and they called him "Giddy up and go". That was actually painted on his truck (very small letters).

No idea how he got that name but I remember making him a key fob with that on it.

On arriving in Canada

So I hope you got the photo of our first real snow storm. I knew when I emigrated that it snowed in April. That is when I first flew over to apply to several police forces. I thought it was quite magical, not too cold. Anyway, I was walking down the main shopping street in downtown Toronto and I noticed several people giving me strange looks. It was not until I looked in a plate glass window that I saw the reason. The snow had settled on my bare head and was sitting like a hat at least a block 4 inches high!

Cozy Keleher of the Fire Department

I had another experience somewhat similar when I was in the fire department.

I often was seconded to the district chief to be his assistant. Keeping records of where individual fire fighting crews were etc.

So we responded to a basement fire in a new house. It was quite bad and obviously very hot. The captain in charge of the fire sector came out to the command vehicle. I was sitting in the front with the district chief.

(Side note. The other guys would say yes every big fire you see Keleher run to the DC's van throwing off his air pack etc.! So he can be cozy).

Anyway, the fire sector captain is standing by the van. It is extremely cold but absolutely still air. He took off his helmet. Note: he was completely bald. The steam from his head rose up in an absolutely straight column. He was unaware but the DC and I looked at each other and didn't say a word. But we chuckled after.

I put on my best officer accent

At Soltau, I drove the liberty truck into town. I think Johnny V. and John F. came with me when we got into a fight with some German soldiers out of uniform. We ended up chasing them up the street and when the MP's came, I jumped over a wall and hid. The two Johns went to what they thought was a hotel and when they couldn't get in, they smashed the glass in the door. I saw them go in and realized it was a police station.

Don't ask me why, but I went up and saw them sitting with a copper taking notes and I put on my best officer accent and took them into my custody. Thankfully they had caught on. The copper had me sign for them and we hot footed it back to the barracks where the truck was.

Later after enquires had started, it turned out that one of us had lost a beret, so they knew which regiment we were in.

When the charges were read out, I was miffed as I had been trying to grow a moustache and it wasn't mentioned in the description of me.

I did a good job of defending us though and we only had to pay for the window.

The defence lawyer

At police college in Canada, we had mock courts and I always took the part of the defence lawyer as no one else in the class of 150 would. It was for the whole of Ontario and as no one had any former police experience I was able to do a good job of tearing them to pieces.

A couple of guys said Paul go easy on us, everyone is frightened of you.

The only reason I knew what to do was I had been on the end of some hard assed lawyers, (solicitors) in the UK.

The strangest birthday

I left at school at 15 with no GCE's and I got a job as an office boy in the Education board. One day the truant officer came in and said:

"I know you. I chased you for playing truant."

He never caught me but it was a shock!

At sixteen I joined the police cadets. I enjoyed that; office work was not for me. Three of us cadets then joined the Army for three years. One was a Military Policeman, one joined the Guards, (in fact he carried Churchill's coffin). I went into the Green Jackets, an infantry regiment, mainly because they were stationed in Malaya and Borneo.

I enjoyed the Army, food was good and after training I found it pretty easy.

I joined December 1963 and on my 19th birthday we were doing jungle training. For my birthday we threw a grenade into the river and used the dead fish for a curry. Probably my strangest birthday.

That night I felt an animal crawl over my legs. It was pitch black with just the usual jungle noises. I laid absolutely still frightened to death. It felt like a large domestic cat ( not a tiger).

Not on Google Earth

I joined (the army) in December 1963. Was in Malaya for my 19th doing jungle training, then Borneo in 1964. Was stationed Long Jawi, you probably will not find it on Google earth, then Bau.

I used to lay in ambush at night in jungle, and one night I remember something walking over me, a memory I will never forget. It felt furry quite heavy, say weight of Sandy.

Went to Berlin in 65 and left in December 66.

I was first in 10 platoon, Ist Battalion, Royal Green Jackets, the old Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry.

Whilst in Berlin I guarded the Russians guarding their unknown soldier just outside the Reichstag. It was still a burnt out shell. The Brandenburg gate was maybe 400 yds away. We were stationed in MontgomeryBarracksand an old Nazi camp, now a medic unit of German army stationed there.

A lone bugler would sound the last post every night a 9pm.

I always liked to hear it.

I have long planned to raise a glass to Paul tomorrow. I will have a few scotches and think about his incredible life. Elevated to "man of the family" at a young age, he coped. As he did as a Police Cadet, Infantry soldier, Merchant seaman, British cop, Canadian cop, Canadian mounted cop, firefighter, Fire captain and sea captain.

I will sit and remember all of our times, from him taking me for my first beer in the Cricketers to me taking him to catch the boat to Canada, where we had far too many farewell drinks. OK for Paul, he wandered onto the ship and went too bed, I suddenly realised I had to drive back to Oxford!

I will never forget our time in Berlin together, me as a sailor, Paul , soldier.

Surprised we never caused an International incident with our antics by the wall!

Paul may have passed, but he will always be alongside me, as he was in October 1969 and has been ever since.

Paul and I would meet on the North Rustico Beach in the morning with our dogs Sandy and Nelson. The dogs would greet each other, then run off down the beach exploring the sights and smells. Paul and I would walk along taking in the sights, smells and comforting sound of the waves rolling in. We would discuss world events , local issues and memories of days gone by. It isn't the same now.

The second Christmas that Hasmah and Paul were on P.E.I. I invited them for Christmas dinner. Unfortunately, the electricity went out; but, fortunately, my turkey was cooked. Paul held the flashlight while my brother Lawrence cut the turkey. The turkey dinner turned out very well and, to this day, my family still chuckles each time this story is told.

When Paul and Hasmah visited us in Liverpool around 5 years ago my wife Linda made us all a lovely fish and chip supper. Linda's eyesight is a little poor and when she put on a plate the tartare sauce she had not checked the label on the jar correctly and placed the renowned red hot English horseradish on the plate instead. Paul smothered his fish with the (what he thought was tartare sauce but was horseradish) he took a bite of a large piece of fish, his face went red and he screamed. We then heard every swearword you could imagine and then we all laughed so hard.

Such a fond and funny memory xx

Paul was a good friend, a decent human being and truly a renaissance man. I met Paul on the squash court, became good friends with him and Hasmah. We will miss his many stories, related to work, part time jobs and hobbies

When working as a cop in Oxford he gave a ticket to Cliff Richard, who was yet to find fame and regretted not keeping a copy.

He drove a hearse on off days and while driving he would listen to the music at full volume!

He was the Captain of the famous Maid of Mist at Niagra Falls.

He explained to me the difference between the two British artists named Turner.

Above all we will miss his British sense of humour as we raise a glass and remember the good times.

Paul had an amazing life, the most interesting person I have ever met. At a very young age, as a member of the British Army Green Jackets, serving in active service with postings in Malaya and Borneo, with a later posting in Berlin, he had an amazing repertoire of stories. He came home and landed a job as a bobby in hometown Oxford, was a police recovery diver, and set his sights on a better life, applying to police forces in places like Australia and Canada. Toronto became his new home, along with marrying his hometown hairdresser as his beloved wife, he landed a spot with Metro Police, stints with the marine unit and mounted police and the oldest recruit, started in 1982 with Mississauga Fire. Back then, they randomly picked out, unwillingly, recruits to become fire prevention inspectors. His gift for the gab landed him an additional role as the first, unofficial, public educator, delivering informative talks to the public and school aged children. It was a role I was to assume for a brief time, but cemented our friendship as he passed the baton, and at a relatively ripe age, Paul transferred to fire suppression, retiring with the rank of Captain.

Paul had a lifetime of pursuing life to the fullest, along with Hasmah. They worked and played hard. Paul was an artist, wonderful paintings, sculptures (was forced to open his eyes in class to spend time with nude, female, models, in order to perfect his sculpture techniques!). Anything he did was with passion. He beautifully restored a large sailboat, competitively raced in Lake Ontario, put-putted throughout Toronto Islands.

I would have to rely on Hasmah and his daughter Nina to fill in the blanks as to the number of part time jobs he had. From hot tub, frequent beverage conversations, I recall he was the TD bank secret customer, doling out rewards to bank tellers who plugged Visa, a part time limo driver, who gave a grand tour to the only family member who showed up at a prepaid funeral service, a homeless person, who got a grand tour of Toronto, and a respite from the streets.

He drove a ducks tour boat.

He worked and studied hard to become a Captain on Toronto Harbour Tour boats. Along the way, working his way up the ranks, the minister never showed up for a boatload of guests for an older couple renewing their vows. The Captain told Paul to handle it. He furiously scripted the service, and no one was the wiser. He grew a beard (Captain High Liner like) to fit into the role in the future.

He ferried people back and forth from the docks to a prestigious yacht club on the islands.

One particular passenger, who exhibited disdain for lower class passengers, and who was wanting a fellow Captain dismissed for a perceived slight, was aptly nicknamed "Cargo" by Paul.

Most referred to him as Mr. Rogers.

Paul delighted his crewmates, when even within earshot, he referred to 'Cargo', Poor, rich, Ted never caught onto the giggles.

The stories are endless, but his naval career culminated with Paul working the last season as a Captain on the Maid of the Mist, on the Canadian side of the falls. A chance drive through P.E.I., the purchase of a home, fantastic new neighbours, an older dog Sandy, a whole new set of adventures, an incredible back yard garden and stories I will never have the pleasure of hearing, a local playwright was going to write a recurring role for him after his brief (I am sure scene stealing) role as a 'distinguished English gentleman', a role he said took a lot of acting to perfect!

10 pm one winter's night Paul and I were detailed to keep observations in the Fish Market where, it was believed, boxes of fish destined for retail were being stolen on a regular basis. It was cold and it was smelly as we sat there waiting for a would be thief to break in. There were no signs of any pedestrians let alone villains in Maket Street, so we sat there all night discussing Paul's latest ambition, his proposed emigration to Canada. As the dawn broke there was still no sign of life and we decided to call it a day and after a debrief with Inspetor Cameron we took our selves home, exremely tired and extremely to our long suffering wives, both smelling strongly of dead fish. I met up with Paul and wife Hasmah some years later when I visited Canada we all had a laugh about our 'fishing trip' in Market Street, neither of us could shake off the unforgettable smell! Well done Paul, I frequuently walk around my East Oxford roots and even now half expect to see you walking along Bullingdon Road, Paul you are missed by many. Kind Regards to Paul's brother Pete, wife Hasmah and Family, and to all who knew Paul. Dave Coates