Eulogy for Harold William Benting

Date: 1935 to 2022
Location: Shropshire, England, United Kingdom
Surname/tag: BENTING

I was honoured to do be able to do the eulogy at my Uncle Harold's funeral, a celebration of the amazing life of a man who was truly inspirational, the text of which i've added below. Yvonne Benting, 2022

Hello and first of all I want to thank you all very much for joining us here today to celebrate the life of my Uncle Harold

My uncle Harold was born Harold William Benting in November 1935 in Acocks Green, Birmingham, the fourth child of Alfred Benting and Gladys Pollard. 1939 was a tough year for the family with the loss of Harold’s sister Barbara, brother John and his father Alf. Once World War II had started Harold returned to Shropshire, along with his mum and brothers, to live with his grandparents (Alfred and Mary) in Charlton, eventually getting their own place at Overley. Harold attended Wrockwardine School and afterwards Wellington Secondary Modern.

Always interested in horses he worked with racehorses as a groom and later followed his older brother George into the Royal Navy for his National Service and afterwards had a spell in the Household Cavalry where he was able to learn his trade as a blacksmith. He told the tale of having to shoe the Queen’s horse while she stood and watched – no pressure there then 😊

Working with racehorses, early 1950s.

In the 1970s Harold worked in Stafford shoeing the police horses and then spent some time as the Blacksmith at Uppington. A talented metal worker his work at Meadowhall Shopping Centre, Sheffield, will remain a lasting legacy. Harold was always learning and was an accomplished guitarist playing both classical and flamenco and loved learning languages, we always had a chat in Spanish when we met.

On duty at Horseguard's Parade.

After the death of his mum in 1993 Harold became more of a nomad, and spent a short time living in a tent, then to a static caravan on a farm while he built himself the most amazing wooden caravan from scratch which he then spent nearly twenty years living in, no mains water or electric, cooking on an open fire, sitting in a chair made from wood he’d collected nearby, dropping crumbs for the birds and being totally delighted when they would sit on his boot or eat from his hand.

It was while living in the caravan that Harold had some of his best adventures. He woke up one cold morning, his beard frozen to his pillow and decided he needed some winter warmth and sunshine, two days later he was flying out to Australia and returned there for several winters to volunteer on organic farms, making friends of all ages and from all over the world.

He would pop in to see my daughter, Sara, who was a travel agent and ask “where can I go that’s cheap?” So he’d head off to Arkansas, pick up a secondhand bike and travel around, camping, meeting people who would become his friends and having the odd mishap like exploring a cave and suddenly finding that he’d fallen down a twenty foot hole and wondering if he’d ever get out of there alive. He did of course, slightly battered and bleeding but it made good reading in the 30-page letter he sent me about that particular trip!

Harold’s main rule of life was to do what you can while you can and never pass up an opportunity, whether that’s shearing sheep in the outback of Australia or canoeing the French River in the wilds of Canada. To me personally he was very inspirational and when I lost my son in 2003 and had to totally reinvent my life I took my inspiration from him and have had my own amazing adventures around the world.

Harold at the caravan.

Latterly, as Harold got older he tried to remain as active as he could and was often to be found walking around the lanes of Wrockwardine or heading off on the bus to Shrewsbury. He moved to a wee bungalow in Wellington, he knew it was for the best but missed his life in the caravan very much.

As you can probably tell I could talk about Uncle Harold all day but I’ll leave you with a quote from Dolly Parton (did I mention he loved country and western music?)

If you don’t like the road you’re walking, start paving another one

Harold, with beer