Dr Ralph A Kaner

David

I want to start by thanking you all for coming. Hannah wins the prize for the longest journey, starting out with an armoured van in Kinshasa, but given the short notice you have all had to make a considerable effort to get here. Thank you.

As the eldest son we have agreed I will go first. The risk is that this may give Ben the last word. Let’s see.

Ralph spent his whole working life at Rowntree’s

Ralph spent his whole working life at Rowntree’s. When I was young I never quite knew what he did there but later on I remember him sitting in the living room after his dinner (and my homework) reading his board papers. This included learning how many tonnes of Kit Kat had been sold last month. I may have pretended that this interest in the contents of Dad’s briefcase was to prepare me for a future career in business, but it is more likely that it was because the case frequently contained samples of possible new products in small purple cardboard boxes. Well someone had to carry out the taste tests.

Until I went to St. Peters Dad and I used to play squash on a Saturday morning. He was very patient with me. It must have been boring hitting balls for me to miss. I remember his enthusiasm when I started to win points from him. I am not sure what he said when I started to beat him. He always wanted us to do well. When we didn’t he made his disappointment clear, but still loved us.

The note would be in Latin

Yesterday I had the honour, with Ben, of attending the funeral of Martin Marsh. Martin worked with Ralph at Rowntree’s and after they both retired was a frequent visitor. The visits and encouragement continued as Ralph’s dementia advanced, we are grateful to Martin for his friendship to Ralph and the family. It is clear that Ralph was not always an easy boss. He held family and colleagues to high standards. One of Ralph’s colleagues told me that he would sometimes get a dressing down from Ralph in the form of a note on a paper he had submitted. The note would be in Latin and he would have to ask Martin to translate it.

Dad stretched the family finances to send us all to St. Peters. He wanted his children to have a great education. I think he was perhaps proudest of the fact that we all followed him to Pembroke College, and even prouder when Hannah graduated from there. He wanted us to have good careers and we all started off well. He was however concerned when, unlike him, we didn’t stay in the same company for our entire careers. He would frequently ask if we were alright and did we need any help. Thanks Dad, I think we all turned out fine.

The other thing I remember is that Dad always liked to have a plan, and once he had a plan he wouldn’t want to change it. I think I have inherited this tendency, a fact that sometimes frustrates my family. I think the early stages of dementia were most difficult for him because he knew he had a plan, but couldn’t remember what it was. Later he forgot he had ever made one and things were easier.

He did provide a plan to have this funeral service. He didn’t, unusually, provide instructions about what we should say.

one of a kind

Thanks Dad for the work and sacrifice you made to give us all a great life. You were, as many people who have contacted us have said, one of a kind.

Tim

Thank you David

As already mentioned, Dad spent his whole working life at Rowntree’s. He even met Mum there playing tennis.

A vivid memory of childhood is scrapping with my brothers (by which of course I mean politely taking turns) over misshapen or otherwise misfit sweets which he’d bring home when they’d failed quality control. The occasional no biscuit, completely chocolate Kit Kat was always a highlight. There’s probably a profound life lesson I should take from this memory somewhere.

Anyway another big part of Dad’s and indeed our family’s life was his long association with Pembroke College in Cambridge. At the start of each new college term I’d be presented with a large tin of Quality Street, manufactured not far from where we are today. ‘Made for sharing’ was the tagline.

a large tin of Quality Street

You’ll each hopefully now have been transported in a suitably Proustian fashion to a cherished memory of your favourite Quality Street sweet.

The ones which always seemed to me to go first were the toffee cup, orange crème, and strawberry delight. Thinking of Dad, whilst he might have seemed at times to have a hard exterior he was capable of and often expressed very deep emotion. Whilst it would be a disservice to imply that he had a soft centre, he maintained some very long standing friendships and we have in recent days been heartened by the affection and respect with which he is remembered.

Personally I’m not a fan of coconut so this can stand for accepting that no one is perfect. ‘Even Homer nods’ was one of Dad’s bon mots which I’ve inherited (that’s the Greek epic poet, not a reference to the Simpsons, for the younger generation).

Then there’s the block of milk chocolate. I liked this one. Maybe this should really have been a single chunk of Yorkie, one of the Rowntree’s brands Dad was particularly proud of launching. But I digress. And the fudge. Mum loved fudge and Dad would often buy some. That was made for sharing too, or at least I thought so when I found some in the kitchen. Sorry Mum.

He played rugby for and was a long time supporter of the Old Brodleians

Dad was brought up and schooled in Hipperholme near Halifax. He played rugby for and was a long time supporter of the Old Brodleians who have kindly lent us their clubhouse for tea later.

I always found it funny that he suddenly developed a strong Yorkshire accent whenever he took us to watch the Old Brodleians playing York. Halifax, the home of Mackintosh, famous for their toffee. That accounts for the toffee finger and the oft-neglected toffee penny.

And almost last and certainly not least, the immediately searched for green triangle. I’m one of three brothers so that sort of works.

And before I stretch the parallels and possibly your patience too far I’ll conclude with my personal favourite. A hazelnut encased in caramel, covered in chocolate and wrapped in purple foil.

Purple. The colour worn by the rulers of Byzantium, which brings me to Dad’s love of history and one of his signature achievements, his doctorate.

Thank you, Dad, for all you taught me and for loving me and our family. And with apologies to Catullus.

In perpetuum, pater, ave atque vale.

Ben

Thanks Tim

I have lots of memories of Dad. Some of the early ones tended to involve rugby, whether shouting from the touchlines, or just at the telly. I remember the Sunday afternoon ritual of tea and cake. And once I started sailing, I frequently came back very hungry, but to a full roast dinner prepared, often, by Dad and Tim, the only time people other than Mum were allowed in the kitchen, it seemed.

Very proud of his Yorkshire, and Jewish, roots. Also of his time in Cambridge

He wasn’t a simple person. Very proud of his Yorkshire, and Jewish, roots. Also of his time in Cambridge. Going by some of the photos, I think he ‘expanded his views’ considerably there. There’s one where he was definitely the wild lad of an otherwise properly dressed bunch of his friends.

For all my youth, he was of course in Rowntree’s, so memories from then included a lot of reading Marketing Week and Campaign in front of the TV.

did his MLit at Newcastle… his Doctorate at York

But eventually, he started seeing his sons pairing up, marrying and having children of their own. Teaching his grandchildren chess, as his dad did to us. Exchanging sonnets with Hannah. I personally think one of his happiest times was just after his retirement, when he re-engaged with academia and did his MLit at Newcastle where he often had lunch with Eileen. Then of course his Doctorate at York. I have mixed memories of his thesis, wonderful though I’m sure it was, academically speaking, I’m not sure he ever really got the hang of how a word processor worked and some considerable re-editing was required.

Sadly, it was not long before we lost Jennifer. That was difficult for all of us, but the work and attention Dad put in to looking after her was amazing to see, and an example to us all.

Stubborn as ever, he continued to travel until very late on. And do new things, including playing the drums in an impromptu rock concert at our neighbours’. And it was only with his fall and stroke just over six years ago that he had to pull his horns in. David, in particular, has borne a lot of the effort in ensuring his last years were in familiar surroundings, and enabling him to pass them with dignity. Thank you David. So I choose to remember Ralph as who he was – passionate, rigorous, caring, strict, and someone for whom his family always had the utmost importance. Thanks Dr Grandad.