Popular insurance agent Jack Buckman dies at 100

Because of the Covid-19 restrictions the funeral of Jack Buckman who died just before Christmas aged 100 was attended by family only. His son John has sent us the memories he provided that were read as the eulogy at his dad’s funeral and we are publishing extracts so that Jack’s friends who were unable to attend may read them.

“My dad was born on 1st September 1920, the younger brother of his sister Mary. He lived the first 20 years of his life in Upper Union Street. His father was a goods’ guard on the railways. I never really knew what work his mother did, I’m not sure that she did have a full time job. I only recall her helping as member of Hospital Friends at Raikeswood hospital.  By all accounts my dad was a bit of a handful in his youth. When he was 11 years old he fell off a swing, badly fracturing his left arm which, after an unsuccessful operation, left him with only limited movement being unable to raise his arm to its fullest extend; a condition which affected him all his life.

Dad attended Christ Church school, Skipton, leaving at 14 years old to start work as a grocer’s errand boy, making deliveries around the town on his bike. He had passed the, then, scholarship for entry into Ermysteds Grammar School but his parents could not provide the necessary financial support for him to attend. Something that he regretted all his life.

Aged 16, dad became an apprentice baker with J C Hales which supplied bread and confectioneries to most of the shops in Skipton. His employer taught him to drive when he was 17 years old in order to make the deliveries.  Being able to drive stood dad in good stead in the coming years, as there were few qualified drivers at the time. It was on his 19th birthday that Germany invaded Poland and started the Second World War; and at age 20 he enlisted as a driver in the Royal Engineers.

He married Joan in 1942 while on a short leave, and in June 1944 crossed the Channel into Normandy a few days after D-Day. I was born in July 1944.  Dad served the rest of the war in Germany until his army discharge in 1946.

You can say that my dad had a “good war” and still lived it right up until his death. He had endless anecdotes which he never tired of relating. Whilst Basil Fawlty may have urged everyone not to mention the war, it didn’t matter to my dad whether you did or not because whatever subject was being discussed he would always interject with “well in the war…..”. When I was going through his papers the other day I came across a valuation that he had on his house and in the covering letter the estate agent wrote “It was an absolute pleasure to meet you and I was thrilled to hear your tales of life during the war”. I wonder how long the agent was held captive!

On return to civilian life after the war, initially we lived with my mother’s parents in Fairfax Street as there were few other options then available but we soon moved out and lived for a few years in what can best be described as the loft above what had been the court yard stable in Court Lane. As more and more council houses were being built around this time, and because of our living conditions, we were allocated a house in Greatwood Avenue.

Dad’s first employment on his army discharge was as a weaver at Mark Nutters. I recall visiting him in the factory and being deafened by the noise of the looms. I also remember the sound of dad’s boots as he walked round the side of the house at 5 o’clock in the morning for the early shift. It was no wonder he made many attempts to find better employment but it was not until 1956 that he succeeded in becoming an insurance agent for the CIS where he remained until his retirement in 1983.

In the early years as an Agent dad would do his collection on his bicycle but as he acquired more customers and his round grew in size he could afford a car. He bought an old Austin 7 and by a quirk of fate the registration number was DOE. I hadn’t appreciated the connection until one day a play mate greeted me saying “Hi Buck where’s your doe?” I was going to say my dad was out collecting in it when I realised the joke. I told dad about it and he said he had never appreciated the connection before.

Dad loved animals. At Upper Union Street there were always dogs and one of his earliest posed photos, taken at about age 5, was with one of the dogs. I remember having to climb over 2 big old labradors, Bruce and Grouse, who took up most of the space in front of the fire in the small living room whenever I visited my grandparents in Upper Union Street. When we lived up Greatwood Avenue we had 2 cats, Kitty and Blackie, and a dog called Meg. In 1967 mum and dad moved from Greatwood Avenue to Regent Road where they remained for the rest of their lives. Dad had cats and dogs until very late in his life and used to go walks with his dog Jess, and later Gael, in the woods almost every day. His favourite dog was his faithful Jess who had accompanied him as his “minder” on his insurance collection rounds.

Dad was musical. He could play the piano both from music and by ear. He tried to teach me the piano as he always maintained that being able to play the piano would ensure you were popular when in a group or at a party. In those days, before cassettes and CDs, music was self-made, usually on a piano. Unfortunately my dad’s efforts to teach me to play the piano failed after a year or so, much to his frustration as I could never get passed the basic lessons.

Dad had always been a keen gardener and whilst we lived up Greatwood Avenue he had an allotment in Keighley Road, where the trading estate and Aldi now stand, and I had to reluctantly accompany him most afternoons during school holidays when he was on the early shift. He was especially keen on growing tomatoes and cucumbers in his greenhouse and always cultivated an abundant crop. After retirement dad devoted a lot of his time to in his home garden and he won the Skipton “back garden in bloom” prize one year.

Dad was a keen sportsman. He played cricket with Skipton LMS for some 30 years. He supported Huddersfield Town football club and very occasionally went to their home matches. He enjoyed watching Yorkshire cricket at the various county grounds and I used to go with him many times, often with my Uncle Arthur. At the end of the day’s play the tannoy used to ask spectators, of which there were many in those days, to leave their cushions (that you could hire) on your seats but of course my dad and Arthur and most of the other spectators, used to throw them as far as possible on to the pitch. I remember on one occasion a cushion thrown by either Arthur or my dad hit one of the ground staff who was collecting up the cushions on his head, much to our amusement I’m ashamed to say. Dad was responsible for nurturing and indeed pushing my cricketing ability. Every Saturday morning from a very early age he and Arthur used to bowl at me for what seemed like hours in the cul-de-sac where our house in Greatwood Avenue was situated.

After retirement dad used to like watching the snooker, especially Ronnie O’Sullivan, on TV as in his mis-spent youth he often frequented the billiard hall on Swadford Street. He also enjoyed watching Andre Rieu’s concerts on DVD and listening to classical, military and big band music. His mental faculties didn’t wane with the increasing years and he would complete the Daily Telegraph cryptic crossword almost every day, right up until the end. Because I was hopeless with those clues he would often throw a particularly tortuous one at me when I rang him each day, knowing I wouldn’t get the answer which he delighted in telling me. He was also very keen on Geography and would study maps of the UK, and indeed the world, and seemed to know where every town and country was. He would watch University Challenge and bemoan the fact that the contestants couldn’t answer such questions when he could. He used to put some of the questions to me and when I couldn’t answer them he would comment that he thought I had passed A-level Geography.

In his later years dad became increasingly frail and because of a weak knee didn’t leave his house except to drive to Morrisons every Monday morning, always leaving at 8.30 a.m (allegedly before it got busy), until he was aged 99 when he reluctantly agreed to sell his car. Dad used to have his car serviced every year by Bristol Street Motors in Crosshills and the last time this was done he was told they would have to increase the cost of the service next time because he had clocked up 250 miles in the previous year.

Dad’s greatest wish was that he would die in his own house and not in a nursing home. Well, at least he didn’t die in a nursing home. What he also wanted, and that we have done today, was to have his coffin taken up the high street, round the cenotaph and back down the high street as slowly as possible in order to cause the maximum disruption to the traffic! I hope he is suitably pleased.”