There was nothing more exciting for Daniel William Dale, than someone writing his eulogy. This might seem strange to people who didn’t know him, but for those in his inner circle, discussing or listening to a draft of this dark prose was almost a right of passage. Why he revelled in morbidity is a matter for continental psychologists to discuss, I for one flatly refused to engage in this indulgence, thinking we’d have plenty of time for that sort of thing in his golden years, but as I stand with the excruciating task of describing the indescribable, I’m not sure which of us has had the last laugh.

 

The problem with talking about Daniel’s life, is that the effect will never come close to hearing it from the source. Writing was an act central to my husband’s existence, borne into him at the point where a deep sense of loss and profound sensitivity met his rapier wit and outstanding intelligence, creating one of the most valuable gifts he left all of us; words that made us smile during dark times, engaged us in deeper reflection, entertained us, raised hairs, or put an unusual spin on an old idea that got us to see the world in a different light. It was a transcendental gift that is the burden and keystone of all great artists, the desire and vision to fashion new from old and blaze an indelible line through the human psyche.

 

But it required more than talent to make the kind of impression that Daniel left on all of us, and the essence of his legacy is what I want to talk about today; for whilst his mother could recall the precious angel that stayed awake all night or got lost in his own balaclava, and his friends could reminisce about the Christchurch luncheons they ditched in favour of Gino's Italian, it is down to me to impart what passed through all of these epochs with such dazzling force, the nature of the unmoved mover; Daniel’s soul. 

 

From the moment I blocked Daniel on Tinder, I knew he was someone who would create unexpected change in my life, but how he was destined to do that was as mysterious as the man himself. Over six years of both loving Daniel and watching him with great suspicion, the conclusion I came to was that his character was the refutation of the truism ‘many things to many people’, for he was a man who was always simply himself with everybody at all times, and like seeing an original Bacon or a first edition from Fitzgerald in the flesh, being with Daniel had the energising effect of encountering the genuine article. 

 

It was this uncompromising authenticity that guided Daniel’s behaviour from the mundane, to the profound in tantalising but often comical ways that ranged from eschewing public transportation for the first 40 years of his life and making cutting critiques of my attempts at baking fish, to the diligence and attention to detail he paid to his work. The originality of his intellect was also the basis for his confidence and wit, and the catalyst to the creation not only of screenplays, but of real life romances; of marriages, friendships and alliances that would never have existed without the raw electricity of his presence. 

 

But here we come closer still to the driving force behind his spirit, because Daniel’s genuineness wasn’t an ostentatious form of self expression, but in fact was informed by a natural insight and compassion for the human condition. To really know Daniel was to understand yourself at a level that would never be possible without his deep level of empathy and fierce loyalty. It was Daniel’s heart that created the close network of trust you see in this room today, and his final tragic masterpiece was to make more British middle aged men break down on the streets of Alderley Edge than it has ever seen in history. In real life as well as in the complex characters he built for screen, Daniel has provided us an emotional depth and starkness that sends the same message to all; never to become lost in minutiae nor stray from the profound art of inner truth, and that love was always the highest goal.

 

But let’s face it, no man is perfect. Daniel’s hair we all know, suffered its own independent fate, and in all matters practical he was known to falter. But perhaps this was because he cared too much. I recall the time quite recently when we were given the task of dog-sitting dear Claude, who is amongst us today. It was the hottest day of the year and poor Claude, being short of snout,  had a problem with what Daniel called his ‘breathing device’ and spent most of the day snorting and panting in the near 40degree weather. But it was the extent of Claude’s snoring that put Daniel on alert such that at 3am, he woke me up to auscultate the pup, and after issuing a string of expletives I agreed to accompany Daniel to an expensive doggy ER in Knightsbridge where upon arrival were asked to personally insert a suppository into Claude’s bottom before being given the advice to ‘use a fan’, presumably for cooling him down, but who knows.

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When Claude was miraculously placed in our care again a few weeks later, Daniel’s paternal instincts were sharply re-employed after our favourite pup ingested some phenergran - a drug which could put anyone under 10 stone to sleep within minutes, and so once again at 4am after another on-call at Knightsbridge vets, Daniel was found pacing the rain-streaked streets of Chelsea with an extremely reluctant, not particularly tired French bulldog in tow, muttering never to look after anything living again. 

 

Daniel’s heart and his love knew no boundaries, and this was a power he of course inherited from Margaret, who inspired him to treat everyone equally, never to judge, to always give 100% and to help both yourself and others enjoy life to its absolute fullest. Whether it was at The Cornhouse, Bolling Hall or on the bright sands of the Caribbean, a generous spirit was shared between mother and son that facilitated parties and moments whose memory will last more than one man’s lifetime. 

 

I want to thank all of Daniel’s friends and family for being here and for providing an unprecedented amount of support during this difficult time, Daniel would be proud of you all and I know he is looking down at us and smiling. Additionally I would especially like to thank Guy Mackenzie who had the hardest job of all and faced it with great bravery and kindness. Guy, you are his oldest friend, and I know that in those final moments you brought Daniel comfort, and for that I will be forever grateful.

 

Daniel, it’s been an honour to be your wife and to have been given the gift of experiencing a love this pure. I’m going to miss you forever. 

As my last words for you today I’d like to tell you a saying from the Romany language of Kalderash, which my father kindly taught me: 

 

Putrav Tyo drom angle tute ten a indrav tut mai but palpale  mura brigasa

- I open your way in the new life again and release you from the fetters of my grief.