It was a fortunate chance that brought us together some years ago in that Edgar had just been operated upon in Airedale hospital and as it was a hip operation he was thankful to be able to use the Friends of Airedale minibus to journey to the Main Road.

I was driving the minibus at that time and if there were no other passengers requiring assistance he would regale me with stories of his life on the farm.

I gathered that he had told some of these stories to the nurses during his stay in hospital and they had said that he should write them down.

This he did and the result was the book Born to be a Farmer, published two years ago, the story of how he farmed for many years near Hebden Bridge and later in Oakworth.

A few copies of his manuscript had been produced but as I had been a printer I was able to lend him some degree of assistance in producing the actual book and spent many happy hours with him, proof reading and revising.

Although he said that his primary purpose in writing the book was to be able to pass on his memories to his descendants, he was pleasantly surprised at its popularity.

A few weeks ago he had to return to Airedale Hospital and was warned that he was gravely ill. This news was not received too favourably as he said that it was his intention to write further stories, and lying in his bed he insisted on telling me the story of a favourite horse on the farm when he was a boy.

He was too small to put the collar on the horse and had to ask for assistance, but when this was done he would carry on and do whatever work was required.

One day the horse became ill and his father realising that there could be no happy ending told Edgar that it would have to be shot.

That night at supper time young Edgar was nowhere to be found and when his mother asked where he was his father told her to ignore Edgar's absence. He knew that the boy would be in the stable.

Edgar was determined that no one would shoot his horse and having bolted the door he stayed and slept in the stable close to where the horse was lying.

Awaking, cold and hungry, in the early hours of the morning he saw that the horse had died, so, his task ended he unbolted the door, but when they came to take the carcass away he followed the knacker's cart right down to the main road to say a last goodbye before he returned home, a sad little boy.

This was Edgar's last story as he returned home and I was able to visit him there for the last time before his journey too was over. He will be missed by many.