SPARKS

[Bobby Muir]

Hi Everyone

I've been speaking with Eric's son, Lewis, and now have the details for his funeral.

It will take place on Tuesday 20 August, arrival time 9.30 with a service being held 9.45 at The Salvation Army Centre, Hayfield Road, Kirkcaldy, Fife KY2 5DG.

Lewis has said "fell free to wear anything colourful if you wish. i certainly won't be wearing black". I tentatively said there might be some Sparks t shirts there and his reply was "That'd be brilliant. Exactly what he'd want to see!"

I'll be attending and hopefully see a few of you there.
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But when I trimmed it real small my Jewish friends would never call.

[PETER RAWCLIFFE]

Thanks Bobby,His Daughter put a message on Facebook as well,She stated about please feel free to wear Sparks things..I put a small message up on the post and saw Alex put a nice message up too,It's like losing part of a family when we lose a Sparks member...I will wear a Sparks top on that day and be thinking of Eric.
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WRITTEN OF COURSE BY THE MIGHTIEST HAND

[allydodd]

Will be gratefully joining Bobby on the early morning trip, to give thanks for the amazing Fifer, fellow fan, friend, force of life that was stoic Eric.

Happy to pass on all expressions of love from Sparks massive and dedicated fandom.

Eric was always there for Sparks and played a strong and supportive part amongst our community of fans. Although his premature passing is chillingly undeserved, amongst the little consolation we can scrape from a remarkable life is knowing how he steadily witnessed his own prediction of an incredible comeback for Sparks becoming a glowing reality with increasing surges of lauded creativity of projects. Most of these, he himself sagely and envisaged and waited patiently to unfold. Sparks duly rocketed to unprecedented adulation, so thriving at present, upon which chapter Eric sadly leaves us..

[dinky]

Thanks for the details Bobby, I've sent you a PM

[Alex Robertson]

There is a GoFundMe page set up and the donations are in aid of MS…I’m sure there will be a link posted up here soon as it is up on various Sparks forums on Facebook

[Alex Robertson]

https://gofund.me/5b7635d1

This should get you to the page should you wish to contribute and anyone who knew Eric will, mainly because he was a generous and kind guy.

[Alex Robertson]

I won’t get to the funeral but I’ll raise a single malt in memory of a great guy.

[dinky]

and here

Thanks for the donation link.

[Spyke]

Thanks for the link. I'll be thinking of Eric and his friends and family tomorrow.
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"but we can hear what others can't hear..."

[miss sparks]

Thinking of Eric and his family today.

[Alex Robertson]

https://gofund.me/5b7635d1


Just a reminder it’s never too late to donate in Eric’s memory

[Alex Robertson]

Bobby said, the funeral although a sad occasion, was also filled with smiles and Sparks music. I’m hoping Ally will post a full account so we can share in the day retrospectively.

[allydodd]

A fantastic send off befitting a Sparks superfan the funeral was. Laid before us was the magic of their work, how it reflected upon the passage through the years of an intelligent, musically attuned lad into adulthood, work, fatherhood, culminating in an all too short retirement for a doting grandfather finally blessed with a window of opportunity to savour a lifetime of proper friendships. Now that magic was breathing life and laughter into what was a desperately sad occasion.

Apologies for not writing earlier. Despite a heart-warming day celebrating in the spirit of a man with a resolute positivity, I’m still down from losing such a fine friend. More than a shiver, his untimely passing froze me and the words haven’t been flowing. How those close to him are now endeavouring to cope, I shudder to imagine. However, what struck me was that tightly woven blanket of love – no less - for likeable Eric that united everyone at the funeral.

Thanks to Bobby for picking me up early in the morning, and driving from south of Edinburgh across the Forth Road Bridge and into Kirkcaldy, place of birth and now rest for Eric Murray. Both aching with sadness we reminisced about Eric in the car.

The previous week I had done a recce of the venues whilst in Fife. The Salvation Army Church is a single storey white building with its sizeable hall, lightened by a wall mainly of large windows. Arriving early, already a number of people were assembling outside. Present was one of the first Sparks fans I became friends with, Alex McDonald, who we joined as arranged. Some mourners wore traditional black, others had heard about colours being welcome, and indeed some sported Sparks t-shirts.

Choice from my collection was Two Hands One Mouth tour t-shirt, which reawakened a debt to kind Eric. For the experimental inaugural performance in London’s modest Bush Hall, tickets had sold out over the internet in an instant. For newer fans this may strike as the normal imperative, but for us who struggled then with Sparks underserved leaner years, such a sudden uptake could shock. A few poor folk like me, who grappled with out-of-date technology, missed out. Grateful I was that Eric, presciently, had bought an extra ticket with a knowingness that other firm fans may miss out. So important that gig proved to be.

Pulsing of electronic disco music greeted became audible at the doorway, and once a beautiful almost angelic voice began singing in a high register, everyone recognised the Number One Song in Heaven. Of course, we pedants noted it was the full album version, nothing less. Inside the hall layout comprised very long rows at the middle, supplemented by shorter ones on the side.

Resplendent in highland dress, the burly celebrant sported the predominantly maroon tartan of Heart of Midlothian Football Club, the team Eric supported, like Sparks through thick and thin.

A slide show of images of Eric throughout his life was projected on a screen. “If you don’t attend my funeral, I’ll never speak to you again” was the quote that flashed up, attributed to Laurel and Hardy, another iconic duo who were at the top of their art, cherished by Eric.

On seats, plus displayed on a desk at the front, were Sparks badges. Lewis, Eric’s son, rose from the seated family to speedily pass even more around for the rapidly swelling ranks of people to wear. The large hall was quickly becoming full.

Picking a plain one simply with the band name Sparks, its poignancy pricked me. During the interval of one of Sparks’ orchestral shows in the grand interior of the Barbican in 2014, Eric and I had been having a drink in the bar when a bubbly initiate blagged my Sparks badge; it was the one which simply had the band name on it. I reasoned with myself that such a desired bequeathed badge would become a talking point trigger for this effervescent lady to loudly ooze her newfound passion for Sparks into a considerably wider and more influential social circle than mine, and resolved to duly buy myself another from Sparks Mart. As I’ve mentioned before in earlier posts, Eric devoted all of his scarce leisure time to being with genuine fans at shows rather than frivol amongst those curious for a one night concert by the lauded best. Always Eric exuded optimism that Sparks brilliance would regain and surpass recognised mass success and OMG he foresaw many opportunities to set this in motion (and thankfully lived to see it happen). Withdrawn Eric’s stance became that night, and I could sense disapproval from a sharper mind, far was too kind to say anything. However, when I got round to looking for a replacement, the website had sold out discontinuing the line. So, it was like Eric had got me back my Sparks badge…

As the music of the Number One Song in Heaven played on, there was a steady fastening of badges in the hall until everyone happily had a Sparks badge of some sort, animated in a glorious solidarity with Eric.

The coffin was carried in to the thumping tune, Angst in My Pants. Upbeat, the celebrant seemed to know Eric like a mate, while talking about Eric’s life. An only child, he had gone to the local Primary School and High School, where he was clever. He served an apprenticeship as an electrician down the pit. Then he joined CoorsTek, a ceramics technology manufacturer, gradually rising through the ranks to become Sales Director, which took him all over the world. Everyone rejoiced in mirth hearing how Eric somehow managed to attend Sparks’ shows in Germany when on business there. Eric married and had his daughter, Cheryl, in the 80s. He remarried and in the 90s had his son, Lewis. Although ending up single again, his pride in his children, who were a big part of his life, along with his grandson, framed his life. Retirement had come just a year ago, which gave him leisure time to enjoy friendships down his local, the Feuar’s Arms. Lately, he had got a young dog, called Kimono, who had been with him at the end.

Sparks were Eric’s obsession. Wittingly in context, a mass of quotes from Sparks’ song titles prevailed as punch-lines. There was no religion or hymns, with Sparks music filling every pause. We heard When I’m With You, This Town Aint Big Enough for Both of Us”, “Edith Piaf (Said it Better Than Me). Even as a seasoned Sparks fan, I was hit by how strong they sounded, and homed in on certain lines that felt apt.

At one point, the celebrant announced, “Now to a song by Meat Loaf … (chuckles) … Naw, SPARKS”… (big belly laughs). Beat the Clock, Amateur Hour followed.

There was a retiring collection in aid of the MS Society, in tribute to Eric's late mother who had suffered from the illness. Already the online target had been met, and donations from Sparks fans were evident.

Hayfield Cemetery is a minute or two walk along the road from the Salvation Army Group. On a high plateau, it is a good distance from the sea. Entry is through a stone gateway, which extends into a low boundary wall running its length, augmented with a manicured hedge. Well looked after, the place looked.

Delineated into different sections, we proceeded towards one such area towards the rear, away from the whoosh of traffic on the main road. In beautiful summer bloom the trees were, which swished gently in the wind. Inside and beyond, beheld were a glorious assortment of arboreal greenery, both deciduous and conifers, with a couple of pink Cherry Blossoms complimenting with other standout lilac shades of foliage. Trees appeared to be at different stages of maturity, perhaps symbolising how life goes on.

Back from the road, towards the rear was the Murray plot, where we gathered, all were trying to supress emotions. A chill wind was blowing from the sea, and there was a salty wateriness in my eyes. All of a sudden, sunshine penetrated the clouds, as the celebrant began speaking. I took the opportunity to slip on my sunglasses. He called Eric’s dearest to be cord bearers to lay him to rest beside his parents; and it was When Do I Get to Sing "My Way" we heard.

To Eric’s local, the Feuars Arms, we drove thenceforth. We sped downhill seaward and then east through the “lang toun”, with Sat-Nav offering slickness ahead of my own hesitant directions.

Dwarfed by several multi-storey tower blocks of housing, the Feuars Arms’ setting reminded me of the Clansman, the pub in Still Game, which the celebrant had mentioned as a favourite comedy of Eric, who had a great sense of humour. Yet this Victorian gem of architecture couldn’t be more different from the fictional carbuncle from the telly. With stained glass windows, this slate roofed stone building was almost like a church.

On arrival, the interior of the Feuars Arms was already a sea of bobbing heads, nodding in agreement while crowding the 60 foot three sided bar, with wave upon wave of groups entering. Among countless other distinguishing heritage features were the ceramics, which given use in Eric’s technologically advanced engineering was ironic. It turns out the pub is A listed, the most extensive for preservation. Even the gleaming urinals were a marble that sparkled, (and I’m sure Eric would have took humorous delight reading how the toilets were incorporated in a description of his funeral).

The bar staff had been at the funeral, marking their respects at the graveyard with solemnity. Yet now, they had to spring into action serving a packed pub of Eric’s friends near and far. Magnificent in their energy and in taking care of the customers they were.

Soon music could be heard above the scores of voices. Unsurprisingly, it was Sparks. I recall hearing This Town Aint Big Enough for the Both of Us, I Wish You Were Fun, and many more Sparks favourites surmounting several well-known rock classics by other bands.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, one of the bar staff went towards the shiny bell, and with a big brass ring, the rumble of appreciative chat ceased. Lewis moved behind the bar, and explained how special the pub and people were to his dad, rounding off with giving a toast. To Eric, we chorused. Words were applauded. It struck me how Lewis was warily making sure things were in place going to plan, seeing that people were ok, with unselfish dignity; just like Eric would.

We were encouraged towards the buffet presented into an octagonal rear room – the pub was divided by wooden partitions. As well as a sumptuous cold buffet, traditional Scottish stovies rewarded warmth. Commemorating Eric were specially iced cakes, which included the Hearts badge.

Later, we talked with Lewis. I spoke about being impressed at how the day would’ve been exactly how Eric would have wanted, how it shared the wonderment conjured by Sparks. He explained that Republic Media had pulled out all the stops in supplying badges, and also expressed gratitude to Alex Robertson who was pivotal with the Sparks elements. Lewis joked recalling having seen “The Sparks Brothers” five or six showings at Dad’s flat, putting it down to bribery with good pizza each time. I also met Cheryl who was lovely.

Chatting with a number of people, colleagues and neighbours all regarded themselves foremost as friends. Unguarded with sincerity, everyone spoke so highly, so warmly of Eric.

A longstanding mate revealed that in the 70s, Eric had formed a band called The Noise. Local contemporaries, The Skids, regarded them worthy enough to share their surplus songs. However, the relentless pattern of revolving shifts at the pit made it impossible for Eric to remain sufficiently productive in music for success.

A tragic accident at home, a simple split second one which could befall anyone, has denied the world of years of a great man. Or, to be more precise, using the word most heard that day, “gentleman”.

[Alex Robertson]

Thank you for that Ally, all of us who had the good fortune to have known Eric will echo your sentiments.
It’s still raw to know we have been robbed of that smiling generous man’s presence at future gigs but slight comfort to know he’ll be there in our hearts.

[dinky]

Wonderful Ally, simply wonderful

Thank you

[Spyke]

Thank you for the warm and heartfelt words, Ally.
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"but we can hear what others can't hear..."

[PETER RAWCLIFFE]

What a super write up Ally,Thank you.
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WRITTEN OF COURSE BY THE MIGHTIEST HAND