Paul was born on 30 October 1961 in Brighton General hospital, the second son of
John and Geraldine Smoker. It was plain from the beginning that he was a bright
boy, excelling in his studies, first at Cottersmore in Hove . Then, after to moving to
Sutton in 1969, at St Cecilia’s in North Cheam , which was also where all
of his siblings went. He was very protective of his three sisters and two
brothers, and if we had any trouble from other kids, he would take them into a
quiet corner, dust down their lapels and point out the error of their bullying
ways. And Paul only slightly begrudged that our grandparents’ weekly sweets
package had to be spread ever more thinly among the growing Smoker family.
When he was a very little boy, whenever Mum gave him
sausages for tea he used to say he liked them very much and they would always
disappear from his plate very quickly. Gradually there began to be a bit of an
unpleasant smell in the dining room which kept getting worse and worse over
time. Mum took ages to find out what it was but, in the end, she discovered
that he had been hiding his unwanted sausages in the lift up seat of the piano
stool because he hadn’t the heart to tell his mum that he didn't really like
them!
He attended the same
secondary school as his two brothers and our father, St Joseph ’s College in Norwood
As a young lad, he had
Saturday jobs at Burtons
After badly breaking his ankle later in life, he
tended to veer to the left when swimming. On holiday in Tenerife , he had to get out of the pool after each length and walk to the other
side to continue.
Paul loved acting in his younger years and took part
in several talent competitions, singing with the Von Smoker family. He starred
as Joseph in the Technicolor Dreamcoat at school. He also joined a youth
theatre group in Sutton called TWY, giving a memorable performance as Davies in
The Caretaker (by Harold Pinter), and other roles. This theatrical streak
continued into adulthood. When Paul
appeared in the village panto a few years ago as Evil Baron von Hard-up, he
reveled in terrifying the kids.
Mark, our eldest brother, wrote this about Paul:
“For as long as I can
remember Paul was taller, stronger, faster, sportier, smarter and more talented
than I. It’s no exaggeration to say he was a kind of superman, a hero to me. I
was our mum’s ‘little lad’, tagging along as Paul’s sidekick- playing Robin to
his Batman.
It’s an odd thing for an
older brother to say about a younger sibling but I looked up to him. 14 months
younger than me, yet he was the bold adventurer who invariably led the way as
we grew up. He took the lead in our journey through childhood into adulthood;
learning to swim, ride a bike, roller-skate, drive cars, discovering girls,
sneaking into pubs, getting drunk- all before me. His voice broke, he got a
full-time job, got married, bought a house, started his own business, had kids-
again, all before me.
Paul radiated charisma- a
bluff, rough, no-nonsense charm- emitting a light others just liked being
around. I longed to shine like him, yet I never envied him. I could only love
him and that warm, unique light of his.
I guess in my efforts to keep up, he somehow made me
strive to be a better person, to live my own life more completely and fully.”
Between 1980 and 1983, Paul studied Law at King’
College London, with ambitions of becoming a barrister. During this time he was
dating Suzanne, who he had met while still a teenager. They were married in the
summer of 1983, and lived in Oval Road Kettering
"I would like it
known that my father did everything a father needed to do for his son.
He taught me how
to read, sitting painstakingly with me from a young age. He gave me a reverence
for books, and a love of learning – one of my earliest memories is of making a
map of America with him for a school assembly.
He gave me
discernment about what was worth studying. On one occasion aged about 7 I had
set about to memorise a list of the top 50 video games, and while testing me on
this list he suddenly threw out “What's 7 times 3?” - a product I will always
associate with him.
He taught me to
take pride in my work, as he did – I remember him showing me his manure wall at
a country fair, and the way he spoke about his plasterwork and his contribution
to the rebuilding of Windsor Castle. He let me play with his colour charts, and
was gracious enough to allow me to pick a ghastly mustard yellow colour for my
bedroom.
He taught me how
to swim. It was one of my favourite “dad” activities to do with him – no visit
to Brigstock was complete without a trip to the pool. He once performed the
superhuman feat of swimming a length and a half underwater for me, before
emerging to declare, “I used to be able to do two”.
He taught me how
to ride a bike, but not how to use the brakes, as he discovered to his cost
when I crashed into his back while he was confidently walking ahead.
He taught me how
to play chess, and how to do cryptic crosswords – a fitting past time for a man
who combined great knowledge and a love of words with mischief and irreverence.
He taught me how
to shave, and how to drink, osmotically.
He taught me how
to perform – I have gleeful memories from Butlins, where I witnessed both his
karaoke rendition of Lady in Red and a particularly active lesson in doing the
Timewarp. Later, I shared a stage with him at the Brigstock Village Hall
performing Peter Cook and Dudley Moore sketches. He was Peter Cook, and I had
one leg too few.
He taught me to
never split an infinitive.
Most importantly,
he taught me to never give up. I once let in a goal at my near post in the cup
final, and I stormed off in a tantrum. With Gareth Southgate looking on, he
dragged me back into goal to resume my duties. Towards the end, he still made
Herculean efforts to continue to support me.
My dad clung to
life, with hope, despite his perpetual struggle. After every episode in
hospital he came out with renewed vigour, desperate to make the most of the
time he had left, in the small ways that he could.
My father was a
man whose advice I valued greatly. It was only as I grew older that I realised
that we viewed the world through a shared lens – another of his gifts to me. He
was a born satirist, playful, intellectual, self-deprecating. And only in
recollection have I realised how much I will miss him."
Paul worked in construction, founding the company Cy
Pres, which renovated historic buildings using authentic period materials. The
firm worked on prestigious projects such as Windsor Castle
Paul and Marion met at the Three Cocks in Brigstock
in the mid nineties. Romance blossomed between them, and they married in Oundle
in September 1999, just a few weeks before our mother died. I want to pay
tribute to Marion
When I asked the family for memories of Paul, the
same words were used time and again by all who knew and loved him. Kind, loving,
intelligent, sarcastic, fiercely loyal, protective, and perhaps most of all,
funny. He was an excellent mimic, Psychic Sally and Alan with a clipboard were
firm favourites. And he was always ready with a fast quip. An accomplished
satirist and joke smith, and a masterful raconteur, Paul loved to laugh, and to
make others laugh. He was the life and soul of any party. A good description of
Paul is as a Bon Viveur. That is a French phrase, which is frequently used to
describe someone who enjoys a pint or two. It roughly translates as one who
lives well. Paul certainly did that.
There are no end of outrageous anecdotes about Paul, all of which he
relished telling himself. And I would love to share some here today. But I am
afraid that almost all of them are not really suitable for retelling in a house
of God. So we must save them for the Three Cocks later. One particular story
about a wardrobe and a handbag comes to mind here.
Paul leaves us here filled with love for
him. Filled also with memories of laughter. Filled with admiration for the
incredible courage he showed during his illness, and the stubborn determination
to battle on and never give in. He was
known by many different names. Paul, Paulie, Young Smoker (as opposed to old
Smoker), Big Bro, Auntie Paul. To us, he was a husband, father, son, friend,
and brother. His passing leaves a painful gap in the heart of every person
here. Surely there can be no better definition of a life lived well.
I will finish with the words of Mark, Paul’s older
brother, who wrote this:
“Even in his final years, he
remained my hero to the end. Witnessing the changes illness inflicted on him
was painful for everyone who loved him- not least for the ever-devoted Marion
In death he forges onto his
next big adventure– ahead of me once more… And laughing, laughing I hope. So
cheers, Paul.
Shine on, brother, shine on.
“
