Time to cry, but like all funerals planned with love, time to smile too - Christa Ackroyd

When my mum died she too left instructions. They were written everywhere. In her will, in the front page of her diary and tucked inside the kitchen drawer.

And do you know something, painful and upsetting though those dark days were, to know with absolute certainty what she wanted and in some cases why was such a comfort.

The hymns were easy. Some were from her Sunday school days. She talked about the happy times she had sang them with friends who remained with her her whole life.

She also chose music my father, a singer in a male voice choir, had performed with gusto down the years, all carefully labelled in the family record collection.

But the name and address of the funeral director who had carried out generations of family funerals was especially comforting.

He and his forefathers had known our family and it helped, it really did. My mum was a wonderful mix of practicality and sentimentality. And trust me quiet and dignified though she was, she was also a determined lady. And she was determined her funeral would reflect who she was and what mattered most to her.

Tomorrow I attend another funeral, again meticulously planned by a man known to millions the world over but I am proud to call a friend.

And today I am going to spend a little time reminiscing about the laughter and the tears, oh so many tears, we shared along the way and let you into a secret he planned to make you smile too.

Harold ‘Dickie’ Bird ´was a one-off. Harry Gration and I adored him and I know Harry will have had a warm welcome in heaven for him when he passed a couple of weeks ago.

They were the closest of friends. Both Yorkshire through and through, brought together through a love of cricket and the county that bred them.

I have been thinking a lot about the friendship we all shared. I truly loved them both. Different backgrounds, different generations perhaps, but brought together by the work we all loved doing.

Dickie recently told a mutual friend ‘Christa, she knew more about cricket than most men’.

Not true. But I learned at the feet of a master as we talked together so many times over the years. And yes Dickie I will always know the difference between silly mid off and silly mid on as you taught me.

Of all the people I have interviewed Dickie could always be relied upon to perform.

He dressed up as Father Christmas to hand out gifts on set, he was the surprise guest to present me with 50 white roses on a special birthday and the first person to ring when Harry left us.

There are so many stories. If you asked him to come in for an interview he arrived hours early, just as he did for a test match even climbing over the gates at Lords, and arriving for his lunch with the Queen three whole hours before the allotted time.

He remembered his humble upbringing and hated waste so when the mince pies were left uneaten at the Calendar Christmas party he asked our lovely canteen lady Val if she minded him taking them home for his freezer.

He did so, carrying two full carrier bags with a cheery goodbye and the words ‘I will be eating them until the middle of July’ ringing in our ears.

He cried during every interview. We always had tissues on hand. He cried when he spoke about his beloved mother and father.

He cried about receiving both the OBE and the MBE. And was inconsolable when the Queen died, they had become genuine friends. He cried at the unveiling of his statue in Barnsley built on exactly the spot where the little terraced house he was born in stood. He cried when he was made a Freeman of Barnsley.

In fact he cried so much he shouted at me to throw up to the stage the packet of tissues I had brought in certain knowledge he would need them.

Every interview, every meeting, tears would come to his eyes. But that was his essence. And that is what made him so so special.

In the world he was born into men didn’t cry. In fact if you want me to be honest they still don’t, often enough. But Dickie was never afraid to. And I loved him for that.

He was the person I interviewed the most in my long time on telly, and when we filmed in Barnsley a few weeks ago for the new series of Our Great Yorkshire Life I made sure his statue and his name made an appearance.

Little did I know he would not be with us to see the surprise we had in store for him. But others will. And that leaves me feeling warm. But that statue was everything to Dickie. A symbol of his roots and how far they had spread.

And so I want to let you into a secret told to me by the family who agreed I could share it with you.

When Dickie died his sister and his niece opened the list on instructions ( just like my mum had left me).

Firstly it was to be at the weekend (Saturday, October 18, at 2pm) so more people could come.

Secondly it was to be at St Mary’s, the church in the heart of the town, a stones thrown from where he grew up. And right beside his bronze statue. And here is the most wonderful, eccentric, crazy, endearing part.

He asked for his ashes to be divided and firstly scattered on his parent’s grave. But secondly to be placed within the flat cap so beautifully executed by sculpture Graham Ibbotson as part of that statue. And so it will be done.

The foundry men will arrive, the flat cap will be drilled and sealed again and his remains interred.

And I think that is absolutely beautiful, a son of Barnsley honoured to come from Barnsley and now forever presiding over the spot which bred him.

What a complete one off, what a complex mix of stoicism and emotion, Dickie Bird was.

A man who could mix with anyone and everyone, every class, every creed, every race, bonded by his love of cricket and his sheer enthusiasm for life and people.

This winter a young man, Harry Brook, helped by the Dickie Bird foundation in his early years will become vice captain of England as they take on the might of Australia in the Ashes series down under. The announcement was made the day after Dickie died.

He would have cried about that too but his foundation to support youngsters in cricket will live on. That was his wish. And so will the memories.

I get the distinct feeling there will be many of us needing tissues in Barnsley tomorrow. This time it is our time to cry, but like all good funerals planned with love, to smile too.

And always know whenever we pass his statue there is a little piece of him that will forever remain in Barnsley.