Mr Roy Nehra

Roy Nehra was born on September 24th, 1942 to Bhimsain Nehra and Violet Nehra (née Larvin) in Nottingham, England. Roy was the third of five children and the firstborn son. He attended the Thomas Becket Catholic School, and then, went on to St. Luke’s College in Exeter, England. Roy met the love of his life, Eileen Prince, while they were both teaching in Nottingham. At this time, Roy was president of the Nottingham Branch of National Association of Schoolmasters.

Roy and Eileen were married on April 13th, 1968, in Nottingham, England. They secured teaching jobs in Richmond, B.C. and bought their first home in North Delta. Roy and Eileen had two children; their daughter, Rebecca, and their son, Jason.

Roy completed his Masters Degree in Education and was a skilled teacher and administrator who taught in secondary and elementary schools in Richmond for 30 years and served as the President of the Richmond Teachers Association.

Roy always enjoyed an active social life, playing rugby, fishing, gardening, stamp collecting, and spending time with his family and 6 grandchildren. In his later years, Roy became the treasurer of the White Rock Elks and helped raise money for many local and national charities.

Roy is survived by his wife of 55 years, Eileen; sisters: Sheila and Shirla, brother, Paul; daughter, Rebecca, son, Jason; six grandchildren: Amanda, David, Joshua, Matthew, Lauren, and Holly. Roy was predeceased by his sister, Pamela.

The family sincerely thanks you for all your support during this time. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated and will always be remembered.

Eulogy given by Jason Nehra on July 19, 2023:

Roy Nehra was great at speeches. Confident, articulate, funny. Given the chance, he would have done an amazing job of his own eulogy. I’m going to do my very best to paint a picture of the man who has been the solid backstop to my whole life. Dad has been a lot of different things to a lot of people. I hope along the way, you recognize elements of the man you knew.

The Comedian. Dad was incredibly funny. He had an encyclopedic memory for jokes, most of them not appropriate for today. He had a quick wit and superb timing. A few years ago, we visited Russia on a cruise and did a bus tour of St Petersburg together. The tour guide was talking us through the Russian Peters. Peter the first conquered this, Peter the second built that, Peter the third annexed this, and finally Peter the fourth... Before he could finish, a voice from the back of the bus boomed out “And then they Petered out”. It got a huge laugh, and that was Roy Nehra.

The Altruist. Dad had an incredibly generous heart and loved helping people. This took a lot of different forms. My least favorite form was the “road-side hero”. When I was young, we couldn’t pass a broken-down motorist without pulling over and offering assistance. This was a huge frustration to me because I was always late for soccer. Dad had tools and some hand wash gear in the trunk for the occasion. He would jump out and stick his head under the hood. Sometimes he’d get the car started, most often he didn’t, but he was always hugely appreciated. After he was done, he would meticulously scrub his hands and then give a brief sermon on the merits of always being prepared. This was also not my favorite.

The Fisherman. Dad loved to fish and some of his favorite fishing buddies are with us here today. Some of my fondest memories of Dad involve us sitting quietly in a boat together. I was always very envious of people whose boats had motors because we always rowed. Dad loved to row. He would ease the boat quietly into the weeds and stumps where the other boats didn’t go, and we caught a lot of fish. Usually more than anyone else. But if any boats called over to inquire, he would reply,” Slow today, nothing yet”, even if we had fish in the boat. “A good fisherman, is a quiet fisherman”, he would tell me. Looking back now, I suspect that a more appropriate motto may have been, “A fisherman with no license is a quiet fisherman”. Who is to know?

The Friend. Dad made friends easily and with anyone. As I’m sure all you friends here today know, you are not part of a very exclusive club. There was a man in Grand Cayman who used to dress up like Elvis every day. Not young, cool, tight pants Elvis. I’m talking about fat, Vegas, flares, and sequins Elvis. On his first visit to the Island, Dad popped out to the local rugby club one afternoon and didn’t come home till the wee hours of the morning. When I asked him where he had been. He said that he had met Elvis and they had gone to sing karoke together at a bar on the other side of the Island. That was very Roy Nehra.

The Sportsman. Dad had a passion for rugby, and he was good. He played for Exeter College, then Nottingham, then the Vancouver Rowing Club after he emigrated, and eventually Valley Vintage over 40s. I used to go along to his games on a Sunday and play with the other sons on the sideline. One game I remember quite vividly. Dad scored a try in the first half, kicked a drop goal in the second and just before full time, he got in a fight. In Dads defense, this had never happened before and he didn’t start it, but boy did he finish it. I was about 7 years old, standing with my mouth open on the sideline. Coolest thing I’d ever seen. It was like finding out that your dad was Batman. We didn’t speak of it after the game or on the drive home, so when mom asked how the game was, I couldn’t

hold it in any longer. Well, mom was super unimpressed, and Dad just turned and shot me a look that said it all “A good fisherman, is a quiet fisherman.”

The Chef. Dad loved to cook. Not fancy, fiddley things that required recipes or any kind of precision measurement. He had a niche. All windows open, smoke rising in the kitchen and a wonderful aroma of the far east flowing through the neighborhood. Procuring the correct ingredients was a crucial part of the process, and he was always happy to do a little quality control, munching on “samples” as he strolled through the grocery store. His creativity when it came to reusing leftovers was unrivalled. We still talk about the day that Holly leaned across the table and asked “Grandad, why are there grapes in my soup?”.

The Lumberjack. Dad liked to fell trees. He was less keen on the clean-up. This was usually left to me and any unwitting friend of mine who set foot on the property that day. In the early years cutting involved a big yellow hand saw and a lot of perspiration. Then dad got his first Husqvarna chain saw, and no tree was safe. Mom would hear the saw start up in the back yard and would holler “Jason, get out there before he massacres all my trees”. I would throw on some work clothes and bound outside. Dad was always so pleased to have an enthusiastic helper that I don’t think he ever realised that I was really a double agent working for mom.

The Educator. Dad was a career teacher and administrator. He served as President of the Nottingham National Association of Schoolmasters in the UK and then went on to serve as President of the Richmond Teachers Association here in Canada. Dad was a natural in the classroom and he had a wonderful rapport with his students. I found this very difficult to imagine growing up, so it was a real eye-opener for me when I visited a school where he was Vice-Principal in my late teens. As we walked onto the school grounds together, kids flocked to him from everywhere. He was like the Pied Piper. He knew all their names. Little girls were holding his hands. This was also Roy Nehra.

The Englishman. Mom and Dad emigrated to Canada in 1968 and after 55 years in Canada he had no hint of a Canadian accent. I think that this was accomplished through sheer will. Dad drove a series of Austin Reilly 1800s when I was young, solely because they were British cars. It certainly wasn’t because they were well-made. He spent many weekends working on the driveway, desperately trying to keep them on the road. In later years, Dad found a new allegiance. The Irish. The singing, music and merriment of the Irish community drew Dad in. In some circles he even became known as Roy MacNanehra. At one point, he took a role in an Irish production. Everyone told me that he was brilliant, and I’ve always regretted not seeing him perform. I recently did a DNA test and was surprised to find that I was 28% Irish and that these genes had come entirely from the paternal side. Probability would suggest that Dad had double my Irish genes. After being considered an honorary Irishman for much of his life, it turns out that he was a lot closer to the genuine article than any of us knew.

The singer. Dad loved to sing. Even in his last few months, if a song came on that he liked, he would find his voice and belt out the words with remarkable power. One of his favorites was My Way.

For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself then he has naught Not to say the things that he truly feels And not the words of someone who kneels Let the record show, I took all the blows, and did it my way.

This song resonated with Dad, and I think we all know why.

The Husband. Dad has always said that mom was “The rock upon which he had built his life”. And he really meant it. His devotion to mom was absolute. The last time we spoke about his wishes, he was very clear. His only wish was for mom to be well supported and to have everything that she wanted.

The Father. Dad’s love for Rebecca and I was unconditional and complete. Whatever you needed, whenever you needed it. He would provide. He would remind you about it later, but he would provide. Growing up knowing that your life was underwritten by Roy Nehra allowed you to walk a little taller and act a little bolder. I haven’t always been grateful for this. I am now. My world feels a whole lot emptier without Roy Nehra in it.

Goodbye Dad