“We gather here today to say goodbye to Raymond Michael Mason, our dear Mickey, who died last Friday night at his home on Denis Island, aged 82.

It is difficult to reduce a man like Mickey to a handful of pages. How do you fit in all the stories, the laughter, the things he knew, and the people he loved?

Mickey lived well. He had his principles, and he stood by them. He believed in hearty home cooking, a glass of whisky and good company. If the people he loved were around the table, with something good to eat and a story to tell, there was a great deal to be happy about.

He was a serious man when he needed to be. He knew his own mind and spoke plainly. He suffered no fools. If something needed saying, he would say it. And he would still say it even if it didn’t need saying.

But he also had a wonderfully cheeky sense of humour. A dirty joke could set him off, and he would laugh louder than anyone else in the room.

He had a great appetite for life, and it showed.

It is hard to imagine Denis Island without him. Hard to imagine the house without his great, full-bodied laugh. Many of us can hear it now. We know where he would be sitting, what he would say, and what would amuse him. That is one of the hardest things about losing someone so much a part of our lives. We know them so well that, for a moment, we almost forget they are gone.

Today, our love and prayers are especially with Kathy, his wife and companion of more than fifty years; their children, Alan, Alison, Michael and Elizabeth, and their partners; and his ten grandchildren. We also hold close his sisters, Pam on Praslin, and Shirley and Daphne in the UK, and their families.

To his children, he was Dad or Pops. To his grandchildren, he was Pa. And there was enough of him to go around. Great-nieces and great-nephews found their way to his dinner table and called him Pa too. You didn’t have to be one of his grandchildren to feel that you belonged there.

And if you were lucky, there was ice cream…

His homemade ice creams were coveted, especially at Christmas lunch. If you arrived on Denis Island to find that he had made a fresh batch for your visit, you knew you were loved. He had thought about you before you arrived.

Affection also came with a little risk. Sit idle for too long within his reach, and you might suddenly find half a finger swivelling in your ear. He had lost the rest of it to an electric saw during one of his many practical undertakings. Evidently, he considered the remaining half perfectly adequate for tormenting the family.

That mischievous streak had been there from the beginning.

Some of the earliest family memories are of Mickey sharing a large pram with his sister. Even as a little boy, he was full of mischief. He loved hiding under the bed at night and frightening his sisters by growling at them. They would shriek, and Mickey would collapse with laughter, only to repeat the trick the following night.

He was an outdoors boy through and through. After school and on weekends, he could usually be found fishing, snorkelling, sailing or rowing. And when he wasn’t in the water, he was probably up a tree.

He once broke his arm attempting to jump from one guava tree to another.

He was quite convinced he could make it.

And perhaps that little story tells us more about Mickey than he would ever have imagined. He saw something he wanted to do, believed he could do it, and gave it a go. The possibility of failure rarely seemed reason enough not to try. Sometimes, of course, he got it wrong, as the broken arm rather painfully proved.

But more often than not, that confidence carried him somewhere remarkable. It was the same spirit that would later see him build businesses, champion conservation and turn his ambitions for Denis Island into reality.

But more often than not, that confidence carried him somewhere remarkable. It was the same spirit that would later see him build businesses, champion conservation and turn his ambitions for Denis Island into reality.

Where others saw obstacles, Mickey saw possibilities. He would learn, adapt, get his hands dirty and work things out for himself.

There was always something of that little boy in the guava tree, still quite convinced he could make it.

As a schoolboy, Mickey also had a habit of teasing a blacksmith who worked opposite the Mont Fleuri Cemetery. Each afternoon, as he cycled home to Plaisance, he would call out something cheeky as he passed.

The blacksmith, a big, burly man, eventually decided that young Mickey needed a taste of his own medicine.

So one afternoon, he waited for him in the road.

As Mickey approached on his bicycle, the blacksmith stepped forward and announced that it was finally time for Mickey to get what was coming to him.

Suddenly, the boy who always had something to say found himself completely lost for words.

Thankfully, Mickey got away unscathed, if a little shaken. But a scare was never going to keep him out of mischief for long.

At school, Mickey’s interests often lay beyond the classroom, much to his parents’ despair. There were shells to dive for, fish to catch and adventures to be had. Sport held his attention too, and he became a pole vault champion at Seychelles College.

That adventurous spirit stayed with him throughout his life.

Mickey loved the sea. He was an accomplished diver, a keen sailor and a passionate fisherman. Even into his late seventies, he could outswim men half his age. He knew these waters as only someone who had spent a lifetime in them could. He also had great respect for the life beneath the surface and became a strong advocate of catch and release.

His love of nature shaped his working life too. After Seychelles College, he studied forestry. He went on to become a pioneer in forestry and conservation in Seychelles, working in the forests of Mahé and helping with the reforestation of Curieuse. When forest fires threatened, he helped put them out.

He also helped establish Ste Anne Marine National Park, Seychelles’ first marine national park. Today, when environmental protection is such an important part of our national conversation, we should remember those who were doing this work long before it became fashionable. Mickey was among them.

His knowledge of Seychelles’ flora and fauna was remarkable. He loved sharing what he knew, but he was just as eager to learn from others.

On Denis Island, his love of nature found a daily purpose.

Mickey was an avid farmer. He got his hands dirty and kept riding his tractor for as long as his body would allow. The farm was his pride and joy. He loved working the land, watching things grow and helping provide fresh food for the hotel. He also introduced solar power to Denis Island, another example of his determination to make the island more sustainable. Alongside his work to protect its birds and other wildlife, he helped make Denis an example of what conservation and tourism could achieve together.

Anyone who visited Mickey on Denis Island will remember those mornings over coffee. He loved sitting down at breakfast for a chat, catching up on your news and telling you about his. And he was always happy to take you around the farm and plantation, proudly showing you what he had grown, built or was working on next.

He was completely at home there, surrounded by the land and sea he loved.

Mickey also had a soft spot for animals. He would rescue baby chicks from crab holes, although his relationship with the rooster at Plaisance was rather less peaceful. The two were known to have a physical tussle or two, and apparently Mickey didn’t always have the upper hand.

He brought that same energy and determination to business.

When the international airport opened and tourism was still a new possibility for Seychelles, Kathy and Mickey were willing to take a chance. What began as TFC Tours, with an office in the Pirates Arms Building and excursions to Cerf Island for a Creole lunch, grew into Mason’s Travel.

There was no established path to follow. They worked hard, learnt as they went and helped build an industry that would provide livelihoods for so many Seychellois families.

Kathy and Mickey brought different strengths to that partnership. Mickey was never happiest behind a desk. He took a keen interest in the boats and vehicles, and wanted to understand how everything worked. When they bought the first Le Cerf excursion boat, he spent time in the UK learning about its engines and operation.

He also founded Marine Equipment, which became a leading marine chandlery business in Seychelles, and was a co-founder and co-owner of Sea Harvest.

But life was not always kind to Mickey and Kathy.

There were difficult years when both were imprisoned for political reasons, and land was taken from them. They faced hardships that might well have broken the spirit of others.

But not Mickey and Kathy.

They picked themselves up and carried on. They built a business empire, raised their family, created opportunities for others and continued to give so much to the very country in which they had suffered.

They could not change what had happened to them, but they refused to let it define what came next. Even when so much was taken away, they showed how much could still be built.

Mickey’s contribution to Seychelles went beyond business and conservation. He was an active member of the Rotary Club for many years and served as its President. He gave his time and experience freely to his community.

And something comes through very clearly in the messages the family has received: people trusted Mickey.

He had strong convictions about right and wrong, and the courage to stand by them, even when it cost him personally. If he gave his word, you could depend on it.

One message remembered him as a man who tried to do the right thing, at the right time, for the right reasons.

Those who knew him will recognise him in that description.

They will also remember how he made time for people.

Mickey could become genuinely excited at the prospect of a telephone call with someone he loved. He wanted to hear about your day and tell you about his. And if you had something to teach him, you had his full attention. For a man who knew so much, he never lost his love of learning.

And then there was Kathy…

More than fifty years of marriage, four children, ten grandchildren, businesses built together, challenges faced together, and a lifetime of memories.

They knew how to enjoy themselves too. Mickey and Kathy were wonderful dancers. Whether it was a waltz or something more lively, whenever they took to the floor together, everyone would stop to watch.

Mickey loved his music too, which he was quite happy to play loudly in the middle of the day. Why not? Life was far too dull without a bit of music.

Then there were the games of Shanghai, where you had to keep your wits about you. Mickey was sharp, but Kathy often had the pleasure of beating him. And after more than fifty years of marriage, she had become rather good at handling his cheekiness too.

Beneath all the teasing and laughter was a very deep love.

I worked for Kathy and Mickey for many years on Denis Island. I remember our early morning coffees as he made his rounds, and how he would collect a plate of fruit for Kathy’s breakfast.

It is such a small memory, set against everything else Mickey achieved. But it says a great deal. In the middle of his morning, with the farm and island to attend to, he was thinking about Kathy. Making sure she had her breakfast. Looking after her in that quiet, familiar way that comes from a lifetime of loving someone.

At their wedding anniversary celebration, Mickey and Kathy sat together to receive a blessing from the very same priest who is here with us today to conduct his funeral, Per Ponwaye.

It was a moment to give thanks for their many years together. For the family they had raised, the life they had built and all that they had shared.

And Mickey grew tearful.

Perhaps he was thinking of all the years that had passed. Of the young couple they had once been and the life they had made together.

Or perhaps, by then, he was all too aware of how precious the time they had left had become.

Because for Mickey, a lifetime would never have been enough with his Kathy.

There were still mornings to share over coffee, grandchildren to watch grow, stories to tell, and so many ordinary, happy moments to enjoy together.

He wanted more time. He needed more time. And how he deserved more time.

That is what makes saying goodbye so terribly hard. Not that Mickey had lived too little. He had lived a wonderfully full life. But he still had so much to live for.

And at the heart of it all was Kathy.

The woman who had shared his adventures, built a family and a home with him, danced in his arms, laughed at his jokes, and put up with his teasing for more than fifty years.

The woman he would have chosen again, however many lifetimes he was given.

When illness changed their lives, Kathy looked after him with that same love.

For around two years, day and night, she devoted herself to his care. The man who had always wanted to be on his tractor, out on a boat or busy with some new project now needed so much help. Kathy was there through it all. Those who visited Denis saw her devotion and the strength of the love they shared.

Kathy, thank you. We know he was your Mickey, and that caring for him came from a lifetime of loving him. We also know how much you gave and how tirelessly you stood beside him. We hope you feel today how deeply that is appreciated and how much love surrounds you.

Alan, Alison, Michael, Elizabeth, your partners and all the grandchildren: you each had your own place in his heart. He was loved through those difficult days, and he knew the comfort of his family close around him.

And through his illness, he was still Mickey.

When I visited him in hospital in London, he indicated one of the nurses helping with his recovery and told me, “This one is a real bulldog, a terror. I do not like her.”

She laughed and told him they had work to do to get him better.

Even then, he had not lost his sense of humour.

There is something especially significant about the day Mickey left us. He died on the very day that marked thirty years since his own mother’s passing.

Thirty years to the day.

And while we cannot know what to make of such a coincidence, perhaps we can take some comfort in it.

For all the years Mickey spent as a devoted husband, father and grandfather, he was once a little boy, held in his mother’s arms, loved and cared for as only a mother can.

And perhaps, after thirty years apart, she is holding her little boy once more.

Some time before he became ill, Mickey once remarked that he was living on borrowed time. We cannot know exactly what was going through his mind when he said those words. Perhaps he was simply grateful for the long and full life he had already enjoyed.

But looking back now, there is something moving about them.

Mickey did not spend that borrowed time standing still. He kept doing the things he loved. He tended his farm, shared his knowledge, enjoyed good company, teased his family and took an interest in the lives of those around him.

He kept living.

And perhaps that is something we can take from him today. None of us knows how much time we have. In a sense, all our time is borrowed. We go through life assuming there will be another visit, another Christmas lunch, another telephone call, another chance to tell someone we love them.

Mickey reminds us to make something of the time we are given. To be curious, to laugh wholeheartedly, to stand for what we believe in, and to make time for the people we love.

And although death takes the people we love from our sight, it does not take them from our lives.

A little of Mickey lives on in each of his children, in his grandchildren, and certainly in Kathy. In a familiar turn of phrase, a cheeky sense of humour, a talent for making ice cream, or the ability to call a spade a spade, whether or not anyone wanted to hear it.

One day, a grandchild will say something that sounds just like him. One of his children will find themselves doing something exactly as Dad would have done it. Kathy will hear a song they once danced to and remember the years they spent together.

Because we never entirely lose the people we love. We keep them in the jokes we tell, the meals we cook, the stories we share, and in those moments when we stop and wonder, “What would Mickey say about this?”

And we can almost hear him answering.

The people we love become part of who we are. We carry their habits, their wisdom, their humour and sometimes even their stubbornness. And we pass those things on to the next generation.

Mickey will be there at Christmas lunch, when someone brings out the homemade ice cream. In a glass of whisky raised among friends, in a fishing trip, a walk through the farm on Denis, or music playing a little too loudly on an ordinary afternoon.

We will miss the man himself terribly. There is no pretending otherwise. But there is comfort in knowing that so much of him remains with us.

What a wonderful thing it is, to have lived a life that leaves so much love behind.

Today, we mourn a man who helped shape Seychelles. His work lives on in our forests, our marine conservation and the businesses he helped build. We are proud of what he gave to his country.

But for his family, the loss is something much more personal.

His sisters have lost the brother who shared their childhood and teased them mercilessly. His children have lost their Dad, their Pops. His grandchildren have lost their Pa. And Kathy has lost her Mickey.

Each knew him in a different way. Each will miss the little things that were theirs alone to share with him.

And we will all miss his mischief at the dinner table, his advice, his stories and that wonderful laugh.

But how fortunate we have been to have known a man who gave us so much to remember.

Thank you, Mickey, for all you gave to Seychelles. Thank you for your friendship, your generosity, your wisdom and your laughter. Thank you for the ordinary, happy moments that have become so precious now.

You lived fully, you loved deeply, and you leave behind a family, a community and a country made richer by your presence.”

Rest peacefully, dear Mickey. May God hold you close.”