Mae'n wythnos ers angladd dad, ac mae'n rhaid i mi ddweud fod y mis neu ddau dwethaf wedi bod yn un o'r cyfnodau mwyaf rhyfedd a ges i yn fy myw. Dyna lle ro'n i ar ddechre mis Medi'n paratoi at fy mhriodas pan ddaeth alwad gan Ian Yeoman yn Theatr Powys ynglyn a rhyw brosiect ysgolion. Ddweddais wrtho y bydddai lan i weld e yn Llandrindod y bore nesa. Roedd hwn ar nos y fercher. Erbyn bore dydd llun, roeddwn wedi ymuno a'r cwmni ar gyfer eu rhaglen ysgolion cynradd, "Brenin,Bran a Branwen". Ymunais ar yr amod fy mod i'n cael diwrnod bant i fynd lawr i Lundain i ffilmio hysbyseb ar gyfer cymdeithas adaeladu enwog (gwerthu mas er mwyn talu am fis mel!) a digon o amser i drafaeli i Gaerdydd bob nos fawrth ar gyfer sessiynau gweithdy theatr ieuenctid y Sherman. Roedd hyn yn golygu mod i'n gwneud o leia 500 milltir yr wythnos cyn i mi hyd yn oed stepio fewn i fan y cwmni. Ac mae Powys yn sir reit fawr.
Eniwe, nes i rili enjoio'r job. Y cast (Medi a Naomi), y cyfarwyddwr (Ian) a'r gweinyddwyr (Nikki a Sue) a'r plant. Basically, heb fynd i mewn i fanylion y stori, roedd yn rhaid i ni wario'r dydd gyda chriw o blant 8/9/10 ac ymddwyn fel brain. Wedyn, yn y prynhawn byddwn i'n troi mewn i frenin cas oedd yn cael ei gymryd mewn i nyth y brain a'i groesholi. Cwl!
Wedyn, pythefnos ar ol cychwyn cawsom ni'r briodas. Diwrnod fendigedig, llawn ffrindiau, teulu, cariad a dymuniadau da. A dawnsio, meddwi ac anhregion, wrth gwrs!! Roedd y seremoni'n hyfryd, y tywydd yn braf a'r bwyd (diolch masif i Andrew, Bev, Roger, Sarah a staff y Clytha) yn flasus tu hwnt. Felly, diolch anferth i bawb am ddod a gwneud y dydd yn un sbesial iawn i Sue a mi. A nol a ni i'r gwaith ddydd llun. Fi ym Mhowys, Sue yng Nghanolfan y Mileniwm gyda Sgript Cymru. O wel, erbyn hyn da ni di bwcio mis mel yn Efrog Newydd cyn Dolig. Hwre!
Pwy fasa wedi gallu rhagweld y bydde digwyddiad teuluol anferth arall o fewn chwech wythos, sef yr angladd? Wrth gwrs roeddem ni gyd yn gwybod bod dad yn sal, ond ar ol ei weld yn y briodas, roeddem ni'n disgwyl cael lot mwy o amseroedd da gyda fe. Aeth dad i'r ysbyty y noswaith y ddychwelais i o Bowys. Dwi wedi cofnodi'r diwedd fan hyn eisioes, ond dwi jest am son dipyn bach am yr angladd.
Ro'n i mor browd o dad ar y diwrnod, ac fe roddodd hwn nerth i mi, mam a Huw wrth i ni wynebu'r achlysur anodd hwn. Ddaeth gymaint o deirgedau a negeseuon o gydymdeimlad gan gymaint o bobl yn ystod yr wythnos, ond mae e mor anodd os nad yn amhosib paratoi am achlysur fel hyn. Dwi'n tybio fod pawb yn myfyrio ar adegau yn eu bywyd am syt beth fydd colli rhiant a syt byddent yn ymddwyn/teimlo/ymateb ar achlysur yr angladd. I ni, roedd yn bwysig ein bod ni gyda'n gilydd. Yna'n gefn i'n gilydd. Wrth i'r dydd agosau, roedd y teimlad o arswyd yn fy stumog yn cynyddu mwy a mwy. Ond ar y dydd, fe ddaeth ryw heddwch a ryddhad.
Roedd capel Groeswen yn llawn, a'r canu'n llawn angerdd. Yr emynau oedd Calon Lan a Bread of Heaven (Cwm Rhondda). Siaradodd Denzil John a Lyndsey yn hyfryd a llawn teimlad. Ges i gyfle i siarad ar ran y teulu, ac er nid yn brofiad hawdd neu bleserus o gwbl, roedd yn brofiad bythgofiadwy a gwerthfawr a buddiol tu hwnt i mi.
Wedyn aethon ni mlaen i'r amlosgfa yn Thornhill. Roedd hyd yn oed mwy o bobl yma. Unwaith eto fe siaradodd Denzil yn wych. Fe ganwyd Dros Gymru'n Gwlad a'r anthem, cyn i' lleni gau o gwmpas yr arch wrth i Ella Fitzgerald ganu Every Time We Say Goodbye. Not a dry eye in the house...
Roedd y 'parti' (y gair anghywir, dwi'n gwybod) yn yr Angel wedyn yn gret. Llawn dop, wrth gwrs a phawb a ryw stori neu atgof o nhad. A lot o gwrw a brechdanau. Ac yn y diwedd, mi roedd hi'n ddiwrnod hyfryd, lle gawsom cyfle i gofio dyn hyfryd.
Dyma beth nes i ddweud yn y capel:
Dad
David John Potter was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was respected local politician, a school governor, a tireless community worker and an exemplary citizen. He was a campaigner on issues he felt strongly about; willing to put in the hours and go the extra mile. A man of principle. He was a passionate Welshman, and not just on International days. He believed in his country. In his nation. And he felt a part of that nation. In all its diversities and contradictions, he felt right there in it’s heart, debating and arguing what he thought was right. Politics wasn’t a career to him. It was something he felt he had to get involved in.
But he was much more than this. He was a brother to Dennis and Keith, who both sadly passed away this year. He was a loyal friend, who kept his friendships going over the years and over the distances. He always found time for his mates despite all his commitments. He was a devoted husband; the light of my mother’s life, keeping that light burning bright throughout a busy retirement that would exhaust most men fifty years younger. Whenever there was a chance, between committees and campaigns, they would jet off, gleefully squandering my brother’s and my inheritances on a series of tremendous sounding holidays.
And we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Because to me and my brother Huw, David John Potter was the best dad we could possibly have wished for. He was to be respected, but never distant; Firm, but fair; guiding us but letting us make our own mistakes. And never coming back with an “I told you so”, if it didn’t quite work out.
As a teenager, I developed an enthusiastic taste for punk rock and reggae music, and I would inform dad, after I’d purchased tickets to see my latest noisy heroes in the Top Rank, Sophia Gardens or the University, that he would have to come down to Cardiff to fetch me after the gigs. And there he would be as I emerged from the concert halls, waiting patiently, often chatting away to total strangers, who’d be dressed in the most outlandish fashions and sporting multicoloured or dreadlocked hair as if he’d known them all his life.
Dad was never fazed by my ambitions to enter the perilous world of the performing arts. Indeed he actively encouraged it! He would ferry me to band practises in Merthyr or drama rehearsals in Ponty, often filling the car with unexpected fellow performers who needed a lift home. My friends were always made to feel at ease in his company and they all came to love him.
Through out my career, and adult life, I’ve always felt supported by dad, and he always made it known how proud he was of my achievements. He would try his best to see all my shows, even flying out to Dublin a few years ago to witness my performance in a play he’d seen quite a few times before. He joked that it was to sample a proper pint of Guinness and see what all the fuss was about. But I knew that he was just very proud of what we were achieving with that play and wanted to be a part of it’s success.
But he wasn’t just there to share the good times. When either Huw or myself were in trouble or needed help or advice about the various hiccups that life can sometimes throw at you, he was always there. We could talk to dad. If something was bothering us, he would know instinctively. We’ve both had our major upheavals, and he’s been there. A tower of strength to support his boys. His love was unconditional and generous.
About six years ago he became a grandfather. And as you probably know, this brought a new spark to his life. He doted on Gwennan, who coined her own name for him, Danan, spending as much time as possible with her. His joy when she was around was infectious. He would play with her, talk and laugh with her; play football, paint and occasionally be firm with her. He’d fetch her from school, take her to the park and generally behave like someone half his age with her. They would often talk on the phone, usually about nothing in particular, but there was always a lot of laughter involved. After being told of Danan’s death, she was chatting away to Huw, asking questions about where he was and what he was up to now. She turned to Huw, in the way only a small child can, and asked him if he had the phone number to Heaven, so that she could carry on having her little chats to Danan…
When I was married, in September, dad was there, the life and soul of the party. Renewing acquaintances with old mates and charming new ones. Dancing and drinking and smiling and laughing, he was so full of life. And so proud of me and my wife, Sue, “the daughter I never had, until now!”. She was welcomed with open arms to our family and she in turn loved him very much as a father.
David John Potter. A tender, loving man, full of humour and humility. He was good company, always lighting up the room with his presence. He could be stroppy and opinionated, but his opinions were always to be respected. Even if you didn’t particularly agree with him. He was a good bloke, genuine and real, a treasured mate, a respected citizen and a fine husband. He was our dad. A great dad. And our dad cared. We shall all miss him so much.
