In 2011, the Barnsley Chronicle announces to the world the sad news that local author, Barry Hines, is suffering from dementia.

A week later I have a letter published in the paper, describing what a brilliant teacher and person Barry was, and that our town should erect a statue in his honour.

In the spring of 2016, the news of Barry’s death knocks me sideways.

So I start scribbling away. “What are you doing?” asks Janet.

“I’m writing a eulogy to a wonderful teacher and I’m going to read it at his funeral, in April – if I get the chance.”

A week before the public ceremony at Tankersley Church, I email the vicar, with my speech attached, asking for permission to read it. He replies saying he’ll get back to me after speaking to Barry’s widow.

So, I’m disappointed when, on the evening before the funeral, no reply has been received. Never mind, I’ll still take my eulogy to the service, just in case.

The church is packed and moving tributes from many are heard. Richard Hines, Barry’s off-spring (Sally and Tom), Ian McMillan, Ken Loach and Tony Garnett, all make emotional speeches, and then the clergyman asks if anyone else would like to say something.

Up to the pulpit I spring. I’m only a few lines in, when I know for sure – by the smiles and laughter – that I’ve grabbed the full attention and support of the mourners.

The vicar hovers menacingly nearby, looking decidedly uncomfortable. When I get to the part where I call for a statue to be built in Barry’s honour, there’s a mild ripple of laughter from the congregation, as though to say, nice idea but too ambitious. However, as I finish speaking, the listeners burst into loud and sustained applause.

Jeanie, Barry’s second partner, invites Janet and I to the wake where we’re made very welcome.

“The minister behaved strangely,” I tell her as we sip our tea.

“Yes, I noticed that,” replies Jeanie, frowning. “You needn’t have worried though. I wouldn’t have allowed him to cut you short. Everyone loved your presentation, especially me.”

She continues: “I’d no idea how much Barry was admired by his students. No idea. I once accompanied him to speak to a large group of secondary school teachers in Wrexham and he was given a hard time by hecklers. So it was a surprise, and particularly pleasing, to hear that Barry’s students really did appreciate him.”

“I wish I’d been there to hear the hecklers. I’d have told them straight: ‘come on outside - one at a time!’”

Jeanie chuckles.

On arriving home I field my emails and notice one has been sent from the vicar that morning, telling me that Barry’s widow has read my eulogy and does NOT want it read at the funeral.

Oh dear!

I email an apology and explain the reason for my error, but the clergyman never replies.

A couple of days later I speak to the Chronicle journalist, Mike Cotton, who fixes up a meeting with me and sculptor, Graham Ibbeson.

“By the way, Ronnie,” he says. “Have you run the ‘statue-idea’ past Barry’s family?”

“No.”

“You haven’t? Why?”

“If Barry’s widow objects to the idea, it will kill the project stone-dead, and as I believe a celebration of Barry’s life and work belongs to us all, I’m not prepared to risk it.”

Five years later, after a massive amount of hard graft by the Kes Group and despite the huge obstacles thrown in our way, Ken Loach and Dai Bradley unveil the Kes Statue in the Precinct.

This site is unanimously chosen because the Kes Group, which had raised all £90,000, felt that more Barnsley people will see it in the centre of town, than in Hoyland.

However, with the help of the “Kes Is Coming Home” group, we donate a £10,000 replica statue, which now sits proudly on display in Hoyland Public Library.

This project was never an ego thing. In fact, I feel embarrassed when people congratulate me for my ‘single-mindedness’. Because, the truth is, from the age of 14 (before Kes was even filmed) I was desperate to let the world know just how special Barry Hines was as a teacher and person.

The statue may have taken a decade from conception to unveiling, and it certainly contained many ups and downs, but it was worth every single sinew of effort.

You can read my eulogy by messaging me on Facebook.