At the invitation of Norah, Jan and Guy, I am honored to have this opportunity to participate in the service
for my wonderful friend and co-author Pat.
I truly wanted to be there in person but unfortunately circumstances don’t permit. My deepest heart-felt
condolences to Norah, Jan and Guy, I am thinking of you.
Pat encompassed many special qualities. He was an Engineer, scientist and inventor with working patents
and employment within the space program. He was a best selling author and healer. In fact he dramatically
improved my own cancer with his healing gift. He was also a gifted artist with great talent as all who have
seen his artwork will attest to. Most of all, he was a family man who deeply loved his wife, daughter and
grandson, never tiring of speaking their praise often and with much pride. I am proud to have been his
Pat and I first met thanks to Busty Taylor, in a crop circle near Winchester 25 years ago. From the very
outset we became good friends, which we remained even after Pat retired from the crop circle research in
1991. He and I shared many things; an open minded approach to the mystery, a love of the countryside,
similar technical backgrounds, and most of all humor. The three of us laughed our way through the
countryside never tiring of the journey we were on.
Those days were full of camaraderie and fun, yet often included a hard slog over considerable distances
and in inclement weather. The gathering of data and theories lead to our decision to write the first book
written on the subject of crop circles, ‘Circular Evidence’. The book was edited by Jan, we called her 'The
Secretary', and being a chip off the old block, she was fully engaged with our work. After 'Circular Evidence'
became a best seller, Pat and I traveled to TV and radio interviews, one after another throughout this
country and in various additional countries as well.
Amongst my many fond memories are those from the times we spent at Pat and Norah’s home in Alresford.
We would arrive often wet to the skin and overloaded with ideas from of our day in the fields. Those typical
evenings in the Delgado household would entail Pat and I sat either side of the coffee table, discussing
details and theories with our ‘secretary Jan’. I would be sat on the couch facing one of Pat’s wonderful
paintings hung on the wall opposite. Jan would pull up a chair and have her note pad in hand, while Norah
would come and go between discussions with the most wonderful home made cake ever made and the
largest cup of tea outside of China. I am ashamed to say I often had more than one, cake and tea. In the
background was the most exquisite music that most people would have to pay to hear, coming from
upstairs. That was Guy practicing on his piano. The scene was exquisite, the pleasure palatable and the
memories set for life.
In Pat’s company any and all subjects were up for discussion and he exhibited an extraordinary talent of
technical know-how and limitless spiritual thinking. Some of what he was working on was more ground
breaking than has yet been fully realized. He was a man well ahead of his time and also a sensitive caring
person who gave generously of his time healing others – often remotely by telephone.
There are many more stories to be told; but the thing that so struck me about Pat was that he felt so
comfortable being himself. He used to say to me “Colin it’s important to extend ones thinking to encompass
ideas and theories outside the box but equally also to step back a few paces and laugh at yourself – always
maintain our sense of humor,” and that he did. We were laughing with each other on the telephone just a
few short weeks ago and that is how I choose to remember Pat.
What was not known when Busty first introduced us, was that we would together change a lot of lives by our
work in the crop circles, which would also lead to respectable research into human consciousness.
Thank you Pat for so many happy years and for opening my mind to a world larger than what I saw before I
met you. I will miss you greatly and will love you forever. I remain as always your friend.
As you would say “See you later me old fruit”.
Read at Pat's funeral service, Tuesday 2nd June 2009.
|The funeral service for Pat Delgado
who passed away shortly after
Saturday 23rd May 2009
Eulogy By Colin Andrews
Eulogy by the Family
Pat was a happy, kind and good man with a very positive outlook. He was talented enough to be able to turn
his hand to many different things, as many of you already know. He was only too willing to help people and in
later years he had success as a faith healer.
He was born in Surrey, to Emma, a londoner, and Eduardo, a South American. He was the youngest of three
siblings, brother Ted and sister Emelia Maria otherwise known as “Mena”. He had a happy childhood,
particularly with his sister, Mena. They were always joking and playing jokes on one another.
In 1939, like many others, he was called up to the militia and had been in the army just a few months when
war broke out. In 1940 he was at Dunkirk, the most terrifying time of his life. He told a story of how he and
some of his men were dog tired and slept in a disused warehouse. In the morning part of the warehouse had
disappeared, it had been blown up but they hadn’t noticed a thing. They made it to the beaches and fell into
the little boats which brought them back. Of those final moments on the Dunkirk beach and the subsequent
resuce, he also recounted how the sight of the arrival of the rescue boats spurred the tired soldiers into
activity: they anticipated their commander’s order, dived into the sea and made a beeline for the boats before
the actual order was given. The commander, unhappy with the perceived act of defiance, took it upon himself
to fire shots over their heads, along with a cry of “you men, come back here!”. The company, confident at this
point that their commander would probably stop short of actually firing directly at them, and most likely too
tired to be concerned much either way, continued to the boats and were resucued.
In 1941 he was on a training course at the Military College of Science in Bury, Lancashire where he met
Norah who was serving in the ATS. They got married and had a three day honeymoon in London. After that
he didn’t see Norah again until four years later at the end of the war. That was quite normal then. Can you
imagine that happening today? He served in North Africa, Palestine and Kuwait.
Their daughter, Jan, was born in 1946 and they lived in Surrey. Pat worked at “The Goblin”, designing
vacuum cleaners and washing machines. He enjoyed that as he always loved making and mending things, as
his family will tell you.
By 1959 it was time for a change - and what a change. From leafy Surrey, Pat flew to Outback Australia,
Woomera Rocket Range to be precise, while Norah and Jan travelled by ship to join him. In Woomera, 100
miles from anywhere, he worked on the joint Australian-British venture of test-firing missiles across the
Australian desert where an exploding rocket was not likely to hit anyone or anything for at least 2000 miles.
They had a great social life there being such an isolated community. Everyone made their own entertainment
and some of the parties had to be seen to be believed. Later he transferred to the Deep Space Tracking
Station, near Woomera, where he tracked spacecraft for NASA to the Moon, Mars and Venus. He always
said this was one of the most exciting times of his life. On the leading edge of technology, he and his
colleagues felt they were pioneering space, and amongst other things, Pat was in fact one of the first four or
five people in the world to see the dark side of the moon.
1966 saw the family return to England, to Hampshire, initially to Winchester and then to Alresford where they
have lived ever since. In 1967 Pat’s grandson, Guy, was born and they have all been together until now. As
if designing vacuum cleaners and tracking spacecraft were not enough, he then went on to designing and
testing components for Polaris submarines and actually spent some time on board one of them where he
slept in the torpedo bay! From Polaris he went on to designing windmills, those that you see today on wind
farms. His final job was as a quality controller on aircraft components.
In his spare time Pat loved playing golf and he was one of the oldest, if not the oldest member of Alresford
Golf Club. There was nothing he liked better than to be out there with his golfing buddies. Sometimes Norah
would say ‘but it has been raining’ and Pat would say ‘Oh no, it never rains on the golf course.....’. He always
joked about the lady golfers getting in the way. Well, even this service is being held today instead of
Thursday because the lady golfers will be having a long lunch on that day.
Pat also enjoyed painting and has produced many beautiful pictures over the years which I am sure many of
you have seen. For a number of years he took an interest in restoring old valve radios, bringing them back
to pristine condition. In the 1980s and early 90s Pat, as you know, was heavily involved with the crop circles
and wrote books and did a great deal of research. It was a wonderful, exciting time for him and his family.
You will hear about this from Colin Andrews. This era seemed to bring about a latent healing ability in Pat and
he was able to successfully help many people with their illnesses, aches and pains.
And so to the present time. Everyone hoped that Pat would be able to heal himself when this dreadful
disease struck him down. Unfortunately it was not to be but until then Pat had a long, healthy life and we
should all remember him as the good humoured, talented and kind man that he was.
Ode To Golf
In my hand I hold a ball,
White and dimpled, rather small;
Oh, how bland it does appear,
This harmless looking little sphere;
By its size I could not guess
The awesome strength it does possess;
My life has not been quite the same
Since I chose to play this game -
It rules my mind for hours on end,
A fortune it has made me spend.
It has made me curse and cry,
I hate myself and want to die!
I am promised a thing called ‘par’
If I can hit it straight and far.
To master such a tiny ball
Should not be very hard at all,
But my desires the ball refuses
And does exactly as it chooses -
It hooks and slices, dribbles, dies
and disappears before my eyes.
Often it will have a whim
To hit a tree or take a swim.
With miles of grass on which to land
It finds a tiny patch of sand.
Then has me offering up my soul
If it will just drop in the hole.
It’s made me whimper like a pup,
and swear that I will give it up
And take to drink to ease my sorrow.
But “The Ball” knows I’ll be back...
Not, how did he die, but how did he live?
Not, what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But has he befriended thoses really in need?
Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away.