Last updated 19:35, Thursday, 03 April 2008

There’s a gathering taking place today. A gathering in a church – moving on to a pub. It’s the kind most commonly referred to as a funeral. But in Kenny’s case, the term funeral sounds all wrong.

Kenny Clipper, so called because he used to be a barber, died last week. He’d been ill for some time apparently but typically of Kenny, he told no one.

Kenny would rather enjoy life than think on death. He preferred to make people smile, rather than require them to be sad.

He loved horse racing, a pint or three in Brampton’s pubs, doing spontaneous favours for friends and strangers alike and making children – who always made a beeline to him – giggle helplessly at his jokes.

Though some wouldn’t have known his real name was Lapping, everyone in Brampton knew Kenny Clipper. All had great affection for him, admired his talent for wheedling a drink out of just about anyone and surrendered willingly to his easy chat and fulsome conversation. Resistance would have been futile anyway.

Kenny’s measure of time and assessment of how best to use it was different to most people’s. And his measure of it was immensely more appealing than the norm.

So, at his funeral today in Brampton, Kenny Clipper’s many friends, acquaintances, the chaps for whom he used to do a spot of dog-walking – for payment of a couple of pints, of course – will probably find it hard to be too sad for a man who refused to acknowledge sadness.

But they will grieve for the passing of a genuine Cumbrian character.

Kenny was one of the first people to welcome me to Cumbria when I pitched up in these parts a couple of years ago. He was warm and funny, kind and chatty. He accepted the pint I offered as thanks – as he did on a number of subsequent occasions, actually.

Sue, landlady at his favourite Howard Arms, would smile knowingly. She knew first hand of Kenny’s perfected fine art. None could refuse the man a drink and each believed the purchase had been their own idea.

At Christmas time Mr Clipper wanted to return the favour, “I will reciprocate!” he declared, with perhaps just a little slur.

He pressed my friend and myself to accept drinks paid for from his winter fuel allowance. Only right, he reckoned, since we were working to pay the taxes funding his fortunate windfall.

There was a sunny side to every aspect of Kenny’s life. And always good reason for keeping friendly company.

Characters populate Cumbria in hefty measure, thank goodness. A stranger – or offcomer – might wonder what it is that makes the county so uniquely special and mistakenly drift into romantic notions of landscapes and room to ramble, good food, clean air, country lanes.

But community and characters are the jewels in this county’s crown.

Kenny was one of the diamonds. He was 69 but ageless. Retired but always busy. He lived alone but had the love of a family of thousands.

Age has nothing to do with anything that makes a character. Age is a meaningless number. It’s what happens behind the calendar that builds the man – and it’s a quality that out-youths the young.

If a national league table of the youth and beauty features of so-called ordinary folks were to be carried out, Cumbria’s characters would dominate the Premiership; unmatched, undefeated and unchallenged, season after season. Like Manchester United without the shiny suits, Italian cars and shaved chests.

If the secret could be bottled, it would outsell Botox at any price. They’d queue round three blocks for it in Manhattan – four in Leeds, where they like to camp overnight on the pavement when a Boots moisturiser’s due out in paperback or there’s a 10 per cent discount sale of leggings for mutton mummies at Topshop.

But it can’t be bottled. It comes naturally to the favoured few... most especially in Cumbria. No need to pay fortunes for sea algae night creams and avocado cleavage masks. The inner gifts of friendship, kindness and love of life give the glow.

Kenny had those gifts and he shared them abundantly. Mercifully, Cumbria’s many remaining characters have them too. Others would love to know from where those gifts are given. But it’s impossible to know, of course. If anyone knew there’d be no secret.

Something in the water? Doubt it – not nearly soft enough. In the air? Possibly. In optimism, close community, appreciation of fun, good living, family and loyal friends – maybe we’re getting warmer.

Today as Kenny Clipper’s friends say goodbye to a much loved Cumbrian, there’ll no doubt be much of the laughter and tall tale-telling he loved so openly. Such is the way with true character. It doesn’t die, it lives on in warm memory.