A short 8 years before Bob Dylan recorded his first album, Sam was born in Rugeley, Staffordshire, welcomed by his three brothers, Richard, Tom and Harry, and me. Joe joined us later.

Sam came to us courageous, kind, adventurous, stubborn, competitive and accident prone. The family moved to a big, red brick, ivy-covered house in Leek, North Staffordshire, when Sam was a few months old. In the first few years of his life he pulled a pot of tea onto himself, scalding his arm and leaving a lifelong scar, cut his hand, dripping dramatic amounts of blood, on Christmas Eve, while making mince pies, and concussed himself by demonstrating how to dive onto the tile floor of the kitchen. He always seemed to make life difficult for himself.

He loved his friends, and all kinds of sports and games, and was always driven to win. He had a powerful sense of fairness and justice, and a stubborn, independent streak.

Sam hated privilege with a passion, especially his own. I loved that big, red brick, ivy covered house in Leek, but Sam hated it. Our parents had posh southern accents, we lived in that house, our big brothers were at boarding school. He never told his friends any of it, and denied it when he could.

The move to the lovely Derbyshire village of Hartington in 1972, was the final straw and Sam escaped to Bradford University to do Public Policy and Administration - with enthusiasm and relief.

Our oldest brother, Richard, will miss the long discussions he had with Sam about the future of the Labour Party, but his wife, Paula, will not miss Richard pacing up and down the hall and shouting at Sam on the phone. Tom wanted to note that Sam had an influence on so many people, especially his nephews and nieces, who were surprised, delighted and proud to have a stilt walking, unicycling, juggling uncle. And Harry, our great communicator, who was often frustrated by Sam’s apparent inability to plan, or tell us what he was doing, wants me to note Sam’s faithful part in managing our mother’s life in those last difficult years.

Thanks to Pippa, Sam was a Dad, even though as a young adult he had said he did not want to be one. He had a great capacity for love, and his children gave him enormous joy and pride and purpose. We all admired his relationship with Ruby and Chester, and they have some things they have asked me to say.

Firstly, that Sam was an old dad, as old as some people’s grandparents, but he was a great Dad and they loved him very much. He was not a perfect Dad, though, and there were injuries and accidents occasionally while they were in his care.

His primary parenting technique was to give them a choice about something and then make them feel guilty if they chose the wrong one.

He was always part of his community, and said “Good Morning” to everyone, and took Ruby and Chester to all community events whether they wanted to go or not.

Once they had made a commitment to something, he would help them keep it, and he always made them watch documentaries on telly, which at least one of them mostly enjoyed.

Every Wednesday, when he was a stay home Dad, he would take them to the bakery, and everyone there knew their names, and Ruby would have a sausage roll and Chester would have a flapjack or a shortbread sandwich.

Ruby went with him to football, Chester shared his love of music. He taught them to juggle and play chess. They always knew he loved them.

And Sam, for me, was a moral compass, an ethical sounding board, a political mentor, a big hug, an enduring and very, very endearing lisp, an honest reaction to anything I said, and, forever, my only blue-eyed brother.