A eulogy, but I’m no urologist.

Rifky Mutijar

15.04.1948 – 11.03.2023

Rifky, Rifdy, Riffy, Riff, Riffraff, Mr Mutijar, Mumu, Mr Miyaji, or as he would say, “jus’ me rifky,” was a dad, a dude, an uncle, brother, grandad, son and friend.

Rifky was born in Indonesia in 1948 just outside of the capital Jakarta in a place called Bogor, on the Island of Java. Which may or may not surprise some people that thought Rifky was Gurkha, he wasn’t, he was Indonesian. Although he was really happy when the families of the second battalion opened Everest, Folkestone’s first Asian supermarket. It made his day that he could now get his hands on his beloved Blachan.

In 1948 Rifkey was born in a newly independent Indonesia having been colonised by the Dutch for many years previous and probably the reason why he loved a smoke and a pancake so much.

In his early twenties he left his islands and his dearly loved mother Sutijar behind and got a job on board a Dutch merchant ship. This was a big achievement for Riff because he had no formal education, and it was this fortunate opportunity that led to a long career at sea.

He travelled the world on the high seas, docking in far flung places often not understanding the language of the locals.   Although he’d learnt his English on board, it would take several dockings in Liverpool before he realised that actually the language they were talking was English.

Rifky, an economic migrant, would settle in Liverpool in the 1970’s courtesy of a local entrepreneurial bigamist named Carol. The romance was just long enough that he could make Liverpool his home, continuing in his trade as an able seaman, and if you want to know more about seaman in Liverpool, you’d have to ask Linda (my mother) about that.

Rifdy loved the 70’s not least of all because he loved music but because men could wear heels and at 5ft, he needed all the help he could get. But being 5ft was never a handicap for Riff, he was a babe magnet and loved to dance. When he wasn’t working he’d be partying, frequenting many a night club in and around Upper Parliament Street, Liverpool. The Bee Gees was his soundtrack to the 70’s and their Greatest Hits was a favourite album of his. It’s here I’d like to pause for a moment to hear a classic from the 70’s, picturing Riff in his Cuban heels, flares and long brown hair as he tried to sing along, swaying to this beat.

Bee Gees – Massachusetts.

It would be 1982 before Riff met Linda, more than a woman as Rifky would say, come to think of it that was just a line from the Bee Gees. They met on a night out in Liverpool as you do, she took a shining to his exotic wage, I mean ways, exotic ways. Riff, like Cinderella had to disappear, he could not stay out for he was due on the boat for work early hours of the morning.  Bearing in mind this was before the times of mobile phones, so he arranged to meet her again in 4 weeks at the same place, and they did, and that is how Riff was brought into our world. 

First it was Alexandra who he shared 4 years of her childhood with Riff before her little brother Rudi Winston came along in 1985. Rudi may or may not know this but Riff wanted to call him Andy, (private joke) but Linda urged him to pick an Indonesian name and so he became Rudi Winston Sharples. His middle name named after John Lennon’s middle name. It is because of their shared love of his music at the time you were born and the reason we entered the chapel with the song Imagine, by John Lennon.

Then came along their resident ginger in 1987, yours truly, I wasn’t named by Rifdy or for Rifdy because that would be mean as he couldn’t pronounce certain consonants, X being a particularly difficult one for him, so I became know just as Mackine or Mac for short. Shortly after Amber was born in 1988 and the family was complete.

Rifky, never distinguishing between these four children of his, equally never scolded them. He would push Alex around in her pram as a little girl claiming her as his own, he was so grateful that you took care of us. Rudi his trophy son he couldn’t wait to bring back to Indonesia, Amber, you are a credit to him and to yourself and it is great to know how proud he was that she too works in shipping.

But I would like to finish this story, my condensed version of Rifky’s life if I may because we haven’t even got to part where he moved to Folkestone yet, and how many of you here came to know him.

It’s the 1990’s and we are all living up North in our family home in Wallasey, kids are in Primary School, Alex in Secondary School and Rifky still working at sea.  But as with most wages they stagnated and it was financial hardship which spurred the move south.

In 1991 Rifky had secured a job working on the Channel Tunnel and in 1992 Linda would move us South and we all joined him living in Folkestone. It was a strange time for us kids having to start a new school, a new home in a new place. We all had Scouse accents, and I remember that vividly because although I don’t remember what I sounded like, I remember kids at Primary school picking on me because “she sounds funny” and of course you cant be scouse and ginger at school, so all of us quickly assimilated to life in Folkestone.

In 1998 Alex gave birth to Aidan, Rifkeys first grandchild and this solidified our bond with Folkestone, and the Siddles, this gave our family roots and our families have remained close and dear to this day. Rifky would have 3 more grandchildren, Ruby Lou in 2005,  Aiyah in 2010 and Milo in 2019. Rifdy’s silly side made him a natural with his grandkids and they would often scream and cry to go and see him even if it was only to terrorise him.

For over 30 years Rifdy lived in Folkestone and he has become a familiar face about town. A shopaholic, he was regularly spotted in Asda, he loved the pound stretcher or if he could rope you into giving him a lift to Park Farm, the Home and Bargains.

Although he lived in Folkestone more than he lived anywhere else in his life, he always had a fondness for Liverpool and Liverpool FC.  When the family divided he chose to stay, along with Rudi and Alex, he made Folkestone his home and Linda, Amber and Maxine went back North.

Going back to John Lennon’s, Imagine, imagine what it was like to be Rifky. He began life so very differently to what many of us can imagine. Barely any education, yet I still don’t know anyone that has beat him at chess. He wasn’t very literate, reading and writing was not his strong point. Cooking was his communication, and thanks to him half of Folkestone now know what a Cardamom pod is.

His form of communication was verbal, he loved to chat, so If you ever stopped and chatted to him even though you couldn’t understand a word, thank you.  Or if you sat off in his and ate his food when you wasn’t that hungry, thank you.  Or drove his bus, or gave him a lift, thank you, or beeped him and waved him on, thank you.

A smoker at 74, he was chancing it, it might have been his heart that failed him in the end, but you, Folkestone, kept him alive. Those small interactions however brief, sustained him.

My message to you Riff is that despite our family frictions, we are all here together now, and that is a testament to your character that we can all be here under the same roof bound by our love for you.

Folkestone is going to miss your sunglasses and wacky shirts and not understanding what you were saying.

You were a unique character that contributed to the variety and diversity of Folkestone that it so sorely needs. It can feel like a hostile place to outsiders at times, wary over foreigners, too precious over parking spaces and too few gay bars. But Rifky was embraced and has only enriched the town in countless ways. Not only have we lost a dear member of our family, but Folkestone has become a little less colourful now that he’s gone.

RIP my friend.

https://open.spotify.com/track/1fqG2uMYLBp2L6p0lPg4UH?si=cede1cd895a74871