Luke Alfred

They'd be holidaying on the KwaZulu-Natal north coast, she said. As a teenage girl keen to meet members of the opposite sex, she'd spot a boy on the far side of the beach, and dad would be dragooned into accompanying her on a "walk" through the shallows, mom's offers of company quietly being brushed aside. They'd start out but no sooner had they left than dad would be door-stopped by Natal fans offering advice or wanting a quick chat. Then there were the "Vaalies", the so-called Transvaal supporters, the province Rice had just left; they too wanted their pound of flesh. Progress would be painfully slow. Eventually, after barely leaving the shadow of their umbrella, she'd realise that they'd never get far enough down the beach for her to show off Rice to a possible admirer. Such were the vexed joys of having "Ricey" for a dad.

Attended by several thousand mourners, including Kevin Pietersen, Barry Richards, Graeme Pollock, Pat Symcox, Gary Kirsten and Vince van der Bijl among a host of former cricketers, Rice's funeral was held in the chapel of St John's College in Houghton, his old school. A High Anglican service, with hymns, readings from the Bible, and tributes from his son, daughter and brothers, it was a sombre occasion but one softened by anecdotes about Rice the family man, the tone-deaf karaoke crooner and lifelong lover of wildlife and animals (including an uppity ostrich called Enver that used to live in the garden).