Bernie, we're all going to miss Carl more than you'll ever believe, but nobody will miss him more than you and the family—Jack and Lucy and everybody else who knew him so well. 

I first met Carl when I was elected in 2007 and somebody, obviously with some sense of humour, put myself and Lesley in the office opposite him. I didn't know what to expect from a Chief Whip; I certainly didn't expect Carl, I think that's fair to say. I remember coming back up from a vote down here up to the corridor—he'd always managed to get there before me; I don't know how he managed it—and you'd hear the music blaring from his office. You'll know, Becks, as you were working for him at the time. You'd walk past the office and Carl would be sitting down dancing with his music coming from—well, I never quite worked out where—and Becks would be sitting smiling, and myself and Lesley and others would walk in there and chat and talk, and everybody was smiling. It was a great introduction to this place and to Carl, and whenever I think of Carl I think of that smile we can see in front of us. I can hear his voice sometimes: 'Morning, bro, you're late' or 'Where are you, boss? I got this for you an hour ago; where have you been? Drink it'—and all sorts of different times where we shared all sorts of different things. You know, the one thing that is in short supply in politics is trust, and I trusted him completely. I knew whenever anything was happening that I could always pick up the phone to Carl, or I'd get a text from him. He almost knew it when there was something going on in any of our lives. It was, 'How are you, brother?', 'How are you, boss?', 'What are you up to, boss?', 'Where are you, boss?', 'Are you around, boss?', 'Come out', 'Where are you?'—and he would always be there.

You know, when we talk about Carl, we talk about his achievements in politics. I always remember him as a very, very decent and honourable, authentic friend and a mate of mine. The last few words he used to me were, 'All right, mate?', and it was everything I wanted to hear at that time. And, you know, Carl was a guy who wore his responsibilities lightly. You'd never have guessed that he had the achievements behind him that he had. But he cared deeply—he cared deeply—and all of us who worked alongside him know how deeply held his convictions were, and how deeply he cared about what he was doing and how deeply he believed in fair play and social justice. Fair play ran through Carl. It ran through everything he was. He grew up in Connah's Quay, and it was something that stayed with him. And whenever we were having conversations, it would always come back to that fairness and fair play. And you know, Bernie, we'll always remember that, and we'll always make sure that Carl has fair play. In everything that we do and everything that we say in remembering him, we'll remember that smile.

I knew what he was thinking in meetings because he'd be texting me. I wish he hadn't. There were all sorts of colleagues and comrades making very serious points and I'd see him looking at me and I'd think, 'Oh my God, not another text message.' I'd open the text message and I would spend time listening to a serious debate suppressing my giggles because Carl—and I can see him across there now—would be smiling at me and winking at me, knowing the discomfiture he's caused me. 

In remembering our friend, our colleague, we've all used very similar words, actually. We've all written our tributes separately but we've all come back to very similar words: authentic and generous and caring and kind. We all knew the same man. Bernie, you'll miss him. I know you're going to miss him and I know how terribly you're going to miss him, with Jack and Lucy and everybody else, but I want you to know that this institution will miss him as well. Our country will miss him. We're all the better for having known him. Thank you.