Penny Lawford 1944 - 2019

Penny in a nighdress and tiara

Penny entered our lives when she married my cousin Mike Lawford and came to live at West Tisted. They became frequent guests at our house Harrvestgate Farm, and their children, Sam and Dominic, were playmates of ours. Penny was full of life and fun, never stopped talking and was loved by all.

Will and Belin Martin's Summer Lunch 1980 includes Panny and Mile 

Mike worked with the well-known local farmer, Neil Fairey for a few years, after which they moved to Trumpington outside Cambridge and later to Orwell, and we saw less of them. But such was her warmth of personality and energy, the bond remained close, particularly with Prue.

Will Martin spoke most movingly at her thanksgiving service on 25th April 2019 and described her life and character in his own words as well as those of some of her childhood friends.   

How wonderful to see such a huge gathering of Penny’s family and friends here today. What a fitting tribute to Penny and her generosity of spirit, her laughter and love of life.

When Sam asked me, just a week ago, to say a few words about Penny I was very daunted at the prospect, but she and Dom furnished me with some of the letters and emails they have received since Penny’s death, and many of you will recognise your own words in what follows. The generosity of others has greatly lightened my burden today and helped me see those qualities in Penny which I might so easily have overlooked.

Penny had amazing resilience and this, with her fortitude in the face of adversity, was likely forged early in her life when, at the age of about six, not only did her parents split up but her mother developed polio and was in hospital for more than a year. Penny, who almost from birth had suffered from asthma and eczema due to an allergic reaction to a smallpox vaccination, went with her sister Annette, to live with her grandparents on the Cowdray Estate where her grandfather was a farm manager. A lot for one so young to take on and Penny might easily have allowed all this to overwhelm her, but in typical fashion she turned it into something positive. 

The words of her cousins Ian and Rick recall this time so well:

We spent most of our childhood summer holidays at Moor Farm on the Cowdray Estate and nearby was the Round Tower where Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dick lived (Penny’s grandparents). This strange eccentric building drew us, it was magnetic and, more magnetic than anything else, because it housed Annette and Penny our cousins. 

With them mischief blossomed. Clambering over the old castle ruins, guddling in the river Rother, playing polo minus the horses and cricket minus the rules filled our days, and always at the centre of the fun was Penny.

Penny was the inventive one, yet Penny the one who organised. She recognised when we were getting hungry in time to pester her grandmother to feed us and anticipated when we needed to get back to the farm in time for us not to miss dinner. 

When I think of Penny I think ‘laugh’. Penny’s laugh was her. I can hear her laugh now, hear her wheezing joyously as another childhood adventure culminated. I can hear her laugh as she suggests another scheme for kids’ fun…

My goodness, how that theme of fun ran on throughout her life. 

At about the age of 12 she and Annette, who had each lost a year of schooling whilst their mother was ill, were packed off to boarding school. It was a convent and Penny didn’t take kindly to the rules and discipline, so of course she rebelled by having fun – there are tales of shinning down drainpipes after lights-out,  at mealtimes flicking butter onto the ceiling behind the nuns’ backs and, as she got older, the inevitable and surreptitious smoking of Black Cat cigarettes with her chums.

History doesn’t relate at exactly what age Penny left school or indeed with what qualifications, but whatever they were I think we can be fairly sure that an O-level in English was not one of them. I have spoken to many of Penny’s friends in the past week and a recurring theme has been her hand-writing and spelling. Many of us can recall finding an envelope on the doorstep with the address seemingly written by a very drunk tarantula (how did the postman ever manage to decipher it?) Ah! one would think, a letter from Penny and you knew that you’d need at least ten minutes to unravel the wild hieroglyphics and mis-spellings of each page. But Penny really did try to get the spelling right and often a word would be crossed out two or three times only for her to give up at last and offer a very competent sketch of what she was trying to spell instead!

Penny’s post-school career was varied and took her to many places abroad – all seemingly fun-filled. From Paris where she shared a flat with Annette to Italy where she partied in San Remo at night and paid the bills by selling deckchair time on the beach during the day. And on to South Africa where she sold industrial dynamos – the mind boggles. 

Her one foray into business on her own account – running a franchise of Clover Leaf Ice Cream in Cape Town with a business partner ended badly with the partner skipping off with the cash leaving Penny holding the debts. Fortunately, her accountant gave her the best advice under the circumstances – go to the airport now and don’t come back to S Africa!

On return to England she began a stint as front-of-house manager at The Plough at Fen Ditton, and by all accounts was a huge asset to the establishment. The pub was a favourite with racing luminaries such as Willie Carson and Lester Piggott, as well as the actor Omar Sharif.  Often they would arrive unannounced, yet Penny always managed to find them the best table in the house – often persuading a reluctant chef to cook them their favourite desserts even though they weren’t on the menu that night.

Not long after Penny and Mike were married in the early 1970’s they moved to a farm in West Tisted in Hampshire and it’s from this time that Penny entered our lives. Belinda and I have happy memories of being surrounded by the new babies of both families, shared god-parenthood and endless parties at which Penny was always central to the fun. 

Our bliss was short-lived however as, just a few years later, Mike’s work took them to Trumpington. But happy visits to Cley Farm several times a year kept us in constant touch, with our children becoming life-long friends. I am sure that it was due to Penny’s determination that we always managed to remain close in spite of the geographical distance which separated us. 

In particular the deep and lasting friendship which she and Belinda shared (something men never quite manage to achieve in the same way) has been one of the constants of the last 45 years of my life and a source of joy to me.

It was at this time too that Penny developed her skill as an artist. Quite untrained, she taught herself the demanding skill of painting on silk which she also turned into a money-earner. Indeed many of those here today will have examples of her art on their walls and at least one member of today’s congregation is wearing a silk tie which Penny painted specially for him.

In 1989 came the move to a house of her own for the first time - Meadowcroft in Orwell. This gave Penny the chance to develop another, hitherto dormant, skill. Again with no formal training, but with much determined reading and research, she turned herself into a gardener of amazing talent and achievement. She designed and planted from scratch a most beautiful garden at Meadowcroft and maintained it immaculately. Her love and knowledge of gardening was profound and her eye for colour was unerring. She seemed to know instinctively where each plant would prosper. Her garden was the backdrop to so much fun, to so many parties as well as Sam and Tim’s wedding – and always at the centre of it, leading the dance, was Penny.

In 1999 the breakdown of her marriage brought the huge wrench of leaving Meadowcroft and her beloved garden, but Penny wouldn’t let this stand in her way. She moved to Orchard House close by and set about creating another but completely different garden. It is here that in many ways, although dogged by ill-health, she had her happiest days, thrilled by the advent of three grandchildren and happy to see Dom and Jean settled and married. She was determined to live in the face of pain and see her family grow up. Her deep and abiding love for her children shone out as did her huge engagement with everything that they did. 

And they responded in kind – Penny was so fortunate to have two such wonderful children as Sam and Dom and their devotion to her and care of her, especially by Sam, was exemplary.

Penny was indomitable. She had a wonderful warmth and sense of fun of which we all were so much the beneficiaries over the years: she was interested in all the trivia of the lives of others, and richly engaged with everything. It was a privilege to have been her friend, to have watched her fight against adversity, and to have been the recipient of her kindness. And above all to have shared so much fun with her – she was an extraordinary woman and how we all will miss her.

For more photos of Penny, see here
For photos of the funeral at St Andrew's, Orwell on 25th April 2019, go here (few are public) 

Favourite Poetry - John Henry Newman's 'Dream of Gerontius'

The full text of the 'Dream of Gerontius' by John Henry Newman can be found here 

This is the opening Stanza:

GERONTIUS: 

JESU, MARIA - I am near to death,

And Thou art calling me; I know it now.

Not by the token of this faltering breath,

This chill at heart,, this dampness on my

brow,— (Jesu, have mercy! Mary, pray for me!)

'tis this new feeling, never felt before,

(Be with me, Lord, in my extremity!)

That I am going, that I am no more.

‘Tis this strange innermost abandonment,

(Lover of souls! great God! I look to Thee,)

This emptying out of each constituent

And natural force, by which I come to be.

Pray for me, 0 my friends; a visitant

 Is knocking his dire summons at my door,

The like of whom, to scare me and to daunt,

Has never, never come to me before;

‘us       death,—O loving friends, your prayers!— ‘tis he! 

As though my very being had given way,

As though I was no more a substance now,

And could fall back on nought to be my stay,

(Help, loving Lord! Thou my sole Refuge,

Thou,)

And turn no whither, but must needs decay

And drop from out the universal frame

Into that shapeless, scopeless, blank abyss,

That utter nothingness, of which I came:

This is it that has come to pass in me;

O horror! this it is, my dearest, this;

So pray for me, my friends, who have not strength to pray.

And this the last: 

ANGEL:

SOFTLY and gently, dearly-ransomed soul, 

In my most loving arms I now enfold thee, 

And, o’er the penal waters, as they roll,

I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.

And carefully I dip thee in the lake,

And thou, without a sob or a resistance,

Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take, 

Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.

Angels, to whom the willing task is given,

Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest;

And Masses on the earth and prayers in heaven,

Shall aid thee at the Throne of the most Highest.

Farewell, but not forever! Brother dear,

Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;

Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,

And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.

Set to music by Edward Elgar, it can be heard here, sung by Dame Janet Baker and conducted by Sir John Barbirolli. 

Favourite Music - Dame Janet Baker

I have listened to this BBC programme about Dame Janet Baker with enormous pleasure and interest.

She was the natural heir to the great Kathleen Ferrier, my parents' favourite singer, and retired from opera when she was only 49, to the disappointment of all opera lovers.  

One of the most moving moments is when she, as the Angel, sings the final stanza of Elgar's 'Dream of Gerontius' (a Ferrier favourite as well) as a requiem for Sir John Barbirolli, She is barely able to finish the piece. Listen to this on the programme.   

SOFTLY and gently, dearly-ransomed soul, 

In my most loving arms I now enfold thee, 

And, o’er the penal waters, as they roll,

I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.

And carefully I dip thee in the lake,

And thou, without a sob or a resistance,

Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take, 

Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.

Angels, to whom the willing task is given,

Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest;

And Masses on the earth and prayers in heaven,

Shall aid thee at the Throne of the most Highest.

Farewell, but not forever! Brother dear,

Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow;

Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here,

And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.

Interestingly, she says that when she comes back, she would love to sing Wagner.

See also Kathleen Ferrier 
See also 'The Dream of Gerontius'

Old Swan House Garden in April 2019

 The garden is waking up to spring and the huge hazel is coming out. The euphorbias are already in full bloom and seem not to mind the frosty mornings.

Box balls and pyramids massing by the pond

The new box balls by the summerhouse anchor it beautifully

The orchard on a frosty morning. I fear that the frosts have damaged the plum and apple blossom.

The grass garden is springing up again after being cut down in March. The bright shafts of pheasant grass show up clearly in the kate sunshine.

The mysterious corner. The wildflowers are greening up strongly behind the fence 

The new planters and box balls finish off the small terrace

The euphorbia are fully out and flow onto the gravel garden

The grass garden again in late sunshine

Stockbridge Gardens Open for the NGS 2019

The grass garden at Old Swan House

The National Gardens Scheme began in 1927 as a means of raising money for district nurses, by persuading private garden owners to open their gardens to the public in return for a small donation. In 2018 over 3500 gardens nationally opened at least once a year and enough money was raised for the NGS to be the principal donor to the nursing charities, Macmillan and Marie Curie, Hospice UK and the Queen's Nursing Institute, and it has recently begun supporting Horatio's Garden (which was started at the spinal injury unit in Salisbury and has now built gardens in seven such units nationally). Last year the NGS gave over £3m with Hampshire raising the most funds of all counties.

The Old Rectory

Persuaded by the redoubtable Patricia Elkington, the then area organiser for this part of Hampshire (now Kate Cann), Stockbridge began opening some of its gardens for the NGS in 2009 at the same time as Penny and Sandy Burnfield at Terstan in Longstock. The original openings were of Kim and Frances Candler's garden at Shepherd's House, Sally Milligan at Trout Cottage, Mary Matthews at Little Wyke and Pamela Marples at Waterlow. Robin Colenso and Chrissie Quayle at The Old Rectory joined in 2013 and Herry Lawford at Old Swan House in 2015. This year Becky Ferris at West View, London Road is opening for the first time in August (Sunday 4th - 10 to 4) and Wednesday 7th - 1.30 - 4.30) while Kim and Frances Candler are taking a sabbatical.

The four gardens in the High St open as a group on Thursday 13th and Sunday 16th June (2-5) on a single ticket (£7) with tea being taken on the Church lawn (and the tea proceeds going to the church).
Additionally, Herry Lawford opens Old Swan House each Tuesday in July (2-5 - £4).

The garden owners hope that many will come to their gardens this year and will be most grateful for your donations to the NGS.  

How To Be a Bore About Saving Almost Anything

The original caption is 'The Importance of Not Being Intellectual', but it could just as well be 'The importance of Not Being a Bore' - after Pont.

As well as trying to get the most mileage from a gallon of petrol, I have taken to trying to save other stuff as well.

It has occurred to me that I waste a lot of water washing things under the tap without catching the water in a plastic basin (to be used on the garden). That has changed and the plants near the back door now look better watered than ever. 

Until now I have saved my vegetable peelings for friends' chickens, but I have now taken to cooking up the top end of leeks, potato skins and other leafy stuff in a vegetable stock. And the stalks of broccoli, once sent to the chicken as well, are now peeled and chopped fine and taste delicious - especially raw! I do however now have more veg stock that I strictly need and so the chickens continue to get their greens!

I have also bought some 'Beeswax Wraps' that can be used (and reused) in the place of clingfilm or silver foil. They work really well, particularly for keeping a loaf of bread fresh, and for cheese.  

A lot of waste goes on in the bathroom. Needless to say, I turn off the tap when brushing my teeth, and I do use the plug in the basin when running water for my shave, but I expect I should find a way to use even less water. But I can't quite bring myself to shave in a mug of hot water. Shaving is such a pleasure that I still preserve the full ritual. However, I draw the line at not flushing the loo each time one has a pee, but of course, one should use the small flush option if there is one, or put a brick in the cistern.

But perhaps my main contribution to using less polluting forms of energy is in the fact that the house is heated only by electricity. When I bought it it had night-store heating - which was ok in the mornings as the heaters (essentially piles of brick) gave off a tolerable level of heat, but when I built on the kitchen at the back of the house in 2014, I put in underfloor electric heating which warmed the large high room very well. However, it was expensive to run in winter and when I eventually took the plunge to get rid of the night store heaters and put in some electric radiators with sophisticated thermostats, I found that I didn't need to use the underfloor heating nearly as much and my bills went down by £100 a month*. Even if it's a bit chilly on cold days, I sit on the sofa with a rug. But I do still have a wood fire own very cold days and will continue to do so until they are banned.

What more to do? I always read articles on energy-saving and pollution with interest and am keen to make changes when opportunities arise. I would like to think that my reluctance to fly anywhere has something to do with saving pollution from aircraft, but I'm afraid that if I needed to fly long distance to see family, I still would**. However, I would seriously consider taking the train or bus for European travel, as I am no longer constrained by time. 

I hope to go on adding to my list of things to bore on about, but I am struck by the entrenched attitudes that I encounter. The most common is that none of this makes any real difference, so why bother, and 'as most pollution comes from India, China and the US, it is they who should tackle the problem'. This, however, is not actually correct, as driving eg fuel-hungry cars has a measurable effect on emissions. and both the US and China have actually made some serious effort to use more green energy.  

The fact is that we are all responsible for polluting the planet, and in fact, CO2 pollution really started right here in the UK in about the 1850s as heavy industrialisation became widespread. NASA have just released a study of tree-rings that shows increased CO2 levels beginning at that time. As we (the industrialised countries) have benefited from more than a century of industrial activity, even though we are now using less fossil fuel than we once did, we actually have the most responsibility for its global effects. The other point is that we should try and use as little of the earth's resources as we can, and conserve what we can, as a careless attitude to the use of energy and other resources breeds a similar careless attitude to conservation in general, leading to a decline in many species.   

* Not surprisingly! When the electric radiator company surveyed the house, they showed me that in order to warm the kitchen to 21c, the floor had to be 30c! 

** As an illustration of how things have changed, I was happy when British Airways gave me a Gold card for life, in recognition of the thousands of miles I had flown with them, but I am now somewhat ashamed of it and fully expect one day to have a tax surcharge applied to any tickets I buy using it.  

See also 'How To Become a Petrol-Saving Bore'

The Scourge of Intensive Farming 

How to Become a Petrol-Saving Bore

Boodle and Annette in 1989 

I had never taken much notice of how much petrol I used, probably the result of having it free from the farm in my youth, and I think that almost the first time I noticed that I was using a lot was in 2005 when I saw that the Lexus 4x4 was returning 12mpg in London driving. And that was after I had driven 5.0 litre Jaguars and Daimlers that must have been even more thirsty.

The first Lexus at Richmond. This was actually quite frugal car despite its sportiness as it was a 2.5 twin-turbo

But in those days, apart from looking at the mileometer and working it out from when one filled up at the pump, there was little way of knowing what mpg the car was doing. In any event, petrol was then relatively inexpensive and few had connected climate change to the use of cars.

Kei in the Lexus 4x4 - much more thirsty especially in London driving

I would like to report that it was my concern about its mpg that persuaded me to change the Lexus to two Priuses, but it was more the fact that insuring the Lexus for Kei to drive at 18 was prohibitively expensive. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the fact that the Prius had a clear read-out of how much petrol one was using and it showed that I was driving more frugally. However, to begin with that obscured the fact that I had maintained my fairly swift driving style and the average 52 mpg that I was now getting (in my third Prius) was not particularly good.

My first Pruis on Old Winchester Hill. 

It was the drumbeat of climate change reports in early 2019 that caused me to look again at the mpg that I was achieving and think about how to improve it. It turned out to be less difficult that I imagined. I set the car to 'eco' and drove more slowly, and found that I could maintain an mpg of about 63 in normal conditions and up to 65 mpg on long journeys, a marked improvement. And of course my gentler driving style scarcely altered the time taken to reach my destination, and indeed it became obvious to me that the time taken to reach anywhere isn't the point. What matters is to set out in good time and not hurry.

I would now like to further improve my mpg by getting a plug-in hybrid or even a full electric car, but will wait until my car needs changing before making the switch. In the meantime, I am enjoying the challenge of getting the best mpg I can out of the current Prius while becoming a petrol-saving bore.

Update in April 2019: On a two-hour drive along the A272 in April, the Prius achieved a whisker short of 70 mpg - 69.9 - and the missing .1 was because the last 100 yards was up a steep uphill drive!

Update in May 2019: 75 mpg achieved on a 140 mile run up and down to London.

Update in May 2021: On e the same A272 journey as in April 2019, we achieved 71.7 mpg. 

Some comparisons to think about:

2L Petrol-engined car: average life 300,000 miles @30mpg = 10,000 gals or 38,000 litres of petrol costing £47,500 @£1.25 a litre.

Hybrid car: average life 300,000 miles @60mpg = 5000 gals or 19,000 litres costing £23,750. It's also worth noting that road tax is Nil.

EV 300,000 miles @ 0mpg - petrol cost nil, but about £500 a year to charge at home overnight and about £5 for a quick charge at a charging station. Also Nil road tax. 

NB 1 gallon of petrol contains 33kwt/hour of energy. Electricity costs £0.16 a kwt, so electricity is a bit more expensive than petrol, but an EV goes much far further on the same amount of energy.  A Tesla has a 72 kwt/h battery, the equivalent to a 2 gallon tank, but goes 330 miles on that amount of electricity, and so is much cheaper to run. 

Having talked to a number of people about this, I am struck by the entrenched attitudes that I encounter. The most common is that none of this makes any real difference, so why bother, and 'as most pollution comes from China and the US, it is they who should tackle the problem'. This, however, isn't the whole story, and driving fuel-hungry cars does actually make a difference. 

The fact is that we are all responsible for polluting the planet, and in fact, CO2 pollution really started right here in the UK in about the 1850s as heavy industrialisation became widespread. NASA have just released a study of tree-rings that shows increased CO2 levels beginning at that time. As we (the industrialised countries) have benefited from more than a century of industrial activity, even though some are now using less fossil fuel than we once did, we actually have the most responsibility for its global effects. The other point is that we should try and use as little of the earth's resources as we can, and conserve what we can, as a careless attitude to the use of energy and other resources breeds a similar careless attitude to conservation in general, leading to a decline in many species.   

How to Be a Bore about Almost Anything

The Scourge of Intensive Farming

Old Swan House Garden in March 2019

The gardening year always begins sometime in March; in Old Swan House garden it started on 13th March when the grass garden was cut down.

Before that, the garden was mostly asleep, guarded by the dark yew hedges and the still darker box, apart from the astonishing Daphne that has been casting its scent over the pond since January.

The Daphne scents the garden from January to April

The grasses have been marvellous all year and are no less interesting in winter.  The tallest, Miscanthus 'Prof Richard Hansen', throws a bright shaft of light nine feet, drawing the eye from all over the garden but particularly from the house.

The garden in February with Miscanthus 'Prof Richard Hansen' throwing up its beam of light against the dark hedge

The wildflower patch is cleared in the autumn but retains intrigue behind its rusty fencing.

The wildflower area

And then the grasses come down, along with the sedums and other small plants that dot the gravel garden, and the whole area feels refreshed and new. 'Stipa gigantea' is already throwing up masses of sharp green leaves, while the pheasant grass (which is not cut down) shows its pleasing colouring now that the most prominent grasses have gone. This year two of the tallest grasses have been removed (leaving one) as they were becoming somewhat 'thuggish' and beginning to crowd out others. 

With the clearing of the grass garden, the 'borrowed landscape' over the wall comes more clearly into focus and will remain so until the grasses return to draw the eye back to the area in May and June. 

One plant that does beautifully almost all year is my favourite, euphorbia. Not only are the acid-green whorls of 'wulfenii' out already, but its creeping cousin, 'myrsinites' is brightening the gravel with its fascinating spread of octopus-like arms.  

   

John Kay 1936 - 2019

Hazel and John at Litchfield

John was a most interesting man; born to schoolteachers in China, as a child he was interned by the Japanese for three years in Shanghai. After school, he joined the navy and flew from aircraft carriers. A clever man and a fine natural mathematician, he later joined IBM where his coding skills were greatly appreciated.  A lover of classical music, he had a fine singing voice, as I knew well, since we usually sat together at church at Litchfield, when he could always be relied on to lead us through the trickier psalms. 

Sylvia Haymes, who among other things plays the organ at Litchfield, gave this lovely eulogy at his funeral at All  Hallows, Whitchurch, on 7th March 2019:

John was a dear man and a wonderfully integrated combination of opposites. He was vague, particularly about trivial aspects of life that some might give much attention to – what to take on holiday, for instance – but he was also astute and determined about things he thought important: Hazel, Mathematics, the liturgy, friendship, beekeeping and, of course, music.

He loved music and had not only a fine voice but also a fine appreciation of good music: he loved stirring hymn tunes and choral music as part of the liturgy.  I think he had a feeling for the poetry of the earlier hymns and he certainly loved the cadences of the King James Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. It was always a treat to hear him read from the Bible in his distinctive brown-bear voice. Despite all this natural ability and discernment, he didn’t, latterly, find sight-reading music easy (as he often said) but he could still pick up – or make up - a bass part with the best of them.  He could also find his way through the pointing of the psalms – a virtue not accorded to many.

John was a clever man but never arrogant. He enjoyed solving puzzles and mathematical problems. Conversations with him were always rewarding and you never quite knew where they would lead.  He had a unique perspective and a fund of stories which enriched the discourse. He would really listen.  I think that he also had that gift of making the person he was talking to feel that they were clever too. One friend who cannot be here today said that talking to John at parties was something she always enjoyed.

Church services were important to him, as were those in the congregation – many of us here today count ourselves as friends.  He was acutely aware of the presence of spirituality in places where worship was sincere and Christian love apparent.  To see John, smiling as he came through the doorway, gave you the idea that all was right with the world: he was happy and at home in his local churches: All Hallows, St Mary’s, Tufton and St James the Less, Litchfield all benefitted from his voice in their pews. However, I think he also appreciated the grander scale of things in the cathedral at Winchester and he and Hazel went for several years to the beautiful and uplifting services held each summer in Edington Priory with professional singers and players.  In other situations he might, at times, be inattentive, but watching him listening in church, particularly if Hazel was preaching, there was no doubt that he was fully engaged.  He was, of course, so proud of her: ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’ he would say of her sermons.

Although they lived in separate houses for so many years, it was, and is, impossible for many of us to think of John without Hazel. They might have been separated by a wall but there was no doubt that they were together. ‘Hazy’ was his anchor and his pride and joy. (There is a pleasing irony in the name as she is unfailingly clear although John might not always be so.) The sheer happiness of their wedding day is something that those lucky enough to be there – and there were many – will never forget. John naturally inspired love and affection but he was especially lucky and blessed to have found Hazel.  Love, true friendship, travel and the million little incidents that make up daily life could be shared.  Towards the end of his life, her care and devotion were almost super-human.  Perhaps most significantly, she thoroughly understood him.  One of my favourite instances of this was her observation - apropos the remarkable array of vacuum cleaners lined up against the wall - that John liked to have one of each sort.

He achieved this good and full life despite his life-long struggle with deep depression.  Recently he seemed to shed the cloud, finding some sort of equilibrium even in the midst of his trials.  As Hazel says, ’he never complained’.  Quite simply: he was happy.

There is a lot that I have left out: the bee-keeping, for instance (he was known to some locally as ‘The Bee Man’ and I know Mark Christian learnt a lot from him) I have no details of the allotment, apart from being grateful for an excellent crown of rhubarb that with typical generosity, he gave me. There is nothing here about John’s family, his working life and his early internment as a child in the Japanese camp to mention just a few aspects. I don’t understand enough about them to begin to give an accurate picture: others will be much more competent.  However, I do know that John had a stature and a presence that made me proud to know him.  

As I said, he was a dear man. I am glad, as are so many other friends, to have such happy memories: we have been enriched by his life and are profoundly grateful for it

John was buried at Litchfield.