Oh what a delight
To pass an hour
In the confines of a bookshop
A universe to be discovered
As varied as the four walls
Containing it
Sometimes to be found in
Shopping arcade, sometimes in favourite
Hideaway places, up alleyways, off high-street
At others in transient arenas
Such as airports, train stations
or hospital concourses
Sporting titles for their literary emporiums
As revealingly innocuous as ‘books etc’
An hour spent in the company of books
Wherever the purveyor may be
Whether before a flight or train
Or awaiting others on a family shop
Perhaps as a form of retail therapy
Is never wasted
Tis a joy and a balm for the soul
An uplift which never fails
To restore good humour whatever the travails
Of time and circumstance
Try it sometime – pop into your local
Arena of words
And marvel
WBR Jeremy
Monday, 8 February 2010
Ear Pieces
I sit in the room engaged in conversation
With a charming, warm man talking of
Disability – hearing impairment – in terms
Of ranges of sound and levels of loss
Of hearing retention and damage done
Of future worsening and capturing sound
Told “grasping the nettle just as well now
Or face worse problem to come”
Told it is about enhancement and sustainment
If not replacement of sound
We talk of many things my
Hearing confessor and I
Of family and society
Children and parents
Speech and cadence
Rhythm and tone
Accent and articulation
The state of the health service
Situations and circumstances
We go on twice the time of
Regular consultations
Then comes the fitting
First the choosing
Involving discussions of placement
Where is comfortable, less or more conspicuous
Inside or out, noise control or not, larger or smaller
“No point if they are not to be worn but sit in a draw
Like so many do nowadays”
Next the moulding with wax imprinted
By firing from a special gun
Sitting with wedge in mouth whilst
Waxy substance melts
It goes off without hitch
The time is late we break off
To stroll to the gents still talking companionably
In generalities
And then more forms
Arrangements made to collect
A good-natured farewell
The deed is done
The nettle grasped
What has been spoken of, debated, alluded to, put off
Has been achieved
In short, two words describe my official state of disability
WBR Jeremy, May 2007
With a charming, warm man talking of
Disability – hearing impairment – in terms
Of ranges of sound and levels of loss
Of hearing retention and damage done
Of future worsening and capturing sound
Told “grasping the nettle just as well now
Or face worse problem to come”
Told it is about enhancement and sustainment
If not replacement of sound
We talk of many things my
Hearing confessor and I
Of family and society
Children and parents
Speech and cadence
Rhythm and tone
Accent and articulation
The state of the health service
Situations and circumstances
We go on twice the time of
Regular consultations
Then comes the fitting
First the choosing
Involving discussions of placement
Where is comfortable, less or more conspicuous
Inside or out, noise control or not, larger or smaller
“No point if they are not to be worn but sit in a draw
Like so many do nowadays”
Next the moulding with wax imprinted
By firing from a special gun
Sitting with wedge in mouth whilst
Waxy substance melts
It goes off without hitch
The time is late we break off
To stroll to the gents still talking companionably
In generalities
And then more forms
Arrangements made to collect
A good-natured farewell
The deed is done
The nettle grasped
What has been spoken of, debated, alluded to, put off
Has been achieved
In short, two words describe my official state of disability
WBR Jeremy, May 2007
Biographica Audiologica
The creative process is often accompanied by some sort of compulsion. This is what is sometimes known as the creative urge. And so it was with my poem Ear Pieces The compulsion was to explain what had happened – a diagnosis of hearing loss – and the urge took the form of a poem. It is said that the material chooses the writer.
The story is not conventional, in keeping with much of my life. Many narratives of hearing loss run thus: sound or possibly perfect hearing since childhood and into adulthood followed by loss – gradual or steep – into middle or later age. A traditional, linear, almost accepted, progression from perceived ‘perfection’ to imperfection, from ‘full faculty’ to ‘impairment’.
I discovered my hearing loss in my late 30s. I had difficulties with ears when young but this may have been hidden due to attention given to a stammer/speech impediment Growing up in a large voluble family with an average noise level much higher than the conversational norm, I was used to the projection of voices with an emphasis on diction and thus any problem would not necessarily have been picked up on because most of the time I heard everyone around me only too clearly!
On marrying and moving to a much quieter environment my wife Karen realised I must have a hearing problem – she noticed I would not respond if I stood at one end of the kitchen with my back turned. I also had difficulty hearing low tones and certain pitches of sounds, both vocal and electronic.
Further investigation led to a diagnosis of audiosclerosis. This means the inner ear bone is stuck fast and does not vibrate. Through the process of diagnosis and acquisition of hearing aids I have learnt about the world of audiology, both its science and art. The hearing sense requires more in terms of ‘brainpower’ than sight. When man was living in the cave, the predators would come at night and sharp hearing was paramount in detecting them. Each person has a set number of ear hairs that facilitate hearing and once damaged the brain compensates in all sorts of ways. It is possible that I have been unconsciously lip-reading for many years. So much for survival of the fittest! The specialists could not accurately tell when the problem started, possibly in childhood, adolescence or early adulthood. Any operation to substitute an inner ear piece of bone would not be effective due to nerve damage. Hearing aids followed and the rest is an ongoing revelation, if not quite history.
The adjustment to the onrush of sounds and sensations with the hearing aids – birdsong, footfall on stairs, wind-in-trees, traffic – was unexpectedly emotional. I ‘knew’ all those sounds but re-discovered them anew in sharper definition for the first time in a long time. I had always been able to listen to the radio or TV and read at the same time. With my new ‘ears’ in the sounds are much higher volume, so the concentration on one medium at a time is important.
The hearing adventure has provided something of an explanation of things past: from school, through to University and into the working world. With a childhood stammer giving an existing, perhaps self-imagined perception of ‘slowness’, speed (of thought, reaction, approach) and its lack has always been an issue. In retrospect, how much might have been missed in arenas requiring aural faculty - the classroom, lecture-hall, at interviews and in the court-room?
Despite these difficulties early on I have achieved academically – at degree and post-graduate levels and professionally in public and legal affairs, research and the media.
My passion is the radio and all things audio and I am developing a freelance practice in research, writing and broadcasting. My hearing loss is by no means a curtailment of ambitions in the aural arena and may add an extra dimension to my life through the enhanced understanding of people with disability generally and hearing loss in particular.
The story is not conventional, in keeping with much of my life. Many narratives of hearing loss run thus: sound or possibly perfect hearing since childhood and into adulthood followed by loss – gradual or steep – into middle or later age. A traditional, linear, almost accepted, progression from perceived ‘perfection’ to imperfection, from ‘full faculty’ to ‘impairment’.
I discovered my hearing loss in my late 30s. I had difficulties with ears when young but this may have been hidden due to attention given to a stammer/speech impediment Growing up in a large voluble family with an average noise level much higher than the conversational norm, I was used to the projection of voices with an emphasis on diction and thus any problem would not necessarily have been picked up on because most of the time I heard everyone around me only too clearly!
On marrying and moving to a much quieter environment my wife Karen realised I must have a hearing problem – she noticed I would not respond if I stood at one end of the kitchen with my back turned. I also had difficulty hearing low tones and certain pitches of sounds, both vocal and electronic.
Further investigation led to a diagnosis of audiosclerosis. This means the inner ear bone is stuck fast and does not vibrate. Through the process of diagnosis and acquisition of hearing aids I have learnt about the world of audiology, both its science and art. The hearing sense requires more in terms of ‘brainpower’ than sight. When man was living in the cave, the predators would come at night and sharp hearing was paramount in detecting them. Each person has a set number of ear hairs that facilitate hearing and once damaged the brain compensates in all sorts of ways. It is possible that I have been unconsciously lip-reading for many years. So much for survival of the fittest! The specialists could not accurately tell when the problem started, possibly in childhood, adolescence or early adulthood. Any operation to substitute an inner ear piece of bone would not be effective due to nerve damage. Hearing aids followed and the rest is an ongoing revelation, if not quite history.
The adjustment to the onrush of sounds and sensations with the hearing aids – birdsong, footfall on stairs, wind-in-trees, traffic – was unexpectedly emotional. I ‘knew’ all those sounds but re-discovered them anew in sharper definition for the first time in a long time. I had always been able to listen to the radio or TV and read at the same time. With my new ‘ears’ in the sounds are much higher volume, so the concentration on one medium at a time is important.
The hearing adventure has provided something of an explanation of things past: from school, through to University and into the working world. With a childhood stammer giving an existing, perhaps self-imagined perception of ‘slowness’, speed (of thought, reaction, approach) and its lack has always been an issue. In retrospect, how much might have been missed in arenas requiring aural faculty - the classroom, lecture-hall, at interviews and in the court-room?
Despite these difficulties early on I have achieved academically – at degree and post-graduate levels and professionally in public and legal affairs, research and the media.
My passion is the radio and all things audio and I am developing a freelance practice in research, writing and broadcasting. My hearing loss is by no means a curtailment of ambitions in the aural arena and may add an extra dimension to my life through the enhanced understanding of people with disability generally and hearing loss in particular.
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Michael Frayn's theatrical wonders
Many of the best playwrights, as many artists dealing with written and spoken word, are teachers at heart. Their urge to explain, clarify and show shines through their work and Michael Frayn is no exception. A brilliant wordsmith he has excelled in all areas of the writing trade: as a journalist he wrote a book that is widely regarded as the best insider’s view of how the old Fleet Street trade worked (Towards the End of the Morning); his column in the Guardian brought him a wide audience; his novels are celebrated for their verbal inventiveness and he has ventured into screenwriting being responsible for one of John Cleese’s best comic perfomances as the time-obsessed headmaster in Clockwise. Add philosopher; art historian and documentary film-maker to the accomplishments and you have the classic ‘Renaissance man’ – in France he would grace the dining tables of Presidents and the ‘belle monde’ – in Britain he is regarded as a ‘clever chap’ in a world of arts and media known for its abundance of cleverness.
Frayn’s play Noises Off is nothing if not ambitious. It has no less than two theatrical conventions at its core: the farce and the ‘play within a play’. Both dramatic themes are intertwined resulting in a torrent of words, hectic action and a lightning delivery as the play proceeds. The play centres on the rehearsal and performances of a theatre company touring the provinces with a farce. The first Act opens on the technical run-through with all the attendant stress of pre-opening nerves and actoral temperaments jangling. The playwright, lyricist and composer Noel Coward once remarked that the secret of successful stage acting was remembering the lines and not bumping into the furniture. This play is based on nobody remembering lines and everybody bumping into the furniture and each other. The first Act has the actors rehearsing their play whilst being directed from the auditorium by a director with a growing sense of despair at the prospect of a first night looming ever closer and barely-suppressed rage mounting. The characterisations are wonderfully drawn by Frayn and captured precisely by a skillful cast. There are the stock-in actoral universal types to be found in both amateur theatrical groups and repertory companies alike: the world-weary sarcastic director, played by Shaun Hennessy; the neurotic Garry, played by Rowan Talbot, who displays an athleticism and physical comedy worthy of a Rowan Atkinson at his most Mr Bean-like; the precious method actor feeling meaning and motivation in every stage direction whilst not being able to cope with life generally; the ‘ever-so-nice’ but intense blondie with her ‘luvvie’ way of calling all and sundry ‘sweetie’, 'darling' and ‘my love’ and trying to stick to her part when all is falling apart; the veteran actor with a drink and hearing problem – played with vigour and enthusiasm by Stuart Organ. One of the best performances is by Kim Ismay who plays the housekeeper in the play within the play as a cross between Maureen Lipman and Su Pollard with her flamingo-like turns and wonderful timing.
The play demands a great deal from its ensemble cast. All the characters have two roles: the part they are playing in the play ‘within’ and the part in the play ‘without’. Act I is the rehearsal process of the play within and Act 2 is set backstage during one of the performances as it tours the provinces. As usual there are sub-plots with members of the cast having affairs with one another. The second Act descends into classic farce – fights between the actors; intermix of ‘onstage’ and ‘off’ and the major ingredient of any farce – trouser-dropping. There is a very clever piece of pure artistry – a whole section of the play conducted in silence with actors conducting complicated stage business whilst trying to get on and off stage. The audience is treated to a reverse view of the action from a backstage perspective.
The Third Act is back on front set during a performance when the whole effort reaches a climax of wrong entrances, mixed-up lines and confused action. The audience has been ‘taught’ the play within as it unfolds and so by the Third Act the hilarity is in the understanding and appreciation of the ‘fluffed’ lines or the missed entrance. There is a very well done ‘sub theme’ running through the play involving sardines which is the device Frayn uses to hang a lot of the physical action. The action between the players and their parts onstage and their lives offstage merge and mingle in a colourful tumult of misunderstanding and mayhem.
Frayn’s play Noises Off is nothing if not ambitious. It has no less than two theatrical conventions at its core: the farce and the ‘play within a play’. Both dramatic themes are intertwined resulting in a torrent of words, hectic action and a lightning delivery as the play proceeds. The play centres on the rehearsal and performances of a theatre company touring the provinces with a farce. The first Act opens on the technical run-through with all the attendant stress of pre-opening nerves and actoral temperaments jangling. The playwright, lyricist and composer Noel Coward once remarked that the secret of successful stage acting was remembering the lines and not bumping into the furniture. This play is based on nobody remembering lines and everybody bumping into the furniture and each other. The first Act has the actors rehearsing their play whilst being directed from the auditorium by a director with a growing sense of despair at the prospect of a first night looming ever closer and barely-suppressed rage mounting. The characterisations are wonderfully drawn by Frayn and captured precisely by a skillful cast. There are the stock-in actoral universal types to be found in both amateur theatrical groups and repertory companies alike: the world-weary sarcastic director, played by Shaun Hennessy; the neurotic Garry, played by Rowan Talbot, who displays an athleticism and physical comedy worthy of a Rowan Atkinson at his most Mr Bean-like; the precious method actor feeling meaning and motivation in every stage direction whilst not being able to cope with life generally; the ‘ever-so-nice’ but intense blondie with her ‘luvvie’ way of calling all and sundry ‘sweetie’, 'darling' and ‘my love’ and trying to stick to her part when all is falling apart; the veteran actor with a drink and hearing problem – played with vigour and enthusiasm by Stuart Organ. One of the best performances is by Kim Ismay who plays the housekeeper in the play within the play as a cross between Maureen Lipman and Su Pollard with her flamingo-like turns and wonderful timing.
The play demands a great deal from its ensemble cast. All the characters have two roles: the part they are playing in the play ‘within’ and the part in the play ‘without’. Act I is the rehearsal process of the play within and Act 2 is set backstage during one of the performances as it tours the provinces. As usual there are sub-plots with members of the cast having affairs with one another. The second Act descends into classic farce – fights between the actors; intermix of ‘onstage’ and ‘off’ and the major ingredient of any farce – trouser-dropping. There is a very clever piece of pure artistry – a whole section of the play conducted in silence with actors conducting complicated stage business whilst trying to get on and off stage. The audience is treated to a reverse view of the action from a backstage perspective.
The Third Act is back on front set during a performance when the whole effort reaches a climax of wrong entrances, mixed-up lines and confused action. The audience has been ‘taught’ the play within as it unfolds and so by the Third Act the hilarity is in the understanding and appreciation of the ‘fluffed’ lines or the missed entrance. There is a very well done ‘sub theme’ running through the play involving sardines which is the device Frayn uses to hang a lot of the physical action. The action between the players and their parts onstage and their lives offstage merge and mingle in a colourful tumult of misunderstanding and mayhem.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Television biography of the late Paul Scofield
Due to the wonders of modern technology it is possible to record programmes and watch them at a later date - not such fantastic news one might think given the advent of the video recorder over two decades ago. It is just that the latest version -courtesy of the company owned by well-known Antipodean media tycoon turned US citizen - makes the recording business so startlingly, and in some ways worryingly easy - just the push red button. And so, in the household of the Oldest Trainee we push the red button and store up programmes that we may or may not watch later.
One such programme successfully retrieved from the system was a BBC documentary paying tribute to the late Shakespearian actor Paul Scofield. A gem of a TV biographical film for its example of the 'less is more' school of artistic philosophy. What was brought out by the programme was that this giant of the British post-war theatre: West End star, film actor of enormous renown, brilliant Shakespearian interpreter with a mesmeric stage presence and voice to match, was a shy man who was happiest at home with his family and who would return by train from the theatre to his Sussex village. A very un-show business actor. Therefore there were was not the usual roster of big names attesting to a an actor's life of premieres, parties and late-night goings-on in post-performance restaurants or of big personality clashes with fellow performers or of on-set tensions associated with film making. The contributors were themselves leading artists of stage and screen and they attested to Scofield's brilliance combined with modesty. Among their number, Sir Peter Hall; Sir Richard Eyre; Felicity Kendall; Peter Brook; Donald Sinden, John Harrison, Christopher Hampton most of whom declared they were inspired by this man.
The director of the last film Scofield made, Nicholas Hytner, reported that he agreed to play the part of Danforth the witchfinder in Arthur Miller's great play The Crucible, set in 17th Century Massachusetts, because he saw Danforth as the other side of the character that he played to great acclaim on stage and film - Thomas More in Robert Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons. What separated Danforth and More was time, circumstance and geography - from Tudor England to pre-Revolutionary America - but men of unyielding principle whose conscience is uncompromising but no less troubling with very different outcomes. More will not bend to the people's will and Danforth is unbending in his will to root out what he sees as heresy amongst the people of Salem. To have seen those connections across decades of experience shows a man of rare insight and sensitivity and the performances flank an extraordinary career. All in all a portait of a shy man who let his acting do the talking - man for all seasons.
One such programme successfully retrieved from the system was a BBC documentary paying tribute to the late Shakespearian actor Paul Scofield. A gem of a TV biographical film for its example of the 'less is more' school of artistic philosophy. What was brought out by the programme was that this giant of the British post-war theatre: West End star, film actor of enormous renown, brilliant Shakespearian interpreter with a mesmeric stage presence and voice to match, was a shy man who was happiest at home with his family and who would return by train from the theatre to his Sussex village. A very un-show business actor. Therefore there were was not the usual roster of big names attesting to a an actor's life of premieres, parties and late-night goings-on in post-performance restaurants or of big personality clashes with fellow performers or of on-set tensions associated with film making. The contributors were themselves leading artists of stage and screen and they attested to Scofield's brilliance combined with modesty. Among their number, Sir Peter Hall; Sir Richard Eyre; Felicity Kendall; Peter Brook; Donald Sinden, John Harrison, Christopher Hampton most of whom declared they were inspired by this man.
The director of the last film Scofield made, Nicholas Hytner, reported that he agreed to play the part of Danforth the witchfinder in Arthur Miller's great play The Crucible, set in 17th Century Massachusetts, because he saw Danforth as the other side of the character that he played to great acclaim on stage and film - Thomas More in Robert Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons. What separated Danforth and More was time, circumstance and geography - from Tudor England to pre-Revolutionary America - but men of unyielding principle whose conscience is uncompromising but no less troubling with very different outcomes. More will not bend to the people's will and Danforth is unbending in his will to root out what he sees as heresy amongst the people of Salem. To have seen those connections across decades of experience shows a man of rare insight and sensitivity and the performances flank an extraordinary career. All in all a portait of a shy man who let his acting do the talking - man for all seasons.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
DYLAN JONES-EVANS: Bute Park
DYLAN JONES-EVANS: Bute Park
I would very much like to be updated on the campaign's development - although am now I am an ex-patriot South Walian based in Kent, I worked for some time at the Temple of Peace at the WCIA and know and love Cathays Park - the centre-piece of the capital.
I would very much like to be updated on the campaign's development - although am now I am an ex-patriot South Walian based in Kent, I worked for some time at the Temple of Peace at the WCIA and know and love Cathays Park - the centre-piece of the capital.
Monday, 13 October 2008
Reflections on the art of the eulogy
In the last month this correspondent has had sad family news. Not only did we lose my dearly beloved maternal grandmother but also my wife's sister-in-law. One aged 97 after a long, eventful and rather wonderful life and the other too young, in her fifties, to cancer. I was privileged to be able to give the eulogy address at my grandmother's funeral. Herewith in memoriam to Grandma, Joan Elsie Blair, nee Haines:
Joan Elsie Blair – Little Haines / Big Joan
‘A Talent to Amuse’
" Joan Elsie Blair (nee Haines) – wife of Hugh Dickie Blair, mother to Sally, Juliet and Meg; mother-in-law to Anthony and Eliot, grandmother to Claire, William, Madeleine, Richard, Charles, Tom, Jess and Sam; great-grandmother to Daniel, Charlotte and Tom, and adopted Grandma to her ‘beautiful’ Karolina and steadfast Magdalena – long-time companions at 165 Lake Road West or ‘international house’ as it became known in recent years. She had many roles, played many parts. She touched many people’s lives in her 97 years upon this earth, whether you knew her as Grandma, Joan, Mummy or Mrs Blair. She encouraged, advised, occasionally cajoled, and often-times persuaded. She could also be provocative and at times a little acerbic - I sometimes teased her about going into ‘Little Haines’ mode – the nickname she was given by a jolly hockeysticks gym mistress at her boarding school in Southport. Her patience, kindness, forbearance, courage, humour and great sense of fun was inspiring. She was a guiding star twinkling and shining - leading by example. Grandma once told me that the central priorities in her life with Grandpa were other people, the children and only then themselves. In this way her focus on other people’s welfare was an animating feature in the way she lived her life. Indeed as the song (It’s a Lovely Holiday) from one of her favourite films – Mary Poppins – has it “forbearance was the hallmark of her creed” and this is neatly summed up in one of her favourite phrases – “ oh well, don’t worry, it can’t be helped “. And through this interest in others she was that rarest of breeds – a life-enhancer. She had a natural spontaneous gift for building up confidence in whomsoever she met. She found the positive aspect of a personality or a character trait or a person’s point of view and highlighted it. She quite simply made people feel good about themselves – she truly enhanced their lives. As Susan Caree-Roberts, daughter of Grandma’s great friend Margaret Roberts, has put it in a card: “ who could forget that little figure, thatch of white hair, advancing resolutely along the pavement towards the chosen goal – to the shops, to visit a neighbour, to Church: what will they do now for a guardian angel in Lake Road West? “
And I have been the recipient of this loving bounty all my life: as a boy who often felt awkward, with a tendency to fall over his shoelaces and burdened with a speech difficulty, it was Grandma who sent me to elocution lessons to build up speaking confidence, nurturing a love of literature, theatre and performance in the process. [And when in recent times a hearing problem was diagnosed it was Grandma who enabled its treatment]. She used to say by way of encouragement “but darling, for someone who walked late and talked even later you are doing well”. And these comments were not confined to her immediate relations. On meeting my wife’s grown-up son and daughter Grandma declared “Karen my dear, I am very pleased with your children”. We felt we had received the Grandma Blair benediction. We all have similar stories.
Grandma was always ready for a trip. I had occasion to go with her to the London opera starring one of our favourite singers, Lesley Garrett, in The Barber of Seville. At this point she was a mere spring chicken in her late 80s. We went up on the train to Paddington (in past times it would have been the theatre train). She joked with the taxi-driver about her forebears hung at Tyburn as we passed Marble Arch and casually mentioned her family relation to Sir Christopher Wren. We arrived at the ENO as the curtain went up after negotiating a long flight of stairs to the upper circle. We of course had seats in the middle of the row. The usual ‘excuse mes’ led to po-faced audience tut-tutting. Grandma’s indignant response delivered in a commanding voice that she thought was a whisper reverberated around the auditorium “well we don’t get this sort of reception in Wales you know! “. I had learnt at Grandma’s knee to be nonchalant in the face of embarrassment. The girl of the 1930s London theatre, who met her future husband through friendship with his cousin Tana , was always full of praise for her adopted homeland – Joan Elsie Blair was a Cardiffian for 50 years. Grandma passed on her love of music and theatre to all of us. I was lucky enough to go with her to many shows – she was a generous audience and a sympathetic appreciater of other’s artistic efforts.
Grandma’s professional singing career coincided with that of the Noel Coward era and she appreciated his sense of humour and sometimes bittersweet lyrics. One of his songs, to my mind, will forever remind us of her. It for me expresses her optimistic hope that all shall be well at the last (and we shall all meet again)
I’ll See You Again / Whenever Spring breaks through Again /
Time May lie heavy between / But what has been is past forgetting
Your Sweet Memory / Throughout my life will come to me
Though the World may go awry / In my heart will ever lie
Just the echo of a sigh / Goodbye…..
Grandma, Joan Elsie Blair nee Haines, God-speed. We shall miss you "
We said goodbye to another remarkable woman called Joan this year - Joan Smith. She served as the right hand to my father in the family law firm over four decades, and had known my father for nearly 50 years and my siblings and I all of our lives. She worked right up till her death, in her eighties, still serving her clients whilst battling with cancer. My father spoke movingly about his old friend at her funeral, reproduced below, capturing her for those who knew, worked with and admired a devoted servant of humanity:
Joan Smith – an appreciation
Taken from the eulogy given by Anthony W Jeremy at the funeral service, Thornhill Crematorium, 2pm Monday 14 July 2008
" As we sorrow for our loss, it seemed to Marie and the Minister right that I should say something of Joan’s professional life, although she was of course not merely my colleague but effectively a member of my family – one of my oldest friends. So let us reflect on the qualities which inspired such respect from the profession and affection from literally hundreds of clients whom she served in the course of a long and successful career.
Many practitioners in the law are appreciated for their efficiency, skills and dedication to their work, but few are so highly valued and esteemed by clients and indeed professional colleagues as was Joan. Why was that?
Well firstly, she had an unswerving professional commitment which I encountered early on as a raw recruit, fresh from the leisurely pace of University life. In the firm which I joined as a raw recruit, Joan was briefed to monitor the often wayward activities of the law students grappling with the urgencies of legal practice. Her no-nonsense, disciplined and sharply focused approach to us made a memorable impact, not unlike experiencing the close attentions of a sergeant major on entering military service. I hasten to add Joan was much gentler, but equally firm. We learned fast and never forgot.
Some years later, when we formed our own firm, my then partner and I counted ourselves extremely fortunate when she joined us. Joan was to prove a pillar of my practice for over 40 years. Her importance to the firm cannot be exaggerated. My work as a civil court practitioner took me away for long periods. Aggregated over the whole of our association these absences amounted to literally years, and in all that time Joan was the proverbial rock in all crises. A steady, calm voice in a sea of troubles she always responded to the challenges with impeccable judgement. She had a rare ability to analyze complex facts with an insight into the essential relevant considerations – a gift which was most evident in her cases of family disputes and matrimonial litigation. To those caught up in the highly charged emotional maelstrom of marriage breakdown, Joan brought wise counsel, clarity of thought and powerful support. Her uncompromising professionalism was respected throughout the legal fraternity by a garland of friends and acquaintances – legal executives, solicitors, barristers and judges – and was recognised in her appointment as one of the fist Fellows of the Institute of Legal Executives. In the affairs of the Institute she played a prominent part in its growth throughout South Wales. Joan was especially concerned to encourage and inspire new entrants, particularly young students.
But what set her apart was that she gave herself to her clients without restraint and without reserve, placing her counsel, experience and skills at their service, often at the cost of personal sacrifice. This she did right to the end of her working life. Only a few weeks ago, at the height of what we now know to be her last illness, Joan was applying herself to clients’ matters and the protection of their interests in spite of considerable discomfort and pain. It has been said that ‘ when you give of yourself you truly give ’ and Joan proved the truth of that proverb to the full.
That dedication was motivated by her compassion for others, a compassion inspired by the ideals and teachings of her Faith. In the chances and changes of life, in times of misfortune, trauma, distress and uncertainty, clients found in Joan not merely someone with whom they could share their pain and problems, but a source of strength, comfort and true understanding – a light in their darkness to set them on their way. That is why so many clients came to regard her not as a legal adviser but as a loyal friend, and many of those friendships have lasted to this day.
And now in this hour of separation, everything which we loved and admired in Joan will become clearer – to us irreplaceable. We shall miss her humour, her wisdom, her commitment and concern for clients. And yet what we miss is in reality her legacy to us. What Joan has left behind is more than a record of professional success but an incomparable example of selfless devotion to others. Those of us who were fortunate enough to know her as clients or colleagues will never forget her. Your presence today is the most eloquent testimony to the admiration and love in which she was held.
I am reminded of Shakespeare’s Sonnets:
‘ When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughts I summon up remembrance of things past
Then can I drown an eye unused to flow for precious friends hid in death’s dateless night
But the while I think on thee dear friend all losses are restored and sorrows end’
And so, although we say farewell to Joan with tears, we shall always think on her with happiness and gratitude for her life of true humanity and service to others.
May she rest in peace "
In penning my thoughts about my grandmother I was much inspired by a number of eulogies written by various members of the family and friends. The art is to capture the person both for those who knew the person well and for those who knew them little or not all - to 'capture' the life lived for all there, and sometimes for those not present to read in print. Herewith two more.
My uncle Eliot wrote and presented the eulogy for his father Winston. As can be appreciated by the reading, they don't make them like him anymore - if they ever did in the first place:
" Winston, we shall miss you.
You were an unusual man. We all respected your wisdom and advice, even if sometimes we found it hard to follow. You were usually right.
You were a man full of surprises. None of us knew until recently the degree to which you had worked with British Intelligence for many years both before and after the last war. We knew you had something to do with camouflage but little more than that. That your department was “concealment, deception and counter measures” sounds quite dramatic, but not half so dramatic as going to Spain as a spy during the Spanish Civil War to study the effects of bombing and meeting Franco, then a Colonel, in passing.
You came from a simple and very poor background, your father was a butcher and your mother a nurse who rose to become a matron.
You and your brothers were bright. Raymond in particular was a brilliant draughtsman. This was recognised and a wealthy patron by the name of Alex Keighly supported you and Raymond financially through higher education firstly to Leeds School of Architecture and then by scholarship to the Architectural Association in London. At the AA you met a fellow student, Kitty Holman, of Scottish and Norwegian extraction. You married her and had a son, David. Tragically, she died in childbirth.
By 1936, you were in Spain and there you met an extraordinary English colonel by the name of Wintle, who eventually became Secretary for Air. It was through him that gradually your career moved from architecture to military matters. Your architectural interest in the design of aerodromes was recognised by the Air Ministry and you were sent to Germany to study the aerodromes being secretly built there. You bought back news of the autobahns being designed as runways and the secret hangers being built in woods nearby, and of the extensive ‘gliding clubs’ which were a thinly disguised basis for a developing airforce.
Back in England, you were put in charge of the ‘L’ expansion scheme, which was semi-secret as it fell outside the Geneva Convention, to develop our own airfields in case of war. The success of this scheme was the key to winning the Battle of Britain as without airfields we would not have been able to defend ourselves when war came.
You started to specialise in camouflage and flew thousands of hours studying different treatments and disguises from the air. At some point in time you had worked in the film industry as an art director making three very bad ‘B’ movies. But you used your experience of film set design to create false buildings, shadows and ‘street lighting’, even mock towns and cities during the War. The success of one of these outside Cardiff can be seen today. Bomb craters are still visible where German bombers dropped their loads on what they thought were the docks, but were in fact only lights and tin foil.
During the war you had married an actress, Everley Gregg, but the marriage was not a success. Immediately, after the war you met Maryel, also an architect who had studied at the AA, and you had a son, Eliot, followed by a daughter, Louise.
For a period you were head of the Hammersmith School of Architecture and then moved to teach at the AA. There, your anti Communist views were not popular but with your background understandable so you went to work in the offices of T P Bennet, a well-known commercial architect.
Once again you received a call, this time from the Admiralty where you secretly worked on a study of the outlying reaches of the Empire to see if they were defendable or should be given up. To your amusement, when you called up the files they were the same ones you had worked on during the War, and had been untouched since. Your conclusion that defense was impractical was as ever logical and pragmatic.
On the death of Maryel’s mother you moved to Cleavers and lived there for almost forty years. After a spell with Howard Hicks in Stratford on Avon you returned to teaching architecture and had many happy years with the students at the Leicester School of Architecture.
You helped start the Stratford Society and were the scourge of planners everywhere. You found time to take a degree in Urban Conservation and used your experience gained as a Planning Inspector to pursue the Stratford Council in ever more ludicrous and complex planning applications. This I suspect you did for your own amusement as much as anything else. You always had a hatred of blind bureaucracy and were a great defender of the individual’s rights against monolithic government and the nanny state.
I have not mentioned your friendship with the De Havilland family or your friendship with Basil Winham, at that time Charlwood Alliance, but subsequently to become a main board director of P & O. You seem to have crammed so many things into your life that it is hard to keep track of them all.
Perhaps it is the ease with which you made great friendships and sometime great enemies that was both your strength and weakness. Your blunt speaking was not always welcome but you were afraid of nothing and always had a sense of justice and a love of freedom.
I hope you are now free to pursue all the things you loved in life because we shall miss you now you are gone.
You were an unusual man and we loved you very much "
Some years ago I went with my cousin and his family to the funeral of a lifelong friend of his and fellow pilot. Jeremy's friend had died too early from cancer and his funeral took place in a small, ancient Oxfordshire Church. The friend remembered, Chris Cowper, and my cousin had been comrades since joining British Airways together after service in the RAF. This address also captures the life and the friendship between them shines through:
"Chris Cowper 1936 - 2005
Chris died just over a week ago, early in the morning on Thursday 15th Sept. perhaps appropriately, in view of his aviation career, it was Battle of Britain commemoration day. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer in November 2003 and had, initially, a long period of containment. He could even play golf during this time. However in the past few months there were increasing difficulties, culminating in a sudden inability to walk or use his legs at all. Tests and treatment followed for 2 weeks at the Churchill hospital in Oxford but it was realised that this condition could not be reversed. Chris wanted to come home and not stay in hospital or go to a hospice. Judy, calmly, methodically, and efficiently took on the role of organising all that this entailed, a hospital style bed downstairs in the dining room, a wheelchair, a commode, and crucially a range of support services, nurses and carers. Chris was fortunate to die at home, where he wanted to be, surrounded by his family in familiar, friendly environment, listening to and watching the recent memorable cricket Test matches. His death was comfortable and peaceful at the last. The support Chris received, not only from Judy, Marcus, Jamie and Claire, but also absolutely crucially, from the health services, was wonderful. Chris had great trust in the medical services, the GP, the Health Centre, District nurses, the specialist cancer consultants and services, the hospitals at Stoke Mandeville and Churchill in Oxford, the carers, the Macmillan Nurses and finally the Marie Curie support from the Florence Nightingdale. They were all caring, amazing and first rate. This is a tribute to them all. Thank you.
Chris has died too soon, much, much too soon but we can celebrate his life because he regarded himself as a fortunate man. He had a good innings. He was not a man given to introspection but, a few months ago, said to me that if he had to go he had enjoyed a good life and could not complain. That good life included a close knit family, Judy his wife of 44 years and his three children. I know that he was thrilled to have a grandchild, Daisy, He had her picture as the wallpaper on his computer. In his chosen career, he was also highly successful as a pilot, firstly in the RAF as a fast jet pilot for 9 years and then as a commercial pilot mainly with British Airways for 27 years and subsequently with smaller charter companies. Chris loved flying, it was his career, vocation and hobby. He wondered that he was being paid for doing something he loved so much. His aviation interest and knowledge were encyclopaedic. His aircraft recognition was phenomenal; he could identify an aircraft from the smallest dot in the sky.
So where and when did this enthusiasm arise. Born in 1936, an only child, his Dad was a tea broker and after school at Canterbury- an experience which I think he enjoyed but in which he claims to have been rather undistinguished- he was destined to follow his Father into tea. But Chris’s interests were already in aviation. He was a modelmaker and apparently an avid reader of aviation magazines. He applied and was successful in obtaining a short service commission to become a pilot in the RAF. On 8th October 1954 Officer training started at Kirton in Lindsey, in where he met his oldest and firmest friend John Cray and his future best man at his wedding, Tony Netherton, both here today. Flying training at Ternhill, on the Provost and Oakington on the Vampire culminated in the award of the coveted wings in 1956 and a posting to the Hawker Hunter, the premier fighter aircraft of its day. These were the days of the cold war and Chris, John and Tony all went to the Second Tactical Air Force in Germany. Chris was with 26 Squadron, followed by 14 Squadron. Apart from the flying this appears to have been a giant never ending party experience in a Germany going through its miraculous economic recovery from the war.
After 3 years in Germany he was fortunate to get a second flying tour as they were called- this time on the twin engined, two crew, delta wing fighter, the Javelin. The fortune, one might say, was short lived as, on one of his early flights at the OCU, he suffered an engine fire, closely followed by a second engine fire, the inevitable conclusion of which is to leave the aircraft, so both he and his navigator ejected, as it is called and descended by parachute. This made him a member of the distinguished club ‘the caterpillar club’, reserved for those who had been compelled to parachute from an aircraft. Chris, typically never made a meal of this very rare experience. Apparently he did say the burning aircraft wreck had ‘set Lord Bolton’s grouse moor on fire and it would burn till Christmas’ but he was, as always, very self effacing about what must have been a terrifying and unique experience. Tony Netherton played golf with Chris shortly after this incident. Chris casually mentioned, between shots, that he had bailed out. There was no aggrandisement; typical Chris; most people would have dined out on this for ever. He did, however, injure his spine in the ejection and spent some time at the famous rehabilitation centre at Headley Court. This spinal injury occasionally caused some pain in subsequent years and latterly he thought this was the cause of his back pain which eventually, tragically, transpired to be the developing prostate cancer.
Chris spent a further 3 years flying the Javelin on 25 Squadron. Somehow he found the time, before the Javelin course, to woo Judy, a neighbour from home, (how he got such a fantastic girl is beyond me) and they married, with Tony Netherton as best man on, 9th. September 1961. They moved to RAF Leuchars, St Andrews. For the first 6 months of his time there Chris was on detachment in Cyprus. I doubt whether this was part of the bargain for Judy!
And so after 9 years in the RAF Chris left to join British European Airways on the Vickers Viscount. It is here that I met him We were on the same course starting 2 days before president Kennedy was assassinated (so we know where we were—probably being taught Viscount electrics at the BEA Heston Training centre). From the every first I knew Chris as very special. What is the touchstone of friendship? I don’t know but we, quite different in temperament, hit it off. This character had the ability or knack of defusing a tricky or difficult situation by making it funny. He didn’t tell jokes but, as we all know, was the ultimate master of the pun. Chris could make a pun out of any statement. Yes we all groaned but we laughed as we groaned and then we prepared to groan and laugh again as pun followed pun. It was great fun, sometimes culminating in side splitting, uncontrolled fits of laughter. Tony Netherton reminded me that Chris would make the pun, stare at you waiting for recognition and then tell another one. We will all miss that.
Chris was an excellent civil pilot. We know that because he came out ahead of all of us on the course and consequently above us all on the infamous seniority list which governs life in the realms of civil aviation. He was also a wonderful crew member; a pilot everyone liked to fly with - and not all outstanding pilots make good members of a crew.
He flew the Viscount and Trident as co-pilot and the Viscount, Vanguard, Trident and Boeing 757, on its introduction to British Airways, as Captain. I remember he was interviewed for a position as a Route Check captain. I asked him how it had gone. He replied he didn’t know but he had made the panel laugh – typical Chris. He was offered the job but the aircraft was withdrawn from service before he could take it up.
So at age 55 in BA, all good things come to an end and one is compelled to leave. Chris flew the 757 with a number of charter airlines, realising what we had all suspected, that BA had been an excellent outfit to work for. Finally he became less than satisfied about some of the safety issues in one operator and he retired, aged 61, in January 1997. His last pilots log book entry simply says ‘Finis’.
So that is the career. He came home to the Old Parsonage, Nether Winchendon , the family home of 21 years after many happy years in the delights of Bryn Cottage, Speen which became too small for the brood, at one time 3 children under 2. Chris had spent a lot of time away from home both in the RAF and in civil flying. Nonetheless he had a strong family and a vast range of interests. These were mostly centred around things which move, mainly with wheels. Aeroplanes, cars, motor bikes, trains, cycles, and, without wheels, canal boats. Chris knew all there was to know on these subjects. And he and Judy also had, at one time, a mini sail. Interest diverged to birds, feathered which also move a bit. Rather like his aircraft recognition skills, Chris took pride in his bird recognition.
He had a combined interest in choral music and churches and cathedrals. Living near Oxford, he and Judy went to the beautiful college chapels to hear glorious choral music.
They also visited the great cathedrals of England and France There was also an interest in Jazz. We all did a course together on art appreciation in Oxford. Chris was very proud of and supported Judy as her sculpturing talents developed.
So what manner of man is emerging? Well, like most of us, a patch work quilt. A family man of absolute integrity, he had a wide circle of acquaintances but was content with a few friends and very happy in his own company, sometimes solitary, even reclusive, doing his own thing, perhaps establishing his amazing model railway system. He did not like large crowds and avoided London, except for a specific occasions; a traditionalist and conservative; rather old fashioned in clothing. I would tease him about his ‘demob suit’ and his panama hat – perhaps it was a Noel Coward influence. I think he thought Armani was some far away Eastern European Republic. He was offended by the word ‘toilet’ it was ‘lavatory’ and certainly some humour was distinctly lavatorial. I have been reminded by Tony Smith of what is, loosely, a golfing story. For many years I didn’t know that Chris played golf. During his working years he, apparently, played occasionally in Scotland, having learnt, to some extent, the game in his youth. On retirement, golf became more important and a source of pleasure, especially to those playing with him. Chris would turn up, immaculately dressed in knickerbockers, polished shoes and shirt and tie (I think he must have worn a tie with his pyjamas). Chris’s golf was pretty erratic, sometimes lousy, but not as bad as mine. On one occasion he hit a diabolical shot; ‘S…T’ was loudly broadcast down the fairway closely followed by the response ‘said the king and 10,000 courtiers struggled and heaved to his command’. We were in stitches only to be brought up short by the admonition of other, more serious, golfers for our excessive noise and hilarity. This was decidedly a reversion to childhood but we revelled in it. There was something of PG Wodehouse in this upright Englishman, (he liked ‘spotted dick’ for pudding), a fantastic sense of humour and a natural clown. Yet Chris could be quite radical in opinion and had firm, diverse and controversial (to me) views on national and world events which he would argue with conviction. He had great interest in books, especially military history as well as anything on transport, aviation, railways, cars, Etc. He would like to find the reference for anything of interest. He was very keen on maps, but I became less enthusiastic about his map reading skills after a jaunt in the Lake District when with supreme confidence, he got us lost. John reminded me that, at Marcus and Jo’s wedding, Chris decided to drive the ‘pretty route’ from hotel to church. We all dutifully followed to be led up an increasingly narrow lane going nowhere. Lots of manoeuvring was required. We just made the church on time!
Chris was very good with words. He wrote a fantastic account of a joint holiday we enjoyed in Kenya in the early 1970’s. Very recently, only a few months ago, he wrote a letter to the Log, the journal of BALPA, on the Hawker Siddely Trident aircraft. This was a fascinating, detailed, historical, account of the aircraft and its characteristics. This article, I am delighted to say, was published as a two page spread in the Log which arrived last month. Chris was thrilled. It is a lasting, worthy, tribute to his aviation knowledge and skilled writing.
He was most amusing, good company, usually easy going but sometimes he would grab hold of some idea and worry it to death. He was far too modest. He certainly undersold himself and his abilities. He was unnecessarily self- effacing, sometimes deliberately playing the fool, as a mask. He was as straight as a die. He was much more sensitive and caring than is perhaps recognised. He was not into possessions. He liked the ‘wireless’ as he called it, especially radio 4. He was always true to himself and his beliefs. He was very fortunate in his chosen professional and private life. He had many hobbies and was happy in his leisure time.
I would like to conclude with a quote from John Cray: ‘Chris had a love of the countryside, particularly the remote areas and of course the wild life, particularly birds. He loved old buildings and, probably influenced by his schooldays in Canterbury, the churches and, cathedrals and though he did not sing well or play an instrument, he was very keen on jazz and very much taken with early English church music, Tallis, Byrd etc. and would listen to choral evensong on the radio or attend evensong if the opportunity occurred. He was a very balanced man. He loved and was very proud of his family and the achievements and skills of all of them. The focus of his life had been flying backed up by his keen interest in all things mechanical and powered. But his interest in, and knowledge of, the arts and also of the countryside and its natural history was also part of the character of an intelligent, thoughtful, loyal man. A friend of more than 50 years’
So Chris has gone, leaving his close family Judy, Jamie, Marcus, and Claire, his wider family and his friends to mourn but above all to remember with pleasure and gratitude what Chris has given to us.
“The rest is silence” "
Rest in peace all.
Joan Elsie Blair – Little Haines / Big Joan
‘A Talent to Amuse’
" Joan Elsie Blair (nee Haines) – wife of Hugh Dickie Blair, mother to Sally, Juliet and Meg; mother-in-law to Anthony and Eliot, grandmother to Claire, William, Madeleine, Richard, Charles, Tom, Jess and Sam; great-grandmother to Daniel, Charlotte and Tom, and adopted Grandma to her ‘beautiful’ Karolina and steadfast Magdalena – long-time companions at 165 Lake Road West or ‘international house’ as it became known in recent years. She had many roles, played many parts. She touched many people’s lives in her 97 years upon this earth, whether you knew her as Grandma, Joan, Mummy or Mrs Blair. She encouraged, advised, occasionally cajoled, and often-times persuaded. She could also be provocative and at times a little acerbic - I sometimes teased her about going into ‘Little Haines’ mode – the nickname she was given by a jolly hockeysticks gym mistress at her boarding school in Southport. Her patience, kindness, forbearance, courage, humour and great sense of fun was inspiring. She was a guiding star twinkling and shining - leading by example. Grandma once told me that the central priorities in her life with Grandpa were other people, the children and only then themselves. In this way her focus on other people’s welfare was an animating feature in the way she lived her life. Indeed as the song (It’s a Lovely Holiday) from one of her favourite films – Mary Poppins – has it “forbearance was the hallmark of her creed” and this is neatly summed up in one of her favourite phrases – “ oh well, don’t worry, it can’t be helped “. And through this interest in others she was that rarest of breeds – a life-enhancer. She had a natural spontaneous gift for building up confidence in whomsoever she met. She found the positive aspect of a personality or a character trait or a person’s point of view and highlighted it. She quite simply made people feel good about themselves – she truly enhanced their lives. As Susan Caree-Roberts, daughter of Grandma’s great friend Margaret Roberts, has put it in a card: “ who could forget that little figure, thatch of white hair, advancing resolutely along the pavement towards the chosen goal – to the shops, to visit a neighbour, to Church: what will they do now for a guardian angel in Lake Road West? “
And I have been the recipient of this loving bounty all my life: as a boy who often felt awkward, with a tendency to fall over his shoelaces and burdened with a speech difficulty, it was Grandma who sent me to elocution lessons to build up speaking confidence, nurturing a love of literature, theatre and performance in the process. [And when in recent times a hearing problem was diagnosed it was Grandma who enabled its treatment]. She used to say by way of encouragement “but darling, for someone who walked late and talked even later you are doing well”. And these comments were not confined to her immediate relations. On meeting my wife’s grown-up son and daughter Grandma declared “Karen my dear, I am very pleased with your children”. We felt we had received the Grandma Blair benediction. We all have similar stories.
Grandma was always ready for a trip. I had occasion to go with her to the London opera starring one of our favourite singers, Lesley Garrett, in The Barber of Seville. At this point she was a mere spring chicken in her late 80s. We went up on the train to Paddington (in past times it would have been the theatre train). She joked with the taxi-driver about her forebears hung at Tyburn as we passed Marble Arch and casually mentioned her family relation to Sir Christopher Wren. We arrived at the ENO as the curtain went up after negotiating a long flight of stairs to the upper circle. We of course had seats in the middle of the row. The usual ‘excuse mes’ led to po-faced audience tut-tutting. Grandma’s indignant response delivered in a commanding voice that she thought was a whisper reverberated around the auditorium “well we don’t get this sort of reception in Wales you know! “. I had learnt at Grandma’s knee to be nonchalant in the face of embarrassment. The girl of the 1930s London theatre, who met her future husband through friendship with his cousin Tana , was always full of praise for her adopted homeland – Joan Elsie Blair was a Cardiffian for 50 years. Grandma passed on her love of music and theatre to all of us. I was lucky enough to go with her to many shows – she was a generous audience and a sympathetic appreciater of other’s artistic efforts.
Grandma’s professional singing career coincided with that of the Noel Coward era and she appreciated his sense of humour and sometimes bittersweet lyrics. One of his songs, to my mind, will forever remind us of her. It for me expresses her optimistic hope that all shall be well at the last (and we shall all meet again)
I’ll See You Again / Whenever Spring breaks through Again /
Time May lie heavy between / But what has been is past forgetting
Your Sweet Memory / Throughout my life will come to me
Though the World may go awry / In my heart will ever lie
Just the echo of a sigh / Goodbye…..
Grandma, Joan Elsie Blair nee Haines, God-speed. We shall miss you "
We said goodbye to another remarkable woman called Joan this year - Joan Smith. She served as the right hand to my father in the family law firm over four decades, and had known my father for nearly 50 years and my siblings and I all of our lives. She worked right up till her death, in her eighties, still serving her clients whilst battling with cancer. My father spoke movingly about his old friend at her funeral, reproduced below, capturing her for those who knew, worked with and admired a devoted servant of humanity:
Joan Smith – an appreciation
Taken from the eulogy given by Anthony W Jeremy at the funeral service, Thornhill Crematorium, 2pm Monday 14 July 2008
" As we sorrow for our loss, it seemed to Marie and the Minister right that I should say something of Joan’s professional life, although she was of course not merely my colleague but effectively a member of my family – one of my oldest friends. So let us reflect on the qualities which inspired such respect from the profession and affection from literally hundreds of clients whom she served in the course of a long and successful career.
Many practitioners in the law are appreciated for their efficiency, skills and dedication to their work, but few are so highly valued and esteemed by clients and indeed professional colleagues as was Joan. Why was that?
Well firstly, she had an unswerving professional commitment which I encountered early on as a raw recruit, fresh from the leisurely pace of University life. In the firm which I joined as a raw recruit, Joan was briefed to monitor the often wayward activities of the law students grappling with the urgencies of legal practice. Her no-nonsense, disciplined and sharply focused approach to us made a memorable impact, not unlike experiencing the close attentions of a sergeant major on entering military service. I hasten to add Joan was much gentler, but equally firm. We learned fast and never forgot.
Some years later, when we formed our own firm, my then partner and I counted ourselves extremely fortunate when she joined us. Joan was to prove a pillar of my practice for over 40 years. Her importance to the firm cannot be exaggerated. My work as a civil court practitioner took me away for long periods. Aggregated over the whole of our association these absences amounted to literally years, and in all that time Joan was the proverbial rock in all crises. A steady, calm voice in a sea of troubles she always responded to the challenges with impeccable judgement. She had a rare ability to analyze complex facts with an insight into the essential relevant considerations – a gift which was most evident in her cases of family disputes and matrimonial litigation. To those caught up in the highly charged emotional maelstrom of marriage breakdown, Joan brought wise counsel, clarity of thought and powerful support. Her uncompromising professionalism was respected throughout the legal fraternity by a garland of friends and acquaintances – legal executives, solicitors, barristers and judges – and was recognised in her appointment as one of the fist Fellows of the Institute of Legal Executives. In the affairs of the Institute she played a prominent part in its growth throughout South Wales. Joan was especially concerned to encourage and inspire new entrants, particularly young students.
But what set her apart was that she gave herself to her clients without restraint and without reserve, placing her counsel, experience and skills at their service, often at the cost of personal sacrifice. This she did right to the end of her working life. Only a few weeks ago, at the height of what we now know to be her last illness, Joan was applying herself to clients’ matters and the protection of their interests in spite of considerable discomfort and pain. It has been said that ‘ when you give of yourself you truly give ’ and Joan proved the truth of that proverb to the full.
That dedication was motivated by her compassion for others, a compassion inspired by the ideals and teachings of her Faith. In the chances and changes of life, in times of misfortune, trauma, distress and uncertainty, clients found in Joan not merely someone with whom they could share their pain and problems, but a source of strength, comfort and true understanding – a light in their darkness to set them on their way. That is why so many clients came to regard her not as a legal adviser but as a loyal friend, and many of those friendships have lasted to this day.
And now in this hour of separation, everything which we loved and admired in Joan will become clearer – to us irreplaceable. We shall miss her humour, her wisdom, her commitment and concern for clients. And yet what we miss is in reality her legacy to us. What Joan has left behind is more than a record of professional success but an incomparable example of selfless devotion to others. Those of us who were fortunate enough to know her as clients or colleagues will never forget her. Your presence today is the most eloquent testimony to the admiration and love in which she was held.
I am reminded of Shakespeare’s Sonnets:
‘ When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughts I summon up remembrance of things past
Then can I drown an eye unused to flow for precious friends hid in death’s dateless night
But the while I think on thee dear friend all losses are restored and sorrows end’
And so, although we say farewell to Joan with tears, we shall always think on her with happiness and gratitude for her life of true humanity and service to others.
May she rest in peace "
In penning my thoughts about my grandmother I was much inspired by a number of eulogies written by various members of the family and friends. The art is to capture the person both for those who knew the person well and for those who knew them little or not all - to 'capture' the life lived for all there, and sometimes for those not present to read in print. Herewith two more.
My uncle Eliot wrote and presented the eulogy for his father Winston. As can be appreciated by the reading, they don't make them like him anymore - if they ever did in the first place:
" Winston, we shall miss you.
You were an unusual man. We all respected your wisdom and advice, even if sometimes we found it hard to follow. You were usually right.
You were a man full of surprises. None of us knew until recently the degree to which you had worked with British Intelligence for many years both before and after the last war. We knew you had something to do with camouflage but little more than that. That your department was “concealment, deception and counter measures” sounds quite dramatic, but not half so dramatic as going to Spain as a spy during the Spanish Civil War to study the effects of bombing and meeting Franco, then a Colonel, in passing.
You came from a simple and very poor background, your father was a butcher and your mother a nurse who rose to become a matron.
You and your brothers were bright. Raymond in particular was a brilliant draughtsman. This was recognised and a wealthy patron by the name of Alex Keighly supported you and Raymond financially through higher education firstly to Leeds School of Architecture and then by scholarship to the Architectural Association in London. At the AA you met a fellow student, Kitty Holman, of Scottish and Norwegian extraction. You married her and had a son, David. Tragically, she died in childbirth.
By 1936, you were in Spain and there you met an extraordinary English colonel by the name of Wintle, who eventually became Secretary for Air. It was through him that gradually your career moved from architecture to military matters. Your architectural interest in the design of aerodromes was recognised by the Air Ministry and you were sent to Germany to study the aerodromes being secretly built there. You bought back news of the autobahns being designed as runways and the secret hangers being built in woods nearby, and of the extensive ‘gliding clubs’ which were a thinly disguised basis for a developing airforce.
Back in England, you were put in charge of the ‘L’ expansion scheme, which was semi-secret as it fell outside the Geneva Convention, to develop our own airfields in case of war. The success of this scheme was the key to winning the Battle of Britain as without airfields we would not have been able to defend ourselves when war came.
You started to specialise in camouflage and flew thousands of hours studying different treatments and disguises from the air. At some point in time you had worked in the film industry as an art director making three very bad ‘B’ movies. But you used your experience of film set design to create false buildings, shadows and ‘street lighting’, even mock towns and cities during the War. The success of one of these outside Cardiff can be seen today. Bomb craters are still visible where German bombers dropped their loads on what they thought were the docks, but were in fact only lights and tin foil.
During the war you had married an actress, Everley Gregg, but the marriage was not a success. Immediately, after the war you met Maryel, also an architect who had studied at the AA, and you had a son, Eliot, followed by a daughter, Louise.
For a period you were head of the Hammersmith School of Architecture and then moved to teach at the AA. There, your anti Communist views were not popular but with your background understandable so you went to work in the offices of T P Bennet, a well-known commercial architect.
Once again you received a call, this time from the Admiralty where you secretly worked on a study of the outlying reaches of the Empire to see if they were defendable or should be given up. To your amusement, when you called up the files they were the same ones you had worked on during the War, and had been untouched since. Your conclusion that defense was impractical was as ever logical and pragmatic.
On the death of Maryel’s mother you moved to Cleavers and lived there for almost forty years. After a spell with Howard Hicks in Stratford on Avon you returned to teaching architecture and had many happy years with the students at the Leicester School of Architecture.
You helped start the Stratford Society and were the scourge of planners everywhere. You found time to take a degree in Urban Conservation and used your experience gained as a Planning Inspector to pursue the Stratford Council in ever more ludicrous and complex planning applications. This I suspect you did for your own amusement as much as anything else. You always had a hatred of blind bureaucracy and were a great defender of the individual’s rights against monolithic government and the nanny state.
I have not mentioned your friendship with the De Havilland family or your friendship with Basil Winham, at that time Charlwood Alliance, but subsequently to become a main board director of P & O. You seem to have crammed so many things into your life that it is hard to keep track of them all.
Perhaps it is the ease with which you made great friendships and sometime great enemies that was both your strength and weakness. Your blunt speaking was not always welcome but you were afraid of nothing and always had a sense of justice and a love of freedom.
I hope you are now free to pursue all the things you loved in life because we shall miss you now you are gone.
You were an unusual man and we loved you very much "
Some years ago I went with my cousin and his family to the funeral of a lifelong friend of his and fellow pilot. Jeremy's friend had died too early from cancer and his funeral took place in a small, ancient Oxfordshire Church. The friend remembered, Chris Cowper, and my cousin had been comrades since joining British Airways together after service in the RAF. This address also captures the life and the friendship between them shines through:
"Chris Cowper 1936 - 2005
Chris died just over a week ago, early in the morning on Thursday 15th Sept. perhaps appropriately, in view of his aviation career, it was Battle of Britain commemoration day. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer in November 2003 and had, initially, a long period of containment. He could even play golf during this time. However in the past few months there were increasing difficulties, culminating in a sudden inability to walk or use his legs at all. Tests and treatment followed for 2 weeks at the Churchill hospital in Oxford but it was realised that this condition could not be reversed. Chris wanted to come home and not stay in hospital or go to a hospice. Judy, calmly, methodically, and efficiently took on the role of organising all that this entailed, a hospital style bed downstairs in the dining room, a wheelchair, a commode, and crucially a range of support services, nurses and carers. Chris was fortunate to die at home, where he wanted to be, surrounded by his family in familiar, friendly environment, listening to and watching the recent memorable cricket Test matches. His death was comfortable and peaceful at the last. The support Chris received, not only from Judy, Marcus, Jamie and Claire, but also absolutely crucially, from the health services, was wonderful. Chris had great trust in the medical services, the GP, the Health Centre, District nurses, the specialist cancer consultants and services, the hospitals at Stoke Mandeville and Churchill in Oxford, the carers, the Macmillan Nurses and finally the Marie Curie support from the Florence Nightingdale. They were all caring, amazing and first rate. This is a tribute to them all. Thank you.
Chris has died too soon, much, much too soon but we can celebrate his life because he regarded himself as a fortunate man. He had a good innings. He was not a man given to introspection but, a few months ago, said to me that if he had to go he had enjoyed a good life and could not complain. That good life included a close knit family, Judy his wife of 44 years and his three children. I know that he was thrilled to have a grandchild, Daisy, He had her picture as the wallpaper on his computer. In his chosen career, he was also highly successful as a pilot, firstly in the RAF as a fast jet pilot for 9 years and then as a commercial pilot mainly with British Airways for 27 years and subsequently with smaller charter companies. Chris loved flying, it was his career, vocation and hobby. He wondered that he was being paid for doing something he loved so much. His aviation interest and knowledge were encyclopaedic. His aircraft recognition was phenomenal; he could identify an aircraft from the smallest dot in the sky.
So where and when did this enthusiasm arise. Born in 1936, an only child, his Dad was a tea broker and after school at Canterbury- an experience which I think he enjoyed but in which he claims to have been rather undistinguished- he was destined to follow his Father into tea. But Chris’s interests were already in aviation. He was a modelmaker and apparently an avid reader of aviation magazines. He applied and was successful in obtaining a short service commission to become a pilot in the RAF. On 8th October 1954 Officer training started at Kirton in Lindsey, in where he met his oldest and firmest friend John Cray and his future best man at his wedding, Tony Netherton, both here today. Flying training at Ternhill, on the Provost and Oakington on the Vampire culminated in the award of the coveted wings in 1956 and a posting to the Hawker Hunter, the premier fighter aircraft of its day. These were the days of the cold war and Chris, John and Tony all went to the Second Tactical Air Force in Germany. Chris was with 26 Squadron, followed by 14 Squadron. Apart from the flying this appears to have been a giant never ending party experience in a Germany going through its miraculous economic recovery from the war.
After 3 years in Germany he was fortunate to get a second flying tour as they were called- this time on the twin engined, two crew, delta wing fighter, the Javelin. The fortune, one might say, was short lived as, on one of his early flights at the OCU, he suffered an engine fire, closely followed by a second engine fire, the inevitable conclusion of which is to leave the aircraft, so both he and his navigator ejected, as it is called and descended by parachute. This made him a member of the distinguished club ‘the caterpillar club’, reserved for those who had been compelled to parachute from an aircraft. Chris, typically never made a meal of this very rare experience. Apparently he did say the burning aircraft wreck had ‘set Lord Bolton’s grouse moor on fire and it would burn till Christmas’ but he was, as always, very self effacing about what must have been a terrifying and unique experience. Tony Netherton played golf with Chris shortly after this incident. Chris casually mentioned, between shots, that he had bailed out. There was no aggrandisement; typical Chris; most people would have dined out on this for ever. He did, however, injure his spine in the ejection and spent some time at the famous rehabilitation centre at Headley Court. This spinal injury occasionally caused some pain in subsequent years and latterly he thought this was the cause of his back pain which eventually, tragically, transpired to be the developing prostate cancer.
Chris spent a further 3 years flying the Javelin on 25 Squadron. Somehow he found the time, before the Javelin course, to woo Judy, a neighbour from home, (how he got such a fantastic girl is beyond me) and they married, with Tony Netherton as best man on, 9th. September 1961. They moved to RAF Leuchars, St Andrews. For the first 6 months of his time there Chris was on detachment in Cyprus. I doubt whether this was part of the bargain for Judy!
And so after 9 years in the RAF Chris left to join British European Airways on the Vickers Viscount. It is here that I met him We were on the same course starting 2 days before president Kennedy was assassinated (so we know where we were—probably being taught Viscount electrics at the BEA Heston Training centre). From the every first I knew Chris as very special. What is the touchstone of friendship? I don’t know but we, quite different in temperament, hit it off. This character had the ability or knack of defusing a tricky or difficult situation by making it funny. He didn’t tell jokes but, as we all know, was the ultimate master of the pun. Chris could make a pun out of any statement. Yes we all groaned but we laughed as we groaned and then we prepared to groan and laugh again as pun followed pun. It was great fun, sometimes culminating in side splitting, uncontrolled fits of laughter. Tony Netherton reminded me that Chris would make the pun, stare at you waiting for recognition and then tell another one. We will all miss that.
Chris was an excellent civil pilot. We know that because he came out ahead of all of us on the course and consequently above us all on the infamous seniority list which governs life in the realms of civil aviation. He was also a wonderful crew member; a pilot everyone liked to fly with - and not all outstanding pilots make good members of a crew.
He flew the Viscount and Trident as co-pilot and the Viscount, Vanguard, Trident and Boeing 757, on its introduction to British Airways, as Captain. I remember he was interviewed for a position as a Route Check captain. I asked him how it had gone. He replied he didn’t know but he had made the panel laugh – typical Chris. He was offered the job but the aircraft was withdrawn from service before he could take it up.
So at age 55 in BA, all good things come to an end and one is compelled to leave. Chris flew the 757 with a number of charter airlines, realising what we had all suspected, that BA had been an excellent outfit to work for. Finally he became less than satisfied about some of the safety issues in one operator and he retired, aged 61, in January 1997. His last pilots log book entry simply says ‘Finis’.
So that is the career. He came home to the Old Parsonage, Nether Winchendon , the family home of 21 years after many happy years in the delights of Bryn Cottage, Speen which became too small for the brood, at one time 3 children under 2. Chris had spent a lot of time away from home both in the RAF and in civil flying. Nonetheless he had a strong family and a vast range of interests. These were mostly centred around things which move, mainly with wheels. Aeroplanes, cars, motor bikes, trains, cycles, and, without wheels, canal boats. Chris knew all there was to know on these subjects. And he and Judy also had, at one time, a mini sail. Interest diverged to birds, feathered which also move a bit. Rather like his aircraft recognition skills, Chris took pride in his bird recognition.
He had a combined interest in choral music and churches and cathedrals. Living near Oxford, he and Judy went to the beautiful college chapels to hear glorious choral music.
They also visited the great cathedrals of England and France There was also an interest in Jazz. We all did a course together on art appreciation in Oxford. Chris was very proud of and supported Judy as her sculpturing talents developed.
So what manner of man is emerging? Well, like most of us, a patch work quilt. A family man of absolute integrity, he had a wide circle of acquaintances but was content with a few friends and very happy in his own company, sometimes solitary, even reclusive, doing his own thing, perhaps establishing his amazing model railway system. He did not like large crowds and avoided London, except for a specific occasions; a traditionalist and conservative; rather old fashioned in clothing. I would tease him about his ‘demob suit’ and his panama hat – perhaps it was a Noel Coward influence. I think he thought Armani was some far away Eastern European Republic. He was offended by the word ‘toilet’ it was ‘lavatory’ and certainly some humour was distinctly lavatorial. I have been reminded by Tony Smith of what is, loosely, a golfing story. For many years I didn’t know that Chris played golf. During his working years he, apparently, played occasionally in Scotland, having learnt, to some extent, the game in his youth. On retirement, golf became more important and a source of pleasure, especially to those playing with him. Chris would turn up, immaculately dressed in knickerbockers, polished shoes and shirt and tie (I think he must have worn a tie with his pyjamas). Chris’s golf was pretty erratic, sometimes lousy, but not as bad as mine. On one occasion he hit a diabolical shot; ‘S…T’ was loudly broadcast down the fairway closely followed by the response ‘said the king and 10,000 courtiers struggled and heaved to his command’. We were in stitches only to be brought up short by the admonition of other, more serious, golfers for our excessive noise and hilarity. This was decidedly a reversion to childhood but we revelled in it. There was something of PG Wodehouse in this upright Englishman, (he liked ‘spotted dick’ for pudding), a fantastic sense of humour and a natural clown. Yet Chris could be quite radical in opinion and had firm, diverse and controversial (to me) views on national and world events which he would argue with conviction. He had great interest in books, especially military history as well as anything on transport, aviation, railways, cars, Etc. He would like to find the reference for anything of interest. He was very keen on maps, but I became less enthusiastic about his map reading skills after a jaunt in the Lake District when with supreme confidence, he got us lost. John reminded me that, at Marcus and Jo’s wedding, Chris decided to drive the ‘pretty route’ from hotel to church. We all dutifully followed to be led up an increasingly narrow lane going nowhere. Lots of manoeuvring was required. We just made the church on time!
Chris was very good with words. He wrote a fantastic account of a joint holiday we enjoyed in Kenya in the early 1970’s. Very recently, only a few months ago, he wrote a letter to the Log, the journal of BALPA, on the Hawker Siddely Trident aircraft. This was a fascinating, detailed, historical, account of the aircraft and its characteristics. This article, I am delighted to say, was published as a two page spread in the Log which arrived last month. Chris was thrilled. It is a lasting, worthy, tribute to his aviation knowledge and skilled writing.
He was most amusing, good company, usually easy going but sometimes he would grab hold of some idea and worry it to death. He was far too modest. He certainly undersold himself and his abilities. He was unnecessarily self- effacing, sometimes deliberately playing the fool, as a mask. He was as straight as a die. He was much more sensitive and caring than is perhaps recognised. He was not into possessions. He liked the ‘wireless’ as he called it, especially radio 4. He was always true to himself and his beliefs. He was very fortunate in his chosen professional and private life. He had many hobbies and was happy in his leisure time.
I would like to conclude with a quote from John Cray: ‘Chris had a love of the countryside, particularly the remote areas and of course the wild life, particularly birds. He loved old buildings and, probably influenced by his schooldays in Canterbury, the churches and, cathedrals and though he did not sing well or play an instrument, he was very keen on jazz and very much taken with early English church music, Tallis, Byrd etc. and would listen to choral evensong on the radio or attend evensong if the opportunity occurred. He was a very balanced man. He loved and was very proud of his family and the achievements and skills of all of them. The focus of his life had been flying backed up by his keen interest in all things mechanical and powered. But his interest in, and knowledge of, the arts and also of the countryside and its natural history was also part of the character of an intelligent, thoughtful, loyal man. A friend of more than 50 years’
So Chris has gone, leaving his close family Judy, Jamie, Marcus, and Claire, his wider family and his friends to mourn but above all to remember with pleasure and gratitude what Chris has given to us.
“The rest is silence” "
Rest in peace all.
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