Anthony

Reminiscences of Paul (Based on what I said to him the last time I saw him awake.) I asked him whether he wanted to have a philosophical conversation (as we often had), for example on ‘the meaning of life’. I told him that I often refer to him in my U3A Philosophy Group sessions as the most provocative person as he always takes up the opposite point of view to the one you are arguing, i.e. devil’s advocate. On numerous occasions I rose to his bait, despite suggestions from Ann or Margaret that ‘he is only trying to wind you up’. I told him that, coming from Cobham to the Hospice to see him, we had crossed over Dartford Heath on the A2. I reminded him of the Cross-Country runs that were required from the pupils at Dartford Grammar School, many of whom took the opportunity to dawdle amongst the bushes, in Paul’s case no doubt to have a quiet fag. On the subject of school, I talked of the fact that he, unlike me, had joined the Combined Cadet Force. Of course, in his case it was mainly in order to be in charge of the Signals hut, approximately where the Mick Jagger Music Centre is now located and where the radio equipment was kept. Another reason for him wanting to be occupied in the Signals hut was no doubt to avoid doing ‘square-bashing’ on the parade ground. I reminded him that, when I was in the 6th form, those of us who had conscientiously refused to join the Combined Cadet Force and elected to do ‘private study’ on Friday afternoons, used to yell ‘Fascists’ out of the window. I distinctly remember Paul smiling at that reminiscence of mine. Then I threw up the question of whether we are Northerners or Southerners, as Marian was from the North and Fred was from London, and we were both born in Leeds and moved during our childhood to Dartford. Could we be mongrels? I pointed out that where we were was right next to Bostall Woods where Fred told us he used to pick bluebells. If he had met a young lady picking the bluebells and married her rather the Yorkshire Lass that he met at the Feast in Leeds years later, half of us would have been somewhere else. (I already mentioned that fact at Fred’s funeral). Of course, we also spent part of our childhood together in Scotland, in the suburbs of Glasgow. Paul, unlike me, never acquired a Scots accent and suffered the consequences. As he graphically described it, in battles between the Scots and the English re-enacted in the road, he was the sole representative of the ‘bloody English’. His lack of a Scots accent is to be explained no doubt by the difference in our ages. And the fact that I had to change my accent when we moved down to Dartford, where I was known for about the first six months as ‘Scottie’, would explain my facility in foreign languages – in contrast (or related to?) to the family specialism in telecommunications, represented by our grandfather, father and now Paula (and Harley?). Paul always hankered rather after a Yorkshire identity – despite the fact that he is known to have watched Kent cricket matches in Canterbury. Joe, our maternal grandfather who lived opposite Headingley Cricket Ground would have been horrified! Perhaps we can forgive Paul for supporting the local team. Paul was nevertheless wont to put on a Yorkshire accent (and mimic some of Joe’s mannerisms). We got used to his ‘By gum’ and ‘champion’. It is difficult for me to think that I will never hear his ‘Eh Up, Lad!’ again – but it will live on in my memory.

Margaret

Sorry to lose a dear brother in law

Stephen

My "big cousin" Paul was always so kind and supportive, ever since our childhood days, and is greatly missed.